Filthy Secret

My thoughts drift back to the leather tool case being rolled out in the other room and fear clenches my belly. I hadn’t seen its contents but with Travis’s threat I can only imagine what it holds. With shaky fingers I grip the hem of my sweatshirt and lift it a couple of inches before stopping and meeting his cold dark eyes. “Can’t you at least turn around?”Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

“No. I want… make that, I need, to see the soap on every inch of your body, so you have two options…” His stride is long, and he closes the distance between us quickly. “Either you do it or I will.” I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid him touching me any more than he already has. If that means showering in front of him, so be it.

Shaking my head frantically, while keeping my eye on him, I back up against the tiled wall. I know there’s no chance I’ll get past him, maybe if I just do this one thing, they’ll leave me be. I can’t think only of myself either. What if there’s a chance this got on someone else and they got sick and died because of me? The guilt would eat me alive. It’s in that moment I know what I need to do. Swallowing back the fear in my throat, I lift my shirt over my head then let it drop to the floor. Travis’s eyes roam over my semi-naked state before he lifts a finger instructing me to continue.

I drop my pants next then reach behind my back and unclasp my bra. With no intentions of seeing his perverted stare on me, I squeeze my eyes shut before I slide the straps over my arms and allow it to fall to the ground. When I bend to slip my panties off, his groan rumbles through the air, startling me. My eyes spring open and meet his appreciative glare, not missing the fact he’s also removed his shirt.

The fear I felt earlier comes flooding back and the urge to flee teases my feet like hot coals. Barring some miracle, there’s no way I’ll get past him, so instead I press my body against the cold tile as flat as humanly possible. He chuckles. “As much as my dick is aching for that pussy of yours, I’m not taking the chance your fucked-up fiance didn’t contaminate you with that shit from outside,” he says, dropping his pants, and turning on the shower while gesturing for me to do the same.

I know I should just step under the spray and wash as quickly as humanly possible, hopeful that once I’m done, they’ll leave me be, but the vision before me holds my attention.

Heavy muscles ripple below his flesh and his manhood juts out proudly from his body, bobbing slightly as he kicks his pants away from a puddle of water rising around his feet. I can’t help but stare. Elijah and I had explored one another’s bodies, but it was always in the dark and it never went further than that. My inexperience keeps my eyes pinned on the specimen of a man, and after a beat, I’m wondering how that much girth would ever fit into any woman.

“If you don’t stop eye-fucking me like that, I’m going to shove you against that wall and slide my dick so far inside you, you’ll be able to taste it when I come,” he states matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest and pinning a hard stare on me.

I swiftly lower my eyes to the tiled floor and my heart pounds against my rib cage. Not only does his tone startle me from my perusal of his physique, but so does the threat of his words. Every single nerve in my body tells me turning my back on him is a bad idea. The not knowing if he’ll follow through on his threat, even if I oblige, is unsettling but the odds of staying pure seem more realistic if I do.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath then quickly bend down and grab the jug of soap and brush. Once I’ve created a nice lather, I scrub every spot of my body as hard and quickly as I can. Making sure to spend a little extra time on the parts that might have come in contact with Elijah before rinsing off and shutting off the water. I’ve no idea if they have towels or anything for drying, so I chance a glance over my shoulder where I find Travis mostly dried, with a towel around his waist and one in his hand.

“Come here,” he commands.

Shivering, I shake my head. “Just toss it to me. I can manage myself.”

He eyes the wet floor, then starting at my toes slowly drags his gaze upward, stalling briefly on my hand covering the space between my thighs, before continuing his perusal until he meets my timid stare. Something flickers within his, and fear clenches my stomach. Now that we’re both clean, I wonder if his intentions have changed. Extending the edge of the towel out, he makes it look like an invitation into his arms, but it’s one I don’t plan on walking into.

I turn, intent on gathering my clothes and putting them on wet, but within seconds I’m wrapped up in the towel and swept off my feet. The quick movement forces a squeal from my body but I don’t waste any energy trying to fight back because, by the time I’ve realized what has happened, he’s already lowered me roughly to a wooden bench. Leaving me wrapped in the towel before walking over to two lockers on the end. When he turns his back on me to unlatch the lock on one of them my eyes flit to the door out of this room and away from him. If I time it just right and stay close to the left, I may be able to avoid his reach.

He turns his back to retrieve whatever contents are inside and I drop my towel and take off running.

“Son of a bitch. Get back here!” he shouts, his thunderous tone echoing throughout the space and following me through the door. It distracts me into thinking he’s that close behind and I turn my head only for a split second, but that split second is too long and I run into a hard chest once out in the hall.

Strong hands grip my shoulders, and I lift my eyes to find those of the other soldier bearing down on me. “Going somewhere?” he asks. My heart drops into my stomach and tears sting my eyes when I realize it’s him. It’s gut wrenching to know my escape has been thwarted.

He makes no attempt to peruse my body with his gaze, instead he turns me around and forces me back inside the locker room. The anger radiates off him in waves as he calls out, “Travis. Did you lose something?”

The larger of the two men comes into view, tucking a gun in the waistband of his camo pants at his back. “No, sir. She wouldn’t have been that hard to find,” he retorts, before meeting my eyes with a stare so hard I feel it could turn me to stone.

“Your confidence is sometimes questionable,” the man mutters before shoving me forward. “Now get her dressed and be more careful next time.”

Travis grunts as I’m shoved into his bare chest and his grip, a lot tighter than necessary, holds me in place. “Yes, sir.”

In this moment, I’m seeing Travis as the lesser of two evils. This noname soldier seems indifferent to my presence, almost as if I’m a routine to him and not someone he’s all that interested in. Dare I say, easily disposable. That makes him a lot more dangerous than Travis, who may just lower his guard if I give in a little. Maybe.

Leaning down until his mouth is near my ear, he breathes out, “If you don’t behave, I will hobble and gag you, do you understand?” Scratch my earlier thought. This man may be just as bad, maybe worse. I nod, knowing soon enough I’ll get my chance.

We step back in the medical room and Travis sets me back on the table, this time his hands settle on my upper arms, and he doesn’t let go. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror’s reflection and can’t believe my eyes. The woman looking back is not me. With pale skin and matted raven hair, it’s as though I’m not even human anymore.

Travis’s suggestive stare meets my eyes when his reflection comes into view. I scoff at the thoughts I imagine are rolling through his head, and instead drag my eyes from the mirror to the countertop, and that’s when my whole world stops turning. There, tucked neatly in their own leather slots, are a variety of items designed to induce various levels of pain: Needles, a surgical knife, a lighter, and a branding iron. The steel molded into the letters RD.

What the fuck do they need a branding iron for?

This is no rescue mission, and that cleansing shit seems to have nothing to do with what they might have planned. Panic settles in and my heart pounds against my rib cage. The tears from earlier return, as I wriggle desperately in the soldier’s big arms, but his grip doesn’t falter.

“Miss Sutter, you’ve been selected as a candidate for a secret reproductive division of the government,” the other soldier says, plucking one of the needles from its position in the case. “We’ll need some of your blood to determine if you are a viable candidate.”