Lily’s new tattoo throbbed under the thin ointment Jack had rubbed in last night. “Jack’s” in sharp black letters on her pussy lips—still red-rimmed, swollen slightly, stinging every time her thighs brushed together. She had stared at it in the mirror for a long time this morning. The sight made her wet even though her body begged for a break. Boobs punctured from thorns, neck bruised black, ass tender, throat raw, lip scabbed. Every mark screamed his name now. Literally.

She hadn’t eaten much. Just water. Lots of water—Jack made sure of it. He watched her drink glass after glass, eyes dark, saying nothing. She knew what was coming. The final push before whatever end he had in mind. Or maybe no end. Maybe forever like this.