Page 107 of Somno Slave

Jesus.

I hate how aware I am of the way the light hits him. The shadows along his cheekbones. The line of his jaw. I hate that my brain still registers symmetry. Still notes beauty. Still responds.

Blood everywhere.

The phrase returns, louder now, and my jaw locks around it.

Mike shifts in his chair beside me. The metal legs scrape softly against the floor. He turns another page. The sound seems to echo a beat too loudly.

I close the image.

The screen goes dark for a second before returning to the monitor feeds. My pulse doesn’t settle; it only turns, because now my attention drifts to the console beside me.

The microphone switch sits there innocently, a small plastic lever surrounded by lights and labels. It’s off. Silent. Dormant.

Harmless.

I study it longer than I should. My fingers twitch once against my thigh, then again. They move without permission and before my mind can catch up, they’re hovering over the switch.

I imagine his husky voice.

Do it.

The thought slams into me, uninvited and intimate, and my pulse stutters violently in response. I stop halfway, close enough to see the faint scuff marks around the switch. Close enough to imagine the click.

My breath turns shallow.

No. Stop it.

I jerk my hand back as if the plastic has burned me. My fingers curl tightly into my palm until it’s too painful.

My gaze snaps down.

But the thought doesn’t leave. It sits there, low and constant, threading through everything else, quietly, patiently. It waits for me to slip. Waits for me to look.

And God help me, I want to.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Rheda

I keep my eyes on my notebook, forcing myself to write even though the words barely register once they hit the page.

Subject remains seated.

My handwriting looks wrong again. I press harder.

The silence starts getting under my skin after a while. I become too aware of myself inside it. My breathing. The pulse in my wrists. The microphone switch sitting inches from my hand.

Don’t touch it.

My fingers twitch anyway.

I can still picture the screenshot perfectly. Water dripping down his throat. His hands cuffed together. The bruising.

Blood everywhere.

My stomach twists.