His Dirty Massage Secret - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading His Dirty Massage Secret, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of His Dirty Massage Secret.
I drove my head straight into Damian Royston's gut with everything I had. The unexpected blow sent him stumbling back, giving me the split-second opening I needed.
Heart pounding, I took off running—praying with each stride that cops would show any minute now.
The baby in my arms weighed me down more with every step. No matter how tough I thought I was, biology wasn't kidding about that strength gap between men and women. Still, Vincent and Damian kept gaining ground.
At the next corner, I made my move—tucking the child safely into tall grass before bolting the opposite direction. My lungs burned as I dove behind a rusted clothing donation bin.
Please let them find the baby, I begged silently. Even if they caught me again, that child might still have a chance.
The moonless night became my ally. Dressed in black, I practically disappeared into the shadows if no one looked too close.
I folded into myself, forcing my ragged breathing under control as I waited.
Vincent and Damian stormed past the bin, scanning the area. Their footsteps gradually faded into the night.
After counting three agonizing minutes of silence, I finally uncurled—only to lock eyes with two smirking faces.
Vincent and Damian stood arms crossed, blocking my path like they'd known my hiding spot all along.
They seized my arms before I could blink. I fought like a wildcat, screaming until Vincent's filthy hand muffled my cries. Moonlight carved cruel shadows across his sneering face.
"Game over, sweetheart. Let's see you wriggle out of this one."
Damian's eyes darted around. "Where's the damn baby?"
"Forget it," Vincent snapped. "We're rolling before the pigs get here."
They manhandled me into their beat-up sedan. Vincent floored it while Damian sat seething beside me. His open-handed slap cracked across my cheekbone.
"If my wife dies, so do you."
I spat blood on his shoes. "She needs a hospital, you psycho!"
Another brutal backhand. "Shut it. You've got bigger problems."
The coppery taste filled my mouth as we veered off the highway onto backroads, then dirt paths, finally stopping near some godforsaken mountain trail.
Vincent hauled me into a dying village where some toothless old man greeted him like family.
"Back already, son?"
"Just bringing my new bride to visit Ma and Pa's grave," Vincent lied smoothly. "Put their minds at rest."
The old coot actually teared up at this display of filial devotion.
They threw me into a crumbling courtyard where I ate dirt. Then the real beating began.
Vincent's fists came down like sledgehammers. Damian joined in with steel-toed kicks that made my ribs scream. At some point, something snapped inside me—literally.
Through swollen eyes, I saw Vincent yank a bloody clump of hair from my scalp, laughing like this was the funniest damn thing.
When they finally wore themselves out, Vincent produced some scratchy rope and lashed me to a rotting support beam.
He turned to Damian. "How you wanna break her?"
Damian licked his lips. "Played hard to get with that pretty face. Might as well make it match her attitude."
The boiling water hit like liquid fire. My screams echoed off the shack's walls.
Vincent tutted. "I gave you the good life, and this is how you repay me? Regret it yet?"
The pain was beyond words. But even if I could speak—hell no, I'd never regret fighting back.
Damian snorted. "She's drowning in regret now. Should've just spread her legs like a good girl."
Vincent nodded. "Wonder if that brat croaked yet? My whole business is toast thanks to her."
Damian's eyes turned icy. "What about my money?"
Vincent clapped him on the back, eyeing my broken body. "Plenty of fish in the sea, brother. I'll get you a proper wife—one that stays bought."
Heart pounding, I took off running—praying with each stride that cops would show any minute now.
The baby in my arms weighed me down more with every step. No matter how tough I thought I was, biology wasn't kidding about that strength gap between men and women. Still, Vincent and Damian kept gaining ground.
At the next corner, I made my move—tucking the child safely into tall grass before bolting the opposite direction. My lungs burned as I dove behind a rusted clothing donation bin.
Please let them find the baby, I begged silently. Even if they caught me again, that child might still have a chance.
The moonless night became my ally. Dressed in black, I practically disappeared into the shadows if no one looked too close.
I folded into myself, forcing my ragged breathing under control as I waited.
Vincent and Damian stormed past the bin, scanning the area. Their footsteps gradually faded into the night.
After counting three agonizing minutes of silence, I finally uncurled—only to lock eyes with two smirking faces.
Vincent and Damian stood arms crossed, blocking my path like they'd known my hiding spot all along.
They seized my arms before I could blink. I fought like a wildcat, screaming until Vincent's filthy hand muffled my cries. Moonlight carved cruel shadows across his sneering face.
"Game over, sweetheart. Let's see you wriggle out of this one."
Damian's eyes darted around. "Where's the damn baby?"
"Forget it," Vincent snapped. "We're rolling before the pigs get here."
They manhandled me into their beat-up sedan. Vincent floored it while Damian sat seething beside me. His open-handed slap cracked across my cheekbone.
"If my wife dies, so do you."
I spat blood on his shoes. "She needs a hospital, you psycho!"
Another brutal backhand. "Shut it. You've got bigger problems."
The coppery taste filled my mouth as we veered off the highway onto backroads, then dirt paths, finally stopping near some godforsaken mountain trail.
Vincent hauled me into a dying village where some toothless old man greeted him like family.
"Back already, son?"
"Just bringing my new bride to visit Ma and Pa's grave," Vincent lied smoothly. "Put their minds at rest."
The old coot actually teared up at this display of filial devotion.
They threw me into a crumbling courtyard where I ate dirt. Then the real beating began.
Vincent's fists came down like sledgehammers. Damian joined in with steel-toed kicks that made my ribs scream. At some point, something snapped inside me—literally.
Through swollen eyes, I saw Vincent yank a bloody clump of hair from my scalp, laughing like this was the funniest damn thing.
When they finally wore themselves out, Vincent produced some scratchy rope and lashed me to a rotting support beam.
He turned to Damian. "How you wanna break her?"
Damian licked his lips. "Played hard to get with that pretty face. Might as well make it match her attitude."
The boiling water hit like liquid fire. My screams echoed off the shack's walls.
Vincent tutted. "I gave you the good life, and this is how you repay me? Regret it yet?"
The pain was beyond words. But even if I could speak—hell no, I'd never regret fighting back.
Damian snorted. "She's drowning in regret now. Should've just spread her legs like a good girl."
Vincent nodded. "Wonder if that brat croaked yet? My whole business is toast thanks to her."
Damian's eyes turned icy. "What about my money?"
Vincent clapped him on the back, eyeing my broken body. "Plenty of fish in the sea, brother. I'll get you a proper wife—one that stays bought."
End of His Dirty Massage Secret Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to His Dirty Massage Secret book page.