The ick is strong with this one.
I shudder, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat. Being a disgusting pervert with a filthy mouth seems to come so easily to this piece of shit. As sentences go, that might easily be the most stomach-churning one I’ve ever had the misfortune of having directed my way, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under my skin. I’ve met too many men like Simon—more invested in the reactions my body giveswithoutmy permission.
Hopefully he can recognise the wave of disgust permeating from my pores because I’m as dry as the Sahara Desert between my thighs right now. If arousal was what he was aiming for, he’s severely missed his mark.
My skin crawls under his hooded perusal of my body; words I can deal with, but having him this close has me nervous. Reaching out, he toys with the length of my plaited hair that is slung forward over my shoulder, his lips parting. He doesn’t have a chance to say another word though before he is lifted clean off his feet and thrown down onto the floor with a bone-crunching thud that makes me wince. Ezra grabs the two fingers Simon used to make contact with my hair in his fist and snapsthem back effortlessly. They crackle like glow sticks as Simon howls out in pain.
The beast of Blackwood is pretty quick when he wants to be.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CARA
“Mine” is all I hear Ezra growl out as he pins a flailing Simon to the floor, his wide eyes pleading with Ezra to let him go as he tries to get his legs up and around his waist to buck him off.
The giddy part of me that believes Ezra is claiming me when he says ‘mine’swoons.
The twisted grin Ezra throws my way confirms the thought, and my heart thumps wildly, beating against my ribs as though it’s trying to get to him. Heavy panting breaths have my lungs working overtime, transfixed by the car crash appeal of witnessing Simon get what he deserves. I’m unable to tear my eyes away from them for long when I look at the orderlies flanking the doorway, but they barely register the altercation. The look of sterile disinterest and an almost faraway emptiness filling their soulless black eyes. Their presence is nothing more than decoration as the room erupts into a hoard out for blood as they chant and holler excitedly for more. Judging by the giddy expression twisting Ezra’s features, I’d say he’s enjoying the cacophony of curses and pleas that barrel out of Simon’s mouth as he bargains for his freedom.
Ezra’s mismatched eyes sparkle with malice as he leans down and whispers something into Simon’s ear. His eyes go wide in response, his efforts to escape hitting new levels as he bucks against Ezra who is now pinning down his arms as he straddles his chest; the sheer size of Ezra means Simon has no hope—it would be like a dog trying to fight off a grizzly bear. The shrill scream that sputters out of Simon and the spit dribbling down his chin should have an effect on me. But I recognise the warmth of intrigue as it sparks in my belly.
I stumble back a step until I’m pressed up against the wall, watching as the horrors unfold. With one hand flat against his forehead, the other in a white-knuckle grip around the length of his cereal spoon, Ezra presses the tip of it into the hollow of Simon’s eye socket, plucking his eyeball free with a wet pop. With a flick of his wrist, he severs the nerve endings as easily as you or I would pick an apple from a tree, all while Simon continues to wail shrilly.
The adrenaline mixed with the pain means Simon does nothing but flail around like a fish out of water. Ezra says nothing as he gets to his feet and casually walks back across the room to his table to resume his breakfast. My gaze flits between the mess of a man writhing lazily in the foetal position and the great hulking man splattered with blood as he cleans off the spoon and tucks it into his boot, picking up a fresh one to continue his breakfast.
I tap away the rogue eyeball discarded on the chequerboard floor by my foot.
“Clean up in aisle 5!” Crazy Cathy yowls from the doorway—clapping excitedly and bouncing on her feet.
I wait for the concern I know I should feel at what I've just witnessed—but it never comes. I can’t feel anything but cared for, a warmth filling my body when I realise how foreign it is to me to be someone’s number one. His lewd comments, his sleazygaze, his attempts to get into my room—Simon doesn’t deserve my pity. The energy amongst the patients dies out now that the main performance is done with. The Lurch-looking orderlies slowly approach Simon, injecting him with what I assume is a sedative before hauling him to his feet. You’d expect it to be a blood show, but there is actually minimal mess. The spray of blood on the stark white wall is already being washed down by Clive as the janitor tends to the puddle of Simon’s piss with a mop and bucket. Other than the sounds of Simon’s garbled banshee wails from the hallway as they strap him to a gurney, the room already looks as it did ten minutes ago before Ezra’s misuse-of-a-spoon incident.
No sharp objects, no jewellery, no pointed implements of any kind—this includes makeup brushes, straws, razors…I remember the list of banned items and chuckle to myself when I think about Ezra’s imaginative workaround for that rule. Who would suspect a spoon could be used as a weapon?
After last night, I know not to underestimate this man.
The screech of chair legs against the buffed floor pulls me from my daze, and I realise I’ve walked across the room to stand in front of Ezra’s table without registering any steps. I giggle like a complete fool because I don’t know how to fill the silence. He gestures with his spoon to the chair opposite him that he has kicked aside, and I do as he’s silently instructed, fiddling with the cuff of my new gloves nervously as I wait for him to talk. My gut aches, my core throbbing again from my lack of release, something he’s tasked to rectify after bringing me to the edge and leaving me stranded this morning. It’s clear now he doesn’t desire me incapacitated; he wanted my full attention, and when I pulled the sleeping tablet stunt, he whipped out anUnoreverse and played me at my own game, teaching me a lesson in the most backwards Ezra-way that he could. Only this guy could use edging as a tool for learning.
Girl, did your pussy just flutter? Fuck, you might be more messed up than we thought—you saw what he did with that spoon, right?
I should be disgusted, I should be reviled, but I’m not. I want to ask him why he did it. The tinkering of the spoon against the bowl as he dives in for another mouthful of Froot Loops leaves me chuckling louder than I’d intended; the irony of the strapping psych patient calmly eating Froot Loops after scooping out a man’s eyeball tickles me. I suddenly question my mental acuity.
“Now that’s a beautiful sound,” he states brightly.
“You…you took his eye,” I sputter, not entirely sure I’ve said the words aloud.
“How did you sleep?” The mundane normalcy of his question throws me.
“Sleep?” I respond. I’ve just watched a scene play out that would be more fitting in a horror movie, and yet all he can seem to think about is how I slept. As Simon’s cries die out, the hustle and bustle of the breakfast room starts up again. I notice everyone gives our table a wide berth—they may be crazy, but the self-preservation to not cross the handsome psychopath is still a factor they don’t want to test.
“You look a little tired there, Red.”
I clench my thighs together under the table, crossing my legs to try and alleviate the throb at my centre as snippets of my dreams from last night creep to the forefront of my brain.
“Sleep sweetheart. Next time you will feel everything I do to this perfect little body.”Even as my brain gave in, it still retained everything he’d whispered into my ear.
Ezra clears his throat, pushing aside his bowl and resting his elbows on the table, his lips twitching, barely concealing his teasing intent as the debauched thoughts I’m having about himsneaking into my room in the early hours to have his way with me hit me again.
“I slept fine,” is my response, and he chuckles, leaning back in his chair as I fuss nervously with the plait he braided slung forward over my shoulder. Anything to keep my shaking hands busy.“What you did…” I begin a little louder than intended as my gaze drifts to the hallway where I see an orderly talking with an enraged Lenora.
