Free The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) by Travis Luedke Page A

and smiled as he walked down the
stairs.  He watched for my reaction, that familiar hungry look in his eyes.  I
hated that look.
    “Did you have fun last night?”  He smiled menacingly.
    I wanted to kill him so badly.  I imagined tearing
through his body with my teeth and nails, bathing in his blood.  An intense
thirst floated at the edge of my mind, my throat so very dry.  I needed
more of his blood, now .
    My hate spewed out of control.  “Put it in my mouth again
and I will bite it off.”  I gnashed my teeth and growled in fury.
    “Tut, tut, tut.  How nasty!  Don’t you remember my promise?”
    I recalled his promise with a gut-wrenching stab of fear. 
He had a set to his shoulders, the look of a man ready to do something
distasteful but necessary.
    “ Oui ,
I can see you remember.”  He smiled wickedly.  A flash of his intent slipped
through our strange psychic connection.  He planned to take me over and over,
tied down on the table.
    “ Brule en
enfer! ”  Burn in hell .  I cussed and spit in derision.  “If
you do not kill me, it will be your last mistake.”
    My hate made me bold.  Foolish and bold.  I wished he would
kill me rather than endure more of his torture.
    “I told you, ma
chérie , you will beg for death.  I regret I cannot contain this
wonderful spirit.”  He squeezed my breast, pinching my nipple painfully.  He
owned me, every inch of me.
    He paused, his face in mine.  His fetid breath washed over
me.  “I will break you,” he whispered, and I knew he meant it metaphorically
and literally.  He had me shaking with dread, and he hadn’t done anything.
    I could feel his enjoyment of my terror.  He liked this game
very much.  He took a heavy steel hammer from a tool box down on the floor.
    “ Mon Dieu!  
What are you doing?”
    I cried out, struggling as he reached for me.  But he didn’t
hit me.  Instead he untied my left hand and pulled my arm tight to the corner
of the table.  Possessed with unbelievable strength, I broke his grip and
gouged at his face, cutting a set of red lines into his cheek.  I tried for his
eyes, but he caught my wrist and slammed my arm down hard.  A second later he
punched me in the face.  My head cracked on the back of the table from the
jarring impact.
    Dazed and blinded, a ringing in my ears, I sensed his arm
rise and fall with the hammer.  For one blissful moment I felt nothing and
thought he had missed.  Then white-hot pain struck me dumb as a second blow
drove a steel spike through my palm and deep into the table.  I tried to draw
breath but intense agony blasted all thought from my mind.  Air filled my lungs
and I screamed.  He smashed the hammer once more to seat the flared head of the
steel spike into my flesh.  I cursed, cried, screamed, and called him every
foul name I ever heard uttered from the mouths of sailors and ruffians.
    When he began to untie my right hand I begged him and God to
stop.  “S’il vous plaît arrêtez!   Mon Dieu arrêtez! ”
    My blood had splattered tiny flecks across his face.  He
licked it from his cheek and a wicked fire of anticipation burned in his eyes. 
“This.  Is.  The.  Way.  Of.  Pain.  Michelle!  This will happen every time you
hurt me!”
    I fought with every ounce of strength I could muster in my right
arm.  I clawed his shirt sleeves to ribbons screaming at the top of my lungs as
I fought valiantly.
    One word ended my rebellion.  “ Arretez! ”  Stop .
    I screamed myself hoarse as he pounded a second spike
through my right hand into the table, the power of his command rendering me
helpless.  He slammed the hammer down three times to seat the wide head of the
spike firmly.
    Then he moved to my feet.  My terror was like a madness.
    He freed my right leg from the ropes.  I bucked my hips up
off the table and kicked with all the strength I could muster.  It was useless.
 Pointless.  After a few seconds of flailing he simply commanded me to be
still.
    The