Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
“Just these two,” she says, ushering the other two girls into the room. “I’ll bring this one down later. He’ll probably want to move them tomorrow.”
The other man says nothing, closing the door behind the two girls, and I’m escorted back to the elevator. Once it starts to rise, she tucks the gun back into the waistband of her shorts.
“You’re lucid,” she says. “But you don’t really seem afraid. How much of this do you understand? Can you read lips?”
I don’t respond or react.
“You’re older than he usually likes,” she says, stepping onto the second floor and gesturing for me to follow. “You’re the prettiest I’ve seen in a while, though, even with your busted face.”
She stops in front of a bedroom, ushering me inside with her hand on the small of my back. I linger near the doorway, and she turns, gesturing before extending her hand to me.
“Come,” she says. “Let me help you with your nose.”
Still cuffed, I take her hand, and she pulls me into the attached bathroom, closing the door behind her. I gasp when I catch my reflection in the mirror.
Both of my eyes are black, my cheek bruised. Dried blood runs from my nose down my chin and is smeared over my cheek.
“Oh you haven’t seen it?” Cake Girl asks. “I bet that would be shocking.”
She runs water over a wet rag and then brings it to my face, wiping it clean. I wince when she runs it over my nose.
“Sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry for what’s going to happen to you, too. Not sorry enough to help you, though. Warren isn’t that bad, though. His dick is smalllike microscopically smalland it never gets all the way hard, so at least it won’t hurt. I’m too old for him, too, you know. My dad sold me to him when I was fifteen. He’s left me alone for two years.”
She sets the rag aside and fingers the orbital piercing on my left ear. “You were cared for,” she says, her brow furrowing. “Where did they find you?”
I jerk my head away, worried she’ll move from my ear over to my braid. She still has the gun, but I only need a couple of seconds. I need a little more room to maneuver than this, though. There’s maybe six inches of space between her body and mine.
“That’ll make it harder for you,” she says. “If you were cared for, then you probably know what it’s like to be touched in a loving way. See, I didn’tI was raised knowing I would be sold like this and that it would be my duty.” She runs her finger down the side of my face. “You’re so pretty. I bet you’ve been held before. I bet you’ve been special to someone, and they made you laugh. They told you they loved you or wrote you letters, called you things like honey or sweetheart or angel.”
Angel.
Something in her eyes changes; she must see the longing in mine, and she smiles. “You do know what I’m saying. Is that what they called you? Did they call you an angel?”
I blink, sending a silent tear rolling down my good cheek. She wipes it away with her thumb and then sucks it into her mouth.
“I’m going to help you with something.” Her hand dips into the waistband of my pants and inside my underwear. Her fingers run over my clit before she pushes them inside me, and I gasp. Before I can push her away, she grabs me by the handcuffs and pulls me in tighter.
“Don’t fight it,” she warns. “You’ll like it if you relax, and if you don’t, I’ll use the gun. Got it?”
I don’t reply, but I relax a little. I don’t want her to get her hands on the gun.
“I’m going to help you get nice and wetthat’ll make it easier for you. And then maybe you can help me, too,” she says, moving her fingers in and out of me. “You won’t tell him, right? I’ll make sure they take good care of you. I can do that, you know.”
She’s lying. But I almost feel sorry for her and her fingers feel good. Feeling my body give in, she releases the grip on my shoulder and kicks my feet further apart. “There you go feels good, doesn’t it? You’re getting nice and wet now. I am, too.” She moves her wet fingers out of me and onto my clit, rubbing it back and forth, and I moan, gripping the side of the sink. “This is how I want you to touch me,” she says, increasing the speed. She sets the gun on the toilet behind her, pushes her shorts down over her hips, and moves my hand between her legs. “Touch me just like I’m touching you. I’ll come fast. My clit is so sensitive, and you’re really fucking pretty.”
She is soaking wetmaybe she will come fast. I take two fingers and rub her clit the same way she’s touching me and watch her knees almost instantly buckle.
“Oh, f-fuck,” she whispers. She places her free hand against the wall on the other side of my head for leverage. “Just like that. Oh, that’s good.”
She leans in, kissing me, her tongue running over my lips and dipping into my mouth while we work each other’s pussies, and I can’t stop myself from thinking of how much prettier she’ll look once she’s covered in blood. I bury a moan into her mouth at the thought.
“Don’t make any noise,” she whispers. “Don’t make any noise when you come.”
I bite my lip and explode, thighs flexing, gritting my teeth as I bury my heaving breath into her shoulder. Once it rolls through me, she grasps my wrist with her hand and rocks her hips against my fingers.
“Oh, yes ” she moans, leaning into me and shuddering with her own release.
“See?” she says. “That wasn’t so bad. I’ll ask the guards not to rape you tonight, and I’ll come down and bring you some water later, and we can do it again. They never let them have water. It’s the easiest way to keep them weak. Matilda made strawberry pie, and if you eat me, I’ll bring you some.”
She takes a couple of steps backward, grabs some toilet paper from the roll, and then bends down to wipe herself clean.
Both of her hands are occupied. She isn’t looking. This is it.
I slip my right hand from the cuffs and then reach back, grip the handle, and pull out the blade while grabbing her hair with the other hand. Before she has a chance to react, I bury it into her throat.
I pull it out, quickly stabbing her a second and third time, hoping to sever her vocal cords to prevent her from calling out while she struggles against my hold. After the third time, she’s not really struggling. I drag her by her hair into the shower and stab her just under her clavicle two more timesin that place where Declan almost killed me. She stops fighting and stares ahead at me with cold, almost lifeless eyes.
She really is beautiful like this.
“It’s not personal,” I whisper, taking her hand in mine. “But you’re not good, either. And I have these friends they’ll kill them if I don’t kill you, and they are good.” I pause, sighing. “And he did call me his angelLuca De Rossi did.” Recognition flashes in her eyes as she takes another gargled breath. “For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you that much. We didn’t choose this, but there’s no undoing it now. And I’m going to kill him, too.”
I don’t know if it brings her any comfort or not, but I stay there with her until the lights go out.
I step out of the shower, close the door behind me, and then slowly and carefully make my way through thick, slick blood back to the sink where I run my blade under the water before putting it back in my hair. Blood paints the front of my black shirt and pants, but you can’t tell unless you’re looking for it. I grab a white towel from the rack and dry as much of it as I can before cleaning the blood from my face and neck. I slide my right hand back into the cuffs and slip out of my shoes, leaving them behind before returning to the bedroom. Then, I sit at the edge of the bed facing the door, my heart pounding in my chest, and wait.
And wait. The antique clock above the fireplace tells me it’s been over twenty minutes. The mansion isn’t empty; I can’t go looking for him. Just when I’m starting to panic, wondering if something happened and if I should just go flicker the light, the doorknob turns.
Warren steps into the room, and I watch him, trying to steady my breath.
“She cleaned you up, huh?” he says, unbuttoning his shirt. “Did she touch you, too? She thinks I don’t know what she isit’s disgusting.”
I clench my jaw as he shrugs off his shirt then moves to his belt buckle. His chest is bare; there’s no monitor.
Femoral triangle. He says it’s easy to miss, but it would be hard to chase me.
Easy to scream, though.
He moves toward the bed, stopping in front of me and lifting my cuffed hands. “It’s hard getting old,” he says as he unlocks and tosses them aside. He turns his back to me and pulls open a drawer on the bedside table.
Kidneys. It’s supposed to be so painful you’ll forget to breathe. That’ll make it hard to scream.
I pull the blade one more time and lunge for him, burying it into his back. He manages to flip around before I can stab him a second time, and I panic when he lunges for me but he misses, falling to his knees on the ground at my feet. When I go for him again, stabbing him in the back of his neck, just below his skull, he knocks me off my feet, but it doesn’t matter.
I got him. He’s dying.
He falls forward, flat on his stomach on the floor with his pants below his hips. It requires more muscle than I’m used to, but I dig it into his back over and over again just to make sure. And just because I like the sound it makes and the way it looks.
I don’t talk to him while he goes, but I do wonder what’s going through his mind. Maybe he realizes it’s a hit, but I like to think maybe he’s lying there, aware he’s dying, thinking it’s all random, and one of the girls he planned to sell like garbage just finally got the best of him. Because he was too stupid, his ego too big, for him to realize what he was looking at before it was too late.
Then, I go to the doors, lock them, and flicker the bedroom light for at least thirty seconds. I remove my bloody shirt and pants and sink down onto the floor, leaning back against the bed in just my bra and underwear.
The deep red puddle of blood pooling beneath Warren’s body, so dark it almost looks black against the deep brown exotic wood flooring, creeps closer to me. I don’t move, watching it as it travels over and around my feet until I’m sitting in it, too.
I dip my hand in the warm, sticky liquid, coating it before holding it out in front of me. It’s beautiful, and there’s power in it, just like Declan said. I can feel it vibrating in the room around me, in every cell in my body, but I don’t bring it to my lips. If taking blood is a transfer of power, of energy, I don’t want whatever Warren has.
Then, the power shuts off, sending me back into darkness. No light seeps in from under the door.
This is it. Whatever was going to happen is happening now. It’s too dark to see the clock on the fireplace, but I hear it still ticking. It feels like an hour goes by before I hear muffled shouting coming from downstairs.
Maybe they’ll fail at whatever they’re doing, and I’ll die.
Shortly after, the power comes back on; heavy footsteps make their way down the hallway, opening doors. They’ll be coming to this one soon.
I dip both hands in the blood again, smearing it over the front of my body, and lie down behind Warren’s corpse, my weapon clutched tightly in my right hand. The doorknob rattles a few times, and when it doesn’t turn, the person on the other side kicks or rams something into it. It only takes three tries before the wood buckles, and the door flies open.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.