Ray Ch. 07: Mercy

He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back towards his. "What will it take to get Temptress to beg?"

She pressed her lips together, gritting her teeth. She wouldn't waste the few breaths he was allowing her on words that wouldn't stop him.

He threw down the flogger, moving back to the wall. She trembled when his hand wrapped around a bamboo cane, shivering as he smacked it down in his palm as he walked back towards her.

"Beg, Temptress."

She cried out when the cane cut into the skin on her thigh. She was certain it had gone straight through her leg and wondered how long it would take her to bleed out from the sudden amputation. The bamboo whipped down again, landing on her lower back. Her knees buckled, hanging her until she could find her feet again.

"Straighten up, Temptress," his voice hissed into her ear, slithering through her nerves as he dragged out the sound.

The cane cut through the air, splintering as it cracked over her spine. Pain burned through her body, her muscles weakening before the numbness hit. It was a brief reprieve before the fire ignited, scorching down her legs.

"I didn't think there was a way to make your skin more beautiful, Temptress," he said, tossing the broken cane to the ground, "but I'm man enough to admit when I'm wrong." He moved behind her, his hand slapping down against her wounded skin.

The salt from her tears ignited the cuts on her cheek, but not enough to cover the feel of his hand moving between her legs. His body pressed into hers as his fingers shoved inside her. Her hand tore away from her neck, grasping at his, trying to shove it away. Her nails dug into his skin, the last of her energy not enough to force his fingers out of her body.

There was only one escape, one he was offering her if she chose to take it. She had promised her Ray she would never stop breathing for him, but it was a promise she couldn't keep. She prayed for his forgiveness as she let her hands fall to her sides. Her knees went slack beneath her, the chain cutting off the last breath of air from her lungs.

***

He shoved his gun into the waist of his pants and pulled his t-shirt over it before approaching the brick wall surrounding Professor Holland's property. He jumped up, grasping the ledge then hoisting himself over. The thick brush cut through the material of his shirt, scratching at his skin as he shoved his way through it. He followed the rough landscaping as it curved around the circle driveway, trying to remain as hidden as possible before darting over the pavement to the red door.

His hand went straight to the handle, not surprised to find it locked. She would never have left it open. Ben wouldn't have broken through a front door or window with the daylight shining on his face. If the rapist was inside, he found another way in.

He jogged back down the steps, staying low as he headed to the back of the house. His boot crunched over the broken glass before he saw the open window. He peered through the hole, just big enough for an arm to reach through and pop the latch. The rock was still where it had landed on the floor.

The red began to bleed into his vision, the anger rising in his chest. He climbed through the window, gingerly stepping over the shattered glass covering the floor. The empty kitchen surrounded him, reminding him he didn't know where to go. Every wall was unfamiliar, every turn leading him into the unknown.

A loud thud sounded above his head, seeping through the ceiling, stopping his heart.

***

Her body crashed to the floor, the cool air burning through her chest as her head was jerked back by her hair.

"Bad Temptress," his words ripped through the darkness.

She jumped when his hand came down on her abused skin. Her sight began returning to her, his face inches from her own. She pulled her knees underneath herself, attempting to push herself to her feet.

"No!" His hand shoved down on her head, bringing her mouth crashing into the floor.

She froze on her hands and knees. Metallic blood covered her palate, dripping down her chin to the floor. She watched the red spots settle on the old wood, calm and perfect circles.

His head jerked to the side, his body stiffening as he turned towards the open doors. "Don't even breathe," he threatened, the words barely audible as he hissed them into her ear. He shoved her head down, her face smearing the perfect red circles over the floor as he pulled a gun from the waist of his jeans.

Her eyes looked up when she heard it, her breath stopping as she strained to hear. A creak from down below, maybe in the foyer, maybe farther away. Another spidered towards them, the sound like thunder in her heart. The footsteps moved slowly, almost silently, each one closer to where he held her.

He moved away, crouching as he crept towards the door. He paused, glancing back towards her, pointing the gun at her and mouthing words she didn't need to hear to understand. Then his steps continued, the gun raised in front of his face.

Her eyes ran over the dark grey metal, watching as he lifted it towards the door. The footsteps grew closer, each one higher, making their way up the stairs. Her hand moved to her neck, grasping the key hanging from it.

The creaks stopped, the heavy thud of her heart all that broke the silence. There was only one person who would be coming for her. He would run into the fire for her without a second breath. It would burn his skin from his bones but still he would come for her. The key pressed into her palm, reminding her she couldn't let him. She was his domina, and every time he knelt before her it was with the sacred promise she would always keep him free from harm. She sucked in a silent breath. Even if it was her last, it would be for him.

"Gun!" she yelled, shattering the still air.

Ben spun back, racing towards her. She scrambled to her feet, making it two unsteady steps before he dragged her back to the ground. Her eyes squeezed shut when the metal flashed in front of her face, the gun slamming into her skull.

***

His blood pulsed through him, the red tunneling his vision. He raced up the last three steps, pressing his body against the wall of the hallway. He wanted to keep running. Straight through the double doors her scream had come from. Straight into the monster who brought the words from her lips. But he wouldn't be blind again. He grabbed his gun, listening. Footsteps moved away from him, heading farther into the room, then a heavy lid slammed shut.

He crept down the hallway, closing the gap between himself and the door. When he reached the doorframe he stopped, smashing his body into the wall. He held his breath, waiting for any shift in the air to give away movement from inside the room.

A blur of grey jumped out at him. He threw his hands up, bringing his gun slamming into Ben's skull. Ben spun back, grasping at his bleeding nose. He swung out again, smashing his fist into the side of Ben's head. Ben staggered backwards, his shaking hands firing a round blindly down the hallway.

The rage surged through him, escaping and exploding as he lunged forward. He shoved his gun back into his waistband, no longer in need of an easy victory. He grabbed at Ben's body, grasping at whatever his hands could wrap around, dragging him to the ground.

Ben rolled underneath him, his gun firing as his hands clawed for freedom. The bullet flew wildly, landing in the heavy wood of a sensory deprivation coffin.

Muffled screams cut into his heart, calling for him. She was alive. It was all he knew, and all he needed to know. The red haze began to fade as her hands and feet slammed into solid wood, the sound shredding his soul. The lid to the coffin remained sealed, the fastened latch holding it in place as she fought from within it.

Ben's body twisted, trying to find an escape. The gun flailed in the air, wielded by shaking hands, another round firing into a wooden pillory.

He wanted to feel bones breaking beneath his hands. He wanted to watch tears falling from blue eyes. His fingers wrapped into Ben's short hair, pulling his head up before slamming it back into the wood floor.

The gun dropped to the ground as Ben's hands flew to his face.

"Fight me like the man you pretend to be." He pulled Ben's head up again then slammed it back down. He had never felt a surge more satisfying than the one Ben's struggling limbs were sending through his body.

Ben jerked his head to the side, ripping his hair free as he rolled onto his back. "I've already taken what's yours, Swine. I am the alpha. The alias."

He wrapped his hands around Ben's throat, watching the blue eyes protrude as he squeezed. Ben's hands shoved into his face, the pathetic desperation doing nothing but fueling his fury.

A familiar scent flooded his nostrils, lingering from the fingers trying to peel the skin from his bones. He grabbed Ben's hand, inhaling what he refused to believe. But even the red haze couldn't cover the scent of his goddess. Rage ripped through him, bleeding into his sight and burning through his chest. He squeezed with all his strength, listening to the sound of the bones snapping beneath his palm.

Ben's screams shattered the air as sweat poured down his reddened face. His body writhed and twisted, causing more damage as it pulled.

He yanked at Ben's shattered limb, trying to rip it free from his arm. He doubted he could, but for her, he would try. Tears blurred his vision as the sound of her screams cut through the red. Her hands and feet crashed inside the coffin, fighting for freedom.

He forced himself to release his hold on Ben's hand, accepting his failure as he rose to his feet. Ben pulled the twisted limb to his chest, curling his body around it as he rolled onto his knees.

He grabbed Ben's gun from where it had landed, shoving it into the waist of his pants behind his back. It was time to free his goddess. It was time to offer her the greatest gift he could ever give her. Her tormentor at her feet, broken and bleeding, his fate in her hands.

He took a deep breath as he approached the coffin, trying to summon his strength before he opened the lid. His heart throbbed with her cries, jumping with every hollow thud vibrating through the wood. She was alive. He didn't care how many pieces she was in. He didn't care how many years it would take to put her back together, or how the scars would look once the wounds had healed. His hands trembled as he pulled open the latch, his teeth digging into his lip as he pushed open the lid.

She gasped, still screaming as she tried to climb out. Her lost eyes searched frantically, red and tear stained.

He grabbed her hands as they weakly beat against his body. "Breathe, Mistress," he whispered, staring at the chain swaying over her naked back.

Her arms reached up, wrapping around his neck when recognition hit. Her tears soaked into his shirt, his own falling from his face onto her skin as he pulled the chain free from her neck. A scream ripped from her lips, her nails digging into his shoulders when his arm moved under her thighs to lift her.

He carried her to the stretching rack, the only place he could see to set her down. Her body arched up when it hit the wood, her cries tearing through him as she rolled onto her stomach. The marks of a coward covered her once perfect skin, welts and blood following along the red stripes. He pressed his lips to them, running his tongue over them then blowing lightly along the moist trail. His tears dripped down her thighs, his hands frantically trying to wipe them away before they burned her wounded skin.

He tensed at the sound of footsteps, tearing his mouth away from her body as he watched Ben disappear out the door. He charged after him, racing down the stairs and colliding with him in the foyer. Ben's fist swung out as they hit the ground, a final attempt to survive.

He grabbed Ben's destroyed hand, listening to him scream as he began dragging him across the floor. The sound was intoxicating, like a beautiful song he had created for his goddess. When he looked up she stared down to him, watching from the top of the stairs as Ben's body thumped over each step.

His eyes ran over her marked skin, his failures screaming to him in stripes of red and purple. Tears blurred his vision, his hand squeezing down harder as he dragged Ben to her feet. "Let me kill him for you, Mistress."

Her hazel eyes met his, green against her bruised skin. She wiped the tears from her face, straightening her back as she raised her chin. "Let him live, Officer Ray."

The words took the breath from his lungs. He fell to his knees at her feet, reminded of why they were the feet he had chosen to kneel at for all eternity. The feet of his merciful goddess.

**************

**************

"Breathe," Ray mouthed to her.

She inhaled as she always did now when the word came from his lips. When she awoke in the middle of the night, screaming and choking.

"Breathe, Mistress," he would whisper, wrapping his arms around her.

Her hands would claw at her neck, grasping at the key hanging from it as the word "shower" choked from her lips.

He would carry her into the bathroom, hold her cradled in his arms under the burning water. Her face would nuzzle into his neck, her fingers clinging to his skin until her teeth stopped chattering and her body stopped trembling. There they would stay until she could breathe with ease, inhaling the steam surrounding her.

"Dr. Morris, can you please tell us about the events that took place on November 8th between 1:00pm and 3:00pm?"

She brushed the blonde hair back behind her shoulder, the strands still slightly darker than her natural hue. Her wounds had healed, at least the ones visible to the outside world. Ben's defense attorney would never let her take the stand with blackened skin. But now there she sat, staring at the balding man in the grey suit straightening his tie. "I was driving and a car hit me, running me off the road. I swerved back into my lane and the car hit me again. It tried to run me off the road several times."

"What road were you driving down?"

Her eyes refused to move to the chair to the right of the man in the grey suit. Every once in awhile she could hear the shifting chains, a noise she was certain was being purposefully created in an attempt to pale her skin. "I was heading south down Highway 65."

"Did you see the car that hit you?"

"Yes."

The attorney's fingers tapped against the podium he stood behind, his eyes on the papers in front of him. "Can you please clarify when, exactly, you first saw the car?"

"The car hit me, running me off the road," she repeated, remembering how it felt to have the steering wheel jerk from her hands. "I swerved back into my lane and it hit me again. Then it pulled up next to me and that's when I saw it."

"You say you swerved back onto the road, is that correct?"

"Yes."

His head tilted, his eyes narrowing. "And Highway 65 is a two-lane highway, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you cross over the center line when you swerved back into your lane?"

She paused, trying to think of the way the road looked in front of her. "I'm not sure."

"Is it possible you did?"

"Yes."

He nodded, running his hand down the front of his white shirt. "What happened when the car pulled up next to you?"

"The driver yelled at me."

"What did the driver say?"

The words came flooding back to her, along with the image of his face. "Stay in your lane. Then he called me Temptress."

He smiled as he ran his hand through his thinning grey hair. "And you're not positive if you crossed over the center line, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't see the car until after the second impact, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you see the driver?"

The chains shifted, begging for her attention. She could have allowed Ray to kill him. She would have smiled as together they tortured him, learning how long he could survive in various states of pain. "Yes."

"Can you give me a physical description of the driver?"

"Short, brown hair. Blue eyes. Male."

"Did the driver have any distinguishing features?"

She didn't have to allow him the honor of living another day, but killing him wouldn't have stopped the nightmares from coming. It wouldn't have erased her wounds, or his memory from her mind. It wouldn't dissolve the feel of his hands on her body, the sensation never to return. "No."

"Your Honor," he started, grabbing a large cardboard poster from behind him, "I would like to present what has been marked as Exhibit 5 for identification."

She stared at the back of the poster, curious what it could be.

"Your Honor, may I approach the witness?" he asked, waiting for the judge's nod before walking to where she sat. "Dr. Morris, do you know the individual in this photo?"

She glanced at the picture, the face staring back at her unfamiliar. "No."

"Can you please give me a physical description of the individual in the photo?"

"Short, brown hair, blue eyes, male."

"Does the individual in the photo have any distinguishing features?"

"No."

"Your Honor," he said, turning his attention to the dark haired man seated on the bench, "I would like to offer Exhibit 5, the driver's license photo of the owner of the vehicle which was involved in the accident occurring on November 8th, into evidence."

"Counsel," the judge began, turning his attention to the woman seated at the prosecutor's table, "do you have any objections to this piece of evidence being admitted?"

"Yes. Relevance," the prosecutor replied, glancing up over the rim of her glasses. "The car was reported stolen."

"The car wasn't reported as stolen until after the accident when it was recovered by Officer Bennett," the defense attorney justified, keeping his eyes on the bench.

The judge nodded, leaning back in his chair. "I'll allow it."

He set the poster aside, leaving it visible to the jury before continuing his questioning. "Dr. Morris, what did the car that hit you look like?"

She stared at the picture, trying to decide how much it looked like Ben. The farther away it was, the more blurred the differences became. "It was white."

"Do you know what make or model it was?"

She shook her head, unable to remember any prominent logos. "No."

He paused, his hands grasping the edges of the podium. "Did it have two doors or four?"

Her mind spun as the validity of her eye witness account disintegrated. "I don't know."

"Was it an older or newer model car?"

"I think it was an older car."

"Why do you think it was an older car?"

Her thumb began to press down on her fingers, stopping when she realized how loud the sound was in the quiet courtroom. "The paint looked old."

The attorney's head bobbed, his fingers briefly pressing into his lips to cover his smile. "Dr. Morris, I'd like to move on to November 13th. Can you please tell us what occurred between the hours of 9:00pm and 1:00am?"

She clasped her hands together, focusing on the attorney's striped tie. "Mr. Whitmore came to my house and attempted to break in."

"How did he attempt to break in?"

"He pounded on the door, rang the doorbell repeatedly, then pounded on several windows around my house." The sound still tore through her, sending her running every time someone knocked on their front door. She would hide down the hallway, locked inside their bedroom, waiting for Ray to come get her.

"Was the door he pounded on your front door?"

"Yes."

"And he rang your doorbell?"

"Repeatedly." She took a deep breath, suddenly aware of the throbbing in her back.

"Dr. Morris, do you know if it's against the law to knock on someone's front door or ring their doorbell?"

"Objection," the prosecutor cut in. "Dr. Morris isn't an expert on the law."