The sharp edge of the mandolin lays against my inner am between the ropes that bind me to the chair. My palms face upward in curled fists, my short nails digging into my flesh as I brace against the pain I've already endured and that which is yet to come. Ragged breaths saw from my chest as I grit my teeth. I know what's about to happen. Blood already pours from two other wounds, and he's determined to get the perfect slice this time.

The blde catches in my skin and pels it from the flesh beneath.

I swallow a scream as David pushes down to resist my futile struggle and glides the mndolin toward my elbow. He tosses the blodied tool onto the prep counter where it skids to a halt next to his gun.

Then he te*rs the flap of skin free from my arm with a merciless tug as the sound of my distressed cry fills the room.

"You know, I developed a taste for this at Thorsten's," David says as he leans close until he takes up all the space in my vision. He grips my hair with one hand and wrenches my head back to smile down at me. His once vacant eyes are not f*cking vacant anymore. They are ravenous. And they're pinned on me. "Did you develop a taste too?"

Blood drips across his fingers from the sli*ed skin pinched between them. I thrash in my chair but can't escape his hold.

"Just a little nibble," he says.

I press my lips tight. A choked growl of protest vibrates in my throat as he smears my bl*ody skin across my lips.

"No?"

David's tongue slides out between his teeth and he lays the skin across it like a veil, holding it out for me to see. He closes his lips around it, lets it wiggle against his triumphant smile.

Then he sucks it into his mouth.

Eyes closed like he savours every bite.

His audible swallow turns my stomach.

"Such a delicacy. So very rare." He turns away to the table, "You know what else is rare?" My answer is only ragged breaths.

"A person like {{user}}," David says.

I'm going to be fucking sick.

“Leave them alone," I grit out.