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stop him from screaming,” he whispered.
    “It was a neat trick. I didn’t know you could hit a point and stop the vocal cords from working.”
    “It doesn’t work like that. But to scream, you need air.” He touched her neck, his finger trailing down her chest, across her nipples.
    “But,” he continued, “if the pain is so unbearable you can’t draw in a deep breath, you can scarcely breathe, you can’t scream.”
    “It helped,” she whispered. “We were practically in the open.”
    That had excited her, too, that they’d been bold and almost reckless. Almost because she hadn’t left anything to chance. They’d taken care of security, cameras, and had disguised themselves just in case anyone saw anything.
    He leaned over and bit her ear, then sucked her lobe. He slid his scarred palm underneath her shirt, down the backside of her jeans and squeezed. She moaned and he lost himself in her.
    “Watching men die turns you on.” He rubbed her.
    “No.”
    “You’re lying.”
    “Am not.”
    She was lying. He felt her excitement, the forbidden thrills that pain and control and being gods gave them. He felt the power, the power that had been denied him for months. He’d been nothing, he’d been an experiment, poked and prodded and subjected to pain so intense, so vivid, it made him beg to die.
    “Kill me. Kill me. Please. God no. No more. Kill me now. Now, God. Don’t!” His plea came on jagged breaths as the man wearing black gloves slowly pushed the ultra-thin needle behind his testicles and made him scream so violently that his vocal cords became raw.
    Months of screaming had damaged his larnyx to the point where Ethan could no longer speak without a rasp.
    Now he had the power. The control. He would make them all pay. Those who’d left him to suffer. They should have killed him. Why didn’t they just shoot him?
    “Ethan.” Her voice was low and he opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d had her pinned so hard against the wall she couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t look scared, never her. Karin wasn’t scared of him.
    She should be. Everyone should be.
    “Admit it. You watched every needle go into his flesh. The poke. The slow pressure, his muscles tensing. The convulsions. The screams and panic and fear in his eyes.”
    “Fear,” she breathed.
    “Why aren’t you scared of me?” he asked.
    Her blue eyes, only inches from his, stared at him. “Why aren’t you scared of me ?”
    “You don’t even know yourself.”
    “You turn me on.”
    “Maybe I do.” He shoved two fingers into her and she shuddered. His thumb pressed on her sensitive pressure point and she couldn’t control her reaction; her arms tightened around his neck as a flood poured through her onto his hand.
    “Oh, God, that was too fast.”
    “We’re not done, are we?”
    She grinned and pushed him away from her. She stripped. He watched, oddly disconnected. His penis had a life of its own, as if it watched and enjoyed the show, but Ethan himself was above it all. Watching his body, her body, reacting to the sight and smell of sex, but without fully participating.
    She removed his clothes and took his hard dick in her mouth.
    Ten minutes later he was still rock hard and she was frustrated. “Ethan.”
    “You know what to do.”
    She frowned, but her eyes lit with excitement. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
    Lying bitch.
    “If you want to help me, you need to do it. It’s the only way.” He was sweating and shaking. Was this like wanting heroin? Meth? The physical reaction was real. Too real. He needed her to do it. “Now, dammit. I need it.” He grabbed her by the neck, pushed her back up against the wall. “You want it.”
    “I don’t.”
    He slapped her. “You do. You need it as much as I do. You just won’t admit it. But I know you better than you know yourself. Your eyes betray you.” His lips touched her ear as he whispered, “Your body betrays you. You’re shaking as much as I am. I’m in