The Prison (Book 1)

Foot Fetish

Foot Fetish

Quietly, I watched him clean the wound in my foot. I sat on a couch while he knelt on the ground, swabbing a piece of cotton dipped in alcohol at the fairly-deep wound.

He'd practically wrestled me onto the couch, forcing me to sit in one place and accept his treatment. Every part of me wanted to push him away and smack him with a lamp, but my wound had started bleeding profusely, dirtying the bungalow's once-pristine floor. Pain -and the sight of so much blood- was an excellent convincer.

When he touched a particularly tender spot with the cotton swab, I involuntarily hissed through my clenched teeth and jumped.

"Easy, boy."

"My name is-"

"Aiden. I'm well aware."

"Then use it," I muttered sourly, and bit back another snake-like hiss when Cain mercilessly continued cleaning the gash, not minding me one bit.

From where I sat, I could see every detail of his enviably-perfect face. The first thing I noticed was his seriously long, almost women-like lashes. The fact that I was this close to him to notice such a detail was both unnerving and, frankly, terrifying, but it also gave me the chance to closely watch him.

"It needs stitches."

"Great," I replied sourly. "Maybe plant a few landmines in your island, why don't you? That way you'll really make some damage."

"You have no one to blame for your foolishness but yourself."

"Actually, I have you. You're the one who brought me here," I accused angrily.

God, he's in reach. All it takes is for me to swing my hand to backhand him across the face as payback for that slap. But I knew better than to anger a madman with my bleeding foot.

Cain chuckled in that maddening way of his, and then confessed as if he was self-pleased, "True." He dumped the now bloody, dirty cotton in a nearby dustbin and grabbed another. "I'll summon a doctor to tend to it tomorrow." He began dabbing at the wound again with the clean cotton.

I watched him work, discreetly eyeing his face right in front of me. I was beyond shocked that someone like Cain would clean my wound somewhat gently. For someone like Cain, he was being downright tender. The fact that he'd even clean and bandage my wound was perplexing in and of itself. It was also somewhat upsetting, because I did not understand him one bit. One moment he was a cruel criminal, kidnapping me from my home to foreign islands, and the next he was almost caring, showing me a side that I had never in my wildest dreams imagined he'd possess.

But it would take a hell of a lot more for me to lower my guard.

Do not be fooled. He is the enemy. Just because he's suddenly being nice, doesn't mean he's no longer dangerous. Be wary; he has something up his sleeve for sure.

I supposed the only reason he was patching me up was because he needed me for whatever it was he was planning to do with me or use me for.

With expert precision, he wrapped a white bandage around my foot once he was done cleaning it. A flashback appeared in my head out of nowhere, catching me off guard. I'd been expecting the assault to come from Cain, but it was my own mind that had bombarded me with explicit albeit painful memories. Schneizel was tending my injured arm in much the same way that Cain was tending my foot. The difference was that Schneizel was feeding me ice cubes in a manner that made my face instantly heat up at the memory.

"Having dirty thoughts, are we?"

I blinked, startled. "What?"

"Your face is suddenly all red. I never figured you for a guy with a foot fetish. Looks truly are deceiving."

Shit, what the hell was I doing dropping my guard like that and getting horny right in front of the enemy?!

"Wait, no, I don't have a foot fetish! I was just..." I had the sudden thought that mentioning Schneizel to him would not be very wise. "Never mind." I looked away, trying to conceal my embarrassment.

"Suit yourself." Abruptly, he squeezed the leg I was holding and I yelped, more shocked than hurt.

Once he was done, he gently lowered my foot to the ground and stood up, towering over me. I looked up and held his intense gaze.

"Tell me what you want from me," I insisted for the hundredth time, exasperated and anxious by his constant instance to provide vague answers like "You'll see" or "You'll find out soon enough".

His face abruptly darkened. "You already know."

For fuck's sake.

But I supposed that I already did. "Yes, I think I have a pretty good idea," I mumbled quietly and looked down, breaking his gaze, unable to bear the darkness I saw in the depths of his eyes.

"There's food in the kitchen."

I looked up, surprised that he'd let me roam about after my very recent escape. As he turned around and walked away, headed in the direction of a room adjoining the living room. I'd been so concerned and afraid of Cain that I'd failed to take in anything other than him in the living room. I was only just now noticing the closed, white door.

As he walked, I saw something else that I'd missed before: Cain had a limp.

He disappeared into the room and closed the white door behind him, leaving me alone in the living room.

Unguarded. 

*~~~~~~~~~~~~*

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