He lets my mouth go and stands, exiting the room before I can say anything.

What is there to say?

He just rocked my world, and I don’t quite know how to process that.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I’m thirsty.

My throat is dry, and it hurts.

I’ve been down here for twelve hours, and no one has come down to see me. I’ve cried so much my body is beyond dehydrated. It aches, and my heart constantly hurts. All I can think about is Number Three. Her life was cut short before she had the chance to remember who she was. No one deserves that.

I want to hate William for it, but if what he says is true, how can I?

It still doesn’t explain why he has us. Why would anyone want to save thirteen girls? Why not two, or twenty? There are so many broken people in the world, so why did he pick us? Why were we good enough to try and fix? My entire body a {entpan> yches, and my heart is jumping around in my chest to a point where it actually hurts.

None of this makes sense.

Every time I close my eyes I see Number Three launching herself off that roof. I remember her words just before she turned and let herself soar. “I want to be free.”

She looked like a falling angel as she so gracefully took her own life.

Just thinking of it has a pained cry escaping my lips. I thrash my head from side to side, wanting the image to just leave me alone. I don’t want it there. My body begins to shake as I let the reality of this entire situation sink in.

“I don’t like doing this.”

I snap my head up, not having heard anyone enter. I see William in the shadows. He walks closer, and but in the darkness I can’t see him properly. I turn my eyes away anyway, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see the man who is bringing too much pain to my life. He walks over and kneels in front of me, then he pulls something out of his pocket, I lift my eyes enough to see it’s a gag. I gasp, and push myself backwards, only to collide with the wall behind me.

“Don’t, please.”

He takes my head gently, leaning in close. I shake my head from side to side, angry tears cascading down my cheeks. This close I can see he’s got a patch covering his eye. Why is he wearing that? Is there something wrong with his face?

“I’m sorry, Number Thirteen. I do wish you would just understand that if you gave me a chance, this wouldn’t happen. You will go another twelve hours with this in your mouth, and perhaps by the time I take it out, you will stop running your mouth off and begin doing the right thing.”

He reaches up, taking my chin. I jerk my head out of his grips, still sobbing like a small, broken child. He strokes a tear from my cheek, and then leans down, so close his lips are nearly touching mine. “I’m not here to hurt you, frumusețe. I just want you to learn.”

I shake my head, but he’s got too firm a grip on my chin. He leans down closer, and I can smell him. He smells masculine, with a hint of red wine. I stare at his lips, watching as he slowly licks his lower one. I feel that right down to my belly, and warmth floods over me. I hate him, I hate...

His lips press against mine.

And for a moment, I stop feeling.

Everything seems to come to a standstill as his mouth covers mine, warming my insides, easing the burning in my heart. I open my mouth and gasp as he slides his tongue out and traces my lips with it. My entire body comes to life, hating that the feeling I’m having right now isn’t one of despair, but one of lust. He’s getting to me. He’s breaking through my wall.

He pulls back, and I realize I’m panting. Big puffs of air escape my slightly parted lips as I stare at his devastating face. He strokes my cheek once more, then he lifts the gag and gently places it in my mouth. The feeling of having something restricting the ability to speak, hell, to even breath properly, is terrifying. My entire body stiffens, and I make a pained sound in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, standing and disappearing into the darkness.

I kick out in my chains, and the saltiness of my tears burns my eyes.

I hate him. God. I do.

But part of me...just a tiny part...is warming towards him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I won’t give in.

I {wid="c won’t cry out.

I won’t let him see he’s winning. I’m stronger than this. This won’t change my passion; this won’t change my determination. What he’s doing here is wrong, no matter how many times he tries to tell himself he’s doing us all a favor. He’s not—no, he’s being cruel and heartless. One silly little kiss won’t change my mind about that. I won’t let it. I won’t let him corrupt my mind. I won’t.

FOUR HOURS LATER  It hurts. My entire jaw is throbbing, and I’ve run out of tears. He’s wearing me down. He knows leaving me in here for twelve hours is enough to send me over the edge. I hate not being able to speak. I don’t like my rights being taken away from me more than they already have. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I want to curl up and give in—I won’t. No, he won’t win.

SIX HOURS LATER  Everything aches.

My back, my body, my legs, my head, hell—my mouth.

I managed to find a few more tears, and I let them go freely. There’s no point in holding them back. I know he’s watching me; I want him to see what he’s doing. I want him to see that I might cry, and I might seem weak, but I’m not giving in. I’m not opening that last part of myself up. I’m not going to give in to him. I can’t stop thinking about his lips on mine. I want to, but I can’t.