Page 37 of Wallflower

Abruptly, he crushes me in his embrace. The hard planes of his abdomen flush with my mutilated tattoo.

I can’t prevent the gasp of surprise or the piercing shriek of agony that erupts from me. With my arms tethered above me, I’m trapped. There’s no escape as he squeezes me tighter, the buttons of his black button-up shirt finding their way into my wounds, burrowing in to amplify the pain. My squirming only makes it worse as his fingers dig into my ribs to hold me tighter.

His soft lips brush the shell of my ear as his hard cock presses into me. “Name. Now,” he quietly demands.

“Rose!” I wail.

The sound of the door squeaking open sends a growl rumbling out of him. I sag in relief as he loosens his hold.

“Satisfied?” Maximus inquires.

“Yes,” the man replies. His shirt slowly peels away from my body, flaring pain anew as he whispers, the words flowing out like warm honey, thick and full of promise.

“I’ll be back for you, flower.”

“Flower?” Mr. Smythe asks as we move down the hall, away from Rose but not back the way we came.

“It’s fitting, don’t you think? Something beautiful I can crush beneath my shoe.”

“Indeed.”

Richmond slipped in the door as we left the room, a stupidly large Bowie knife clenched in his fist. Clearly, he’s overcompensating for something. Rose’s blood stained the steel. The sight of it awakening something possessive in my hollow soul. How do I make it clear she’s mine now and not to be touched without seeming too eager? The last thing I need is Maximus thinking he has a hold over me. I’ve never owned someone before. All previous engagements were consensual,despite what their lips were screaming. But Rose needs to remain here at Bleakcrest. She’s my reason for returning, no matter how frequently.

My mind stirs, desire coiling tight around my cock as I try to erase the sight of her bound and bleeding. I would‘ve taken her right there in that cursed room. Delivered on my threat to fuck her raw if she didn’t answer me. Shit, I have half a mind to turn back and do it. Richmond isn’t necessary anymore, and I kind of want to see that dumbstruck look on her face when she beholds the new contours of mine again.

Maximus deliberately lets the silence linger. Allowing me to take in the vastness of his empire as we pass door after door. I can only assume each room houses a slave, and based on the cacophony of sounds floating through the air, only half are enjoying themselves.

Rounding the corner, Maximus leads us toward another staircase. Pausing at the bottom, he turns to me, breaking the tense quiet. “So, was my newest purchase to your liking?”

I let the sickness festering inside me leak out onto my face, the sinister smile curving the corner of my lips. “Definitely.” Fuck, Rose was glorious. That resilience and unwillingness to break despite the gashes to her skin lit me up from the inside. I’m going to absolutely ruin her. I’ll have her crying for me before our first day is through. That little flower is going to wither for me. “Though, I have other business to attend to on the island and was not prepared to transport any new acquisitions this trip.”

“Completely understandable. When can I expect your return?”

My mouth opens to toss out a date about a week in the future. Hopefully long enough for Bucky, my tech guy, to figure out this fucking security system that could potentially kill me if I touch it wrong.

“Perhaps when you return with my first shipment of immaculate product?”

Well, fuck me. I’ve done it. Elation fires through me as I extend my hand. “That sounds perfect, Mr. Smythe.”

Maximus slides his soft, cold hand into my rough and calloused one.

Little does the devil of the island chain know, he just shook hands with his downfall.

“Stand down, Richmond. I’ve secured a buyer for Miss Rose.”

Maximus’s voice crackles through the air, and Richmond replies with a curt “Yes, sir.”

His warm palm flattens against my skin, the touch slick as it travels up my spine through the river of red. “Such luck you have, whore. Just as I was about to slice the dragon from your skin, I’m pulled to heel.” He leans in close, hot breath moving over my wounds as he speaks reverently. “If I thought I could get away with it, I’d finish the job. I’m damn near certain the sight of your tattooed skin dangling from between my fingers would have made you weep with despair.”

He’s not wrong. I’m barely hanging on to consciousness, but that would have broken me. A sharp-tongued response is there, waiting to lash out, but I hold it back. At least, I think I do. I’m so far past the point of exhausted, I doubt the words would come even if I forced them.

He moves around me, bending his tall stature to my eye level as I struggle to find the energy to keep my falling eye lids open.

I may be a wallflower, but even pretty things can bite back. Just ask Stacey Briggs. She thought she was queen shit. That she could get away with humiliating me at the Spring Fling dance in ninth grade. A few eye drops in her unattended morning hot chocolate sent her into a coma. She didn’t die, but she also didn’t return to school. No one knew it was me, so I considered it a win all around.

Digging deep into the well of my carefully crafted personality—the one that refuses to break no matter what’s thrown at me—I gather the strength I need. It’s what I pull from when I feel like I can’t go on. When life is a chore and death seems like a release. But I won’t give anyone the satisfaction of getting the better of me. Whether they know it or not, I know, and that’s all that matters.

Dragging that resilience up from the bottom of the pit, I lift my eye lids.