Page 30 of Breaking Rosalind
ROSALIND
It’s time to step up from my training with the Moirai Group. A full-fledged psychopath like Cesare won’t just stop at waterboarding, electric shocks, sleep deprivation, starvation, or even sensory deprivation. He’s planning on playing out every sick torture fantasy imaginable.
There’s no telling what kind of damage a gun will have if he fires it into my uterus, or how many organs it will tear through before it reaches my heart. I can’t die and leave Miranda all alone.
What if Gunther decides to recruit her into the Moirai? She couldn’t handle the rigorous training. What if she falls prey to a different breed of predator like her father?
“What do you want to know?” I rasp.
Cesare holds out a palm. “We’ll get to the questioning later.”
“I’m authorized to release?—”
Slap!
My head jerks to the side with the force of his blow.
“Answer my other question first.” He waves the pistol.
“What? Have I heard of pussy roulette?”
He nods, his eyes shining with sick pleasure.
“No,” I reply. “But I think the name of the game speaks for itself.”
Cesare grins, his gaze dropping to my exposed pussy, and my fight or flight urges me into action. I twist my arms, trying to loosen the leather restraints, but they’re still too tight.
“Here are the rules,” he says. “I will spin the cylinder of this revolver and load one of its chambers with a bullet. Then I will stick its barrel deep into your cunt. Each time you fail to answer a question to my satisfaction, I will pull the trigger. Got it?”
“Or you could just ask me and I’ll?—”
Slap!
My nostrils flare. This sadistic bastard doesn’t give a shit about gathering information. I need to switch tactics.
“Got it?” he says with more bite.
“Got it,” I say through clenched teeth. “May I say something before we begin?”
“Speak.”
“At least sterilize the fucking gun.”
He chuckles and taps my cheek with its barrel. “Oh, my sweet Rosalind. What makes you think you’ll live long enough to succumb to an infection?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. It was worth a try.
“But if you insist.”
My eyes snap open, and I watch Cesare walk to the other side of the playroom, where he sets the gun down on the counter and reaches for a transparent box.
He turns to flash me a grin. “While I’m here, I may as well clean the bullet.”
Whistling a tune I don’t recognize, he snaps on a pair of gloves and extracts a pack of sterile wipes. It takes everything I have to force my gaze away from the transfixing spectacle.
I focus all my attention on freeing my right hand and tuck my thumb into the gap between my little and ring fingers. Once my palm is compressed, I jerk the arm downward.
The leather strap strains and creaks, freeing me about an inch. I grit my teeth and try again with a harder tug. My skin scrapes against the rough material, but I manage to wiggle out my hand up to the first knuckles.