Less than Perfect

25. Trapped {part one}

Chapter Twenty-Five

Trapped

Part One

Disgust pulsed through Johnny's veins, boiling uncontrollable anger and hatred. He lashed out at Rachel, slapping her with enough force to drive the chair to the ground. "What the hell was that, Rachel?" he growled, teeth clenched. "Did I not make myself clear before? I told you not to cross me!"

Heartbeat pulsing in his ears, he slammed his foot into the fallen chair, drove it into the ruff, splintered wooden flooring. He cursed, grumbling under his breath, sickened with the girl's crying. He hated the crying; it was only acceptable when it came from his Princess.

"Be quiet!" His voice cracked. He was losing control, much too quickly. Despite the fact that he knew Skye would save her friend no matter what, and he'd have her in his possession soon, he was upset. Rachel had betrayed him, lied to him. She deserved to be punished. Bending down in front of her, he started to undo her bonds, roughly.

Her cries turned into whimpers, her body coiling away from his wrath—and his touch. "W-What are you doing, J-Johnny?" she croaked, drawing away from him. "I-I'm sorry. I-I just want her to be safe."

He scoffed. "You should have listened to me then." His fingers brushed her soft, dirt covered skin as he took off the second restraint. He held her other hand firmly in his, keeping her close. He could feel her fear, seeping into him. And when he looked into her eyes for a brief moment, before going back to his work, he saw just that, mixed with the pain he could only imagine she was feeling.

"Don't fight me." He gripped both her wrists in one of his hands, while the other tugged on her hair, inflicting another whimper in response. He put his lips by her ears, whispering, "You make one wrong move, and I'll make you wish you were dead. More than I already am going to."

From the way she flinched at his words he could tell he'd gotten the point across. If she disobeyed him again, he'd be sure to make her never forget it. "Now come." He dragged her to her feet, her legs shaking and breath catching as he did so. Sobs trembled from her lips as he brought her down into the basement, yanking on her wrists hard enough to leave horrendous bruises in the wake.

He dragged her into the bedroom, tossed her onto the bed, and tried to gain back his composure. He needed it for what he was about to do.

She was in his game now.

And if she didn't follow the rules . . . game over.

"Lie down," he ordered her. She snapped her head up to him, eyes wide, brows narrowed in miserable confusion. "Lie down on your stomach and keep your hands where I can see them. Now."

Slowly, she made her way onto her stomach, hands shaking on the mattress beside her. Johnny smiled, happy with her cooperation. His heartbeat sped when he picked up some rope from the floor, carried it over to the head of the bed, and—with his free hand—tugged her wrists towards the bedframe. He tied her wrists to it, tightly, before pulling her face in his hands, brushing a tear off her cheek, and saying, "I hate to hurt such a pretty face, but you didn't listen. You put yourself here, Rachel, just remember that."

"Please, don't do this," she whispered, trembling. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to protect my friend. Please don't do anything more."

"I'm sorry," he said, as genuinely as he could. "I really wish I didn't have to do this. But you need to be punished for crossing me. I told you there'd be awful consequences."