Rules for Enduring the Sweenys

Rule #11: Never Admit You're Wrong

Georgie slapped her, the metal wedding ring he wore leaving a long cut across her right cheek. “You deserved the punishment my friends gave you, you dirty little whore.” His eyes glowed with a terrifying need to avenge his beloved Brooke. She had been the only thing keeping him together. Without her, he was nothing.

Bella stared at him, no fear, no anger, no trust, nothing. She watched him, her intelligent eyes, calculating. She never said much when she’d lived with him, but she was always watching, learning. Somehow she’d managed to be around on his good days, and out running errands when he was at his worst. He despised the way she seemed able to anticipate his next move as if she could read his thoughts. ‘Not this time.’

He grabbed her hands and began to tie them behind her back. He’d been waiting for seven years to live out his fantasy. Seven long years. He was going to make her suffer like he had. He was going to kill her slowly. He made sure her knots were tight before grinning at her. He brandished the knife he’d held to that little girl’s throat.

“Don’t you fret Jelly. Death will be the least of your worries.” He leaned down and pressed his scaly, cracking lips to her cheek. Standing up abruptly, he slashed the knife across her face, leaving a thin, oozing cut. She flinched, keeping the cry of pain from breaking through her lips. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could still hurt her. But she knew that remaining silent, was going to make things worse.

“You think you’re a tough little bitch, huh?” He smirked at her, extracting a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He pulled one out and lit it, grinning like a madman. ‘Oh fuck!’ Her eyes grew wide as she figured out what he was thinking. She thought about protesting, but the idea of breaking rule number eight, caused her to close her eyes and clamp her jaw shut.

She heard the familiar click of the lighter and a deep inhale. A cloud of gray smoke was blown into her face, making her cough. Georgie smirked at her. Oh how different she was from the other girls. They kicked and screamed and threatened. But they hadn’t known who he was. They hadn’t known just precisely who they were dealing with. Bella did. They had never been tied up, and beaten. Bella had.

Georgie sucked in another lungful of smoke as he stared, frustrated, at the complacent look on his daughter’s face. He ripped the cigarette out of his mouth and jammed it into her bare shoulder. The girl’s eyes shot open, but her jaw remained locked. Georgie gritted his teeth, snaking an oily arm around her neck to keep her from moving.

The pain was almost unbearable, Bella wanted it to end, but it just burned deeper and deeper. The smell of searing flesh made her nauseous. “Scream, dirty little skank,” he sneered, his hot breath on her ear. It was too much; she’d assumed that she would never feel that kind of pain ever again. She’d forgotten how much it hurt. An earsplitting shriek tore through her lips. It was the first of many.

Georgie flicked the roach of his cigarette to the puke green carpet and stomped it out. He was smirking viciously, his hardened, angry eyes smoldering malevolently. “Honey, I’m just getting started.” He turned his back and stepped over piles of junk to the other side of the room where a hot glue gun was located. There was no glue in the gun, but it was plugged in anyway, attached to a long extension cord.

Bella watched him, trying to keep the tears from streaming down her face. Her mind was focused on her rules. They were the only thing keeping her from losing all sense of rational thought. She had to get out. She had to find some way to get the hell out of the mess she was in. ‘I don’t wanna die,’ she thought frantically, thinking about what Owen had said to her. Her heart was beating spastically and her breath caught in her throat as Georgie advanced toward her with the scorching tool. Georgie leaned down so his face was in front of hers.