And I can’t help but start to sing.
This is exactly what I needed.
I mean, I still need to go back and apologize to the boys, probably talk through a bunch of shit since I dropped bombs on them, but a little time with mydaddywill be good for the soul.
We haven’t really had the time to reconnect the way I wanted to, the way I need to for both of our sakes. And I know he’ll set the budget aside for me if I ask him to dance and since Deano is playing, I don’t think he’ll put up much of a fight.
Shuffling my way to the kitchen like the late great singer and dancer himself, I set Pierre’s food on the island then head out in search of the man I owe some one on one time to.
The closer I get to his office on the second floor, the louder I sing.
I forgot how good this is.
I haven’t really listened to music for the last few years, not unless I was working and that was more or less to drown out the sound of power tools. Playing with the boys is really what brought meaning back to notes and lyrics, and this song is no exception. Dean has always been one of mine and Pierre’s favorites, all those old school crooners are, and I genuinely forgot how happy listening to them makes me.
Throwing open the slightly ajar door, I belt out a few lines in my best impersonation of the king of classic then frown when I notice Pierre’s back is to me.
“Hey, old man,” I shout with a grin as I walk toward the desk, assumingsomeonefell asleep at work or can’t hear me over the music. “I said…” I reach for the back of the chair, my anxiety spiking all of the sudden. “Pierre?”
My heart stops as I turn the chair to face me, the dark leather swiveling in my direction on a squeak like it always does but stops abruptly when Pierre’s hand on the arm slams into the open desk drawer and sticks.
Quickly smothering my scream with my hands, I cover my mouth and stumble backwards, my eyes unable to look away from what I’m seeing.
And I know I’m never going to forget it.
The twisted look of horror on Pierre’s face, his dark eyes wide in fear, his full lips swollen and bloody, his jaw dropped and mouth open in a silent cry for help.
The carving knife shoved through his neck, the hilt sticking out under one ear, the tip of the blade sticking out under the other.
The huge slash in his throat, gaping and wide, split almost to the bone because I can see dots of white through the torn flesh and muscle.
I willneverget this image out of my mind as long as I live.
Which is when a thought occurs to me.
Pierre didn’t send those texts, he couldn’t have. Seeing him now proves there’s no way he did and that means…
The music stops and a rope comes down over my head as soon as the last note comes to a screeching halt, a noose of sorts tightening immediately and tugging me back into a large body.
“Memories, Leonor,” the distorted voice says, one of those voice altering boxes most likely in the completely blacked out mask next to my face. “They really are made of this.”
I claw and pull at the rope to no avail, gasping for what little air I can as it tightens then loosens repeatedly. I try to scream and kick, to fight as the man lifts me by the noose only to slam my head down onto the desk, my vision blurring momentarily before refocusing on Pierre’s terrified face.
Shoving me forward until I’m bent at the waist, my attacker works in silence, zip tying my hands behind my back, covering my mouth with duct tape. Each time I try to struggle he tightens the noose, his grip on that dirty, thick rope firm despite the way he’s restraining the rest of me.
I feel his hips against my ass, shoving me against the wood so hard I know I’ll bruise and when I try to turn my head, knowing in my heart what’s about to happen and how I can’t look at Pierre while it does, he buries a hand in my hair and slams my head against the desk again.
“No, no, no,” he sneers. “I want yourdaddyto watch. I want him tosee.”
My blood turns to ice in my veins at his words, my heart pounding so hard it actually hurts.
He leans down over me, the black void of his hood and mask coming into view as he presses my cheek harder into the heavy oak. “I wantyouto see, Leonor. Seeme.”
Pierre comes back into view as the man straightens up, the fingers of his black gloves tearing at the waistband of my shorts, roughly yanking them down to my ankles before kicking my legs wide open. There’s a slight pause as I hear a zipper followed by crinkling of foil then the unmistakable feel of the tip of an erect penis sliding up and down my entrance.
“I don’t think so.” The hand in my hair tightens as I squeeze my eyes shut. “Eyes open, eyes seeing.” Then he slams into me.
Every inch of my skin burns, inside and out, the lubrication on the condom doing nothing to stop the pain that comes with an unwanted invasion. He goes slowly at first, dragging the rubber along the inside like a thousand tiny matches, scraping and sparking before they catch fire then shoving back inside until his hips are flush against my ass.
