She doesn't listen. The entire way, I have to hear those pitiful sobs. That panicked wheeze that sounds like a death rattle as she struggles to regulate her breathing. It's doing something strange to me, and I don't like it.

"Stop!" I demand. "Stop fucking crying."

She keeps at it, and when I finally reach my room and toss her body onto the bed, her sorrow only seems to amplify.

She's struggling against the ties, trying to break free when I head for my closet and grab what I need. When I return, she's halfway across the mattress. I grab her by the ankle and yank her back, wrapping my belt around her face and forcing it between her teeth before I secure it behind her head.

She mumbles around it, a fresh wave of tears falling down her cheeks. But for now, at least the sound is muffled. Once that is done, I remove the knots of my shirt only to replace them with a length of rope, which I use to tie her to the bedposts, one at a time. When I am finished, she is stretched wide, arms and legs pulling in the direction of each corner. She's a panting, sobbing mess, and I can't seem to look at her for more than a second as I force myself to follow through the preparations.

Perhaps I should have thought to drug her first. Knock her out cold. It would be so much easier. I reach for the case where I keep my gun and begin my preparations while Ivy continues to squirm.

“Hold still,” I tell her. “Or it will hurt more than you could ever imagine.”

She closes her eyes, tears clinging to the edges as I loosen the grip of the belt, sliding it down beneath her chin.

“Don’t talk, and don’t move,” I warn.

I go through the motions of cleaning her face roughly and forcing her head down into the mattress with my palm as I apply the stencil from my case. She's staring up at me. I can feel her eyes on me, burning a hole in my flesh.

Another solitary tear falls down her cheek, and I close my eyes, dragging in a ragged breath before I prepare the ink. When I am finished, the fight appears to have gone out of her. She is so still I have to force myself to look into her eyes to make sure she's even conscious.

When our gazes clash, something tightens in my throat and chest. A vise, squeezing me like the smoke in that godforsaken fire.

"You did this," I snarl at her. "This is your fault."

She shudders, a silent sob the last sound I hear before I turn on the gun and hover above the stencil. Her entire body tightens, her chest falling into stillness, jaw clenching.