Lisa
The sharp edge of the mandolin lays against my inner forearm between the ropes that bind me to the chair. My palms face upward in curled fists, my short nails digging into my flesh as I brace against the pain I've already endured and that which is yet to come. Ragged breaths saw from my chest and I grit my teeth. I know what's about to happen. Blood already pours from two other wounds, and he's determined to get the perfect slice this time.
The blade catches in my skin and peels it from the flesh beneath.
I swallow a scream as David pushes down to resist my futile struggle and glides the mandolin toward my elbow until a thin strip of my skin is cut away. He tosses the bloodied tool onto the prep counter where it skids to a halt next to his gun.
Then he tears the flap of skin free from my arm with a merciless tug as the sound of my distressed cry fills the room.
"You know, I developed a taste for this at Jin's," David says as he leans close until he takes up all the space in my vision. He grips my hair with one hand and wrenches my head back to smile down at me. His once vacant eyes are not fucking vacant anymore. They are ravenous. And they're pinned on me. "Did you develop a taste too?"
Blood drips across his fingers from the sliced skin pinched between them. I thrash in my chair but can't escape his hold.
"Just a little nibble," he says.
I press my lips tight. A choked growl of protest vibrates in my throat as he smears my bloody skin across my lips.
"No?"
His counterfeit pout turns into a reptilian grin.
David's tongue slides out between his teeth and he lays the skin across it like a veil, holding it out for me to see. He closes his lips around it, lets it wiggle against his triumphant smile.
Then he sucks it into his mouth.
Eyes closed, his jaws work slowly, like he savors every bite as he rolls it between his teeth.
His audible swallow turns my stomach.
"Such a delicacy. So very rare." He turns away to the table and drags a bottle of Pont Neuf across the stainless steel counter. "You know what else is rare?"
My answer is only ragged breaths.
"A woman like Roseanne," David says.
I'm going to be fucking sick.
I have never, never felt like this. Like there's an empty pit in my stomach. Like I'm falling into it from the inside out. So helpless. So fucking desperate. That look in her eyes when I told her I didn't love her, it haunts every breath I take. Those goddamn tears rip me apart.
"Not many people would do what she did for me," David says as he spins the corkscrew into the bottle. It squeaks with every metronomic turn of his hand. "But then, that's her way, isn't it. Just like she protected that friend of hers, the Lee girl. So strange how that teacher just suddenly disappeared from their boarding school, don't you think? People do have a funny way of conveniently disappearing around."
"Leave her alone," I grit out.
"Though when I dug and dug and dug for answers, it seemed as though there were already rumors swirling about the things he did to the girls there. Terrible things. Depraved things. Deviant things. But at least he did one good thing-he made the Orb Weaver. A beautiful monster."
