Page 31 of Breaking Rosalind
A squeaky wheel brings my attention back to the other side of the room. Cesare pushes a trolley carrying a small first aid box, the revolver, a bullet, a ring gag, and a scalpel.
“Shall we begin?” he asks, his eyes dancing.
Shivers skitter across every inch of skin, but I hold my body still. While he’s kneeling between my legs, I can free my hand, maybe grab the blade and stab him in the throat.
Cesare picks up the scalpel. “First, I need to mark you as mine.”
“You do that with all your victims?” I mutter.
“Only the ones I want to keep alive.”
That should make me shudder, but it gives me hope. Cesare steps between my spread legs and grabs one of my breasts.
“You have the most fantastic tits.” He gives it a hard squeeze, and I shiver.
With surgical precision, he brings the blade to the skin and presses. Sharp pain slices through my nerves, and my breath catches. I hold still as he carves the letter C, and my brain releases a rush of endorphins that heats my cheeks and lights up every pleasure center.
His gaze rises to meet mine. “No screaming?”
“I’ve had worse.”
The manic smile falters, and he dabs at the blood with a cotton swab.
While he carves a smaller M inside the C, I work on trying to free my right hand.
“You like pain,” he says, his voice breathy as he cleans up more blood.
“What makes you think that?” I ask.
“Dilated pupils, accelerated breathing, increased heart rate, erect nipples.” He brushes a thumb over my peak, making me shiver. “But the most obvious sign that you’re enjoying this is your swollen clit and the mess you’re making of my leather.”
“Complaining?” I ask.
He draws back, his gaze fixed on my pussy. “Not at all. It just means I don’t need to lubricate the gun.”
My stomach plummets. I might enjoy a bit of pain, but nothing as extreme as a bullet ripping through my internal organs. “Cesare, let’s make a deal. I’ll let you do anything?—”
“No!” He stabs the scalpel into the side of my thigh, his eyes wild.
I flinch at the pain, my jaw clicking shut.
Cesare yanks out the scalpel, releasing a burst of agony, places it back on the trolley, and picks up the ring gag.
“Don’t think you can provoke me into killing you quickly.” He wedges the ring between my lips. “You’re my pet, now. I want you to last.”
I clench my teeth, not wanting to submit, but he grabs my cheeks with both hands and squeezes hard.
“Open, or I’ll break your teeth and you won’t be so pretty,” he snarls.
My hands twist within the restraints, trying to free the widest part around the knuckles. I can’t yet break out, but I wrestle against Cesare’s hold anyway, trying to buy more time.
His other hand closes in around my throat and he squeezes. I open my jaws, letting him shove the ring between my teeth, and he fastens the straps around my head.
“You can scream and cry all you want, but first, you’re going to answer some questions.” He flashes me a manic grin.
My pulse races. Sweat breaks out across my hairline and trickles down my brow. This is insane. How am I supposed to answer his questions around a gag?
Every fiber of my being screams at me to gouge his eyes, and I make one last desperate tug at my arm.