Sold To The Devil I Ruined

The basement smelled of rust and damp earth. A single bulb swung from the ceiling, casting long, shifting shadows.

Silas was tied to a wooden chair. His face was a mess of blood. His right hand was taped flat against a heavy wooden table.

Elenora was shoved into the room. She stumbled.

Fitzgerald stood behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. It felt like an embrace. It felt like a trap.

"Betrayal is expensive, Elenora," he murmured against her hair.

He reached out and picked up a heavy industrial hammer from the table. He pressed the handle into her hand.

"No," she whimpered, trying to drop it.

Fitzgerald's hand closed over hers, locking her fingers around the wood.

"You do it," he said. "Or I put a bullet in his brain."

He pulled a gun from his waistband with his free hand. He leveled it at Silas's forehead. He pulled back the hammer of the gun. Click.

Silas sobbed. "Miss... please... my hand... just the hand..."

Elenora couldn't breathe. The room was spinning.

"Choose," Fitzgerald whispered. "A broken hand? Or a dead boy?"

"I can't!" she screamed.

Fitzgerald pressed the barrel of the gun to Silas's skin. "Three... two..."

"I'll do it!"

Elenora squeezed her eyes shut. She raised the hammer. Fitzgerald's hand guided hers, adding his strength to the swing.

She brought it down.

The sound was wet and crunchy. Metal hitting bone.

Silas screamed. It was a high, thin sound that broke into a gargle as he passed out.

Elenora dropped the hammer. She turned to the side and vomited onto the concrete floor.

Fitzgerald didn't even look at the boy. He stared at Elenora. She was broken. She was guilty now. She was his.

He holstered the gun. He scooped her up into his arms. She was limp, shaking uncontrollably.

"See?" he whispered as he carried her up the stairs. "You're a monster too."

He didn't take her to the guest room. He kicked open the double doors of the Master Suite.

He threw her onto the massive bed. The black silk sheets were cool.

Elenora stared at the ceiling. There was a splatter of Silas's blood on the hem of her dress.

Fitzgerald loosened his tie. He pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. His eyes were burning with a mix of adrenaline and lust.

"Now," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's discuss your escape attempt."

The sound of the dress tearing was loud in the quiet room.

Fitzgerald ripped the silk from the hem to the neckline. The fabric gave way easily.

Elenora lay there. She didn't fight. She was a corpse. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing.

This infuriated him. He wanted her to scream. He wanted her to fight. He wanted her to be there.

"Look at me!" he roared.

He grabbed her waist, his fingers digging into her skin.

Elenora's eyes slowly tracked to his face. Her lips curled into a smile that was full of blood and broken glass.

"You're pathetic," she whispered.

Fitzgerald froze.

"You have to force women," she said. "Does your nurse know? Does Britni know you're a rapist?"

Fitzgerald's hand flew out. He slapped her.

Her head snapped to the side. Her lip split.

He snarled, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

A soft, insistent knock preceded the door swinging inward. Fitzgerald didn't have time to respond before Britni stepped inside.

"Fitz!"

Britni stood in the doorway. She was wearing a white nightgown. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. She looked like an angel interrupting a sacrifice.

Fitzgerald stopped. His hands hovered over Elenora. He looked at Britni, and the rage in his eyes shattered into panic.

He grabbed the duvet and yanked it up, covering Elenora's nakedness. He shielded her body from Britni's eyes.

"Get out, Britni," he said. His voice was hoarse.

"No!" Britni rushed into the room. She stood between the bed and Fitzgerald. "This isn't you! You're not a criminal!"

She put her hands on his chest.

Fitzgerald looked down at her small hands. The shame washed over him. Cold water on a fire.

"Take her," he said, turning his back. "Get her out of my sight."

Britni turned to the bed. She helped Elenora sit up. Her face was a mask of concern.

"Come on," she cooed. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She wrapped the sheet around Elenora and helped her stand. As they walked to the door, Britni leaned in. Her hand gripped Elenora's arm. Her nails were sharp. They pinched the tender skin under the bicep, hard enough to draw blood.

Elenora winced.

"I guess you're not as pretty as you thought," Britni whispered. "He didn't even finish."

Elenora tried to pull away. Britni held tight.

"Get out!" Fitzgerald yelled at the wall.

Britni dragged Elenora into the hallway. The moment the door closed, the concern vanished from Britni's face. She smiled. It was a smile of pure malice.