by Ella Miles
But the moment the knife slices into my testicles, I mourn the loss of something I wanted desperately. Not only do I have to ask Siren for forgiveness for sleeping with another woman, but I have to ask for forgiveness for saving another woman while taking something so precious from both Siren and myself.
We will never have kids. This sealed it. And it’s fucking painful. So goddamn painful I’ll never be able to catch my breath again.
9
Siren
I lie in a cloud of pillows, comforters, and blankets in the center of the most beautiful room I’ve ever been in. My memories are scattered in my head. Unlike any other time I’ve been drugged, I want to keep my memories jostled. I don’t want to put the pieces back together. My foggy memory is the only thing saving me.
My hand rests on my naked belly stroking up and down to calm the hunger pains. But it doesn’t stop my stomach from growling, trying to convince me to go get food.
I can’t do anything about my hunger. I’m trapped in this room. No matter how beautiful it is, it’s still a cage. I’m still the wild animal that has to be locked inside.
But I don’t feel wild anymore. My fight is gone. I don’t do anything about the scratches, blood, and sweat covering my naked body. I don’t try to cover up with blankets. I don’t try to do something about the pain between my legs.
I just lie on the bed face up, bare for the world.
No, for Zeke.
This was Zeke’s work. This is all a game. Zeke is in control. He knows what my body needs. I’m not eating because he wants my senses heightened when he fucks me. This isn’t blood—this is lube and cum. My body isn’t in pain—it’s just sore from his touch.
My brain keeps my focus on Zeke instead of the truth. I used to only be able to speak the truth; now, all I can tell is a lie. I can’t think of the truth. The truth will kill me. So I’ll keep lying to myself. I’ll keep hiding from the sin that was created here in this room, and I’ll hope that someday, Zeke can pull the truth out of me again, and we will be strong enough to survive it.
I try to take a deep, calming breath, but my breath is shaky and light. Inhaling fully requires me to feel my entire body, something I just can’t do.
Instead, I focus on my stomach. It groans. I can focus on hunger. Hunger is safe. Hunger won’t lead me to thinking about anything dangerous.
I hear the door open.
No, no, no, no…I’m not ready. I can’t handle more.
Zeke and I have fucked twenty-three times. I don’t know how many days have passed, but I’ve counted three moons. Maybe it’s been longer than that and I was just asleep, but not many. My body is tired and sore and weak. I can’t handle more sex.
“No,” I moan, unable to lift my eyelids. I’m so tired. Just let me sleep. I’ll be ready for you in the morning after a good night of sleep, Zeke.
But of course, Zeke doesn’t leave me alone. His appetite is insatiable. Sex is never enough. He wants me all day, every day.
I feel him standing over the bed, staring down at me with his intense eyes and heavy breath. Even though he’s three feet away, I can still feel his warm breath like a fire roasting my body, hoping I’ll come alive for him.
My body can’t…he broke me. My body is incapable of being turned on anymore. I don’t get excited from his kisses, his touch, his gaze.
I used to get excited when Zeke walked into the room, but now, I don’t even get turned on when he’s inside me. We have to use lube because I’m not wet enough. Even a vibrator doesn’t get me off.
Sex no longer feels good to me because of Zeke. The man I love ruined sex for me.
No, he couldn’t have. There is something wrong with me.
“What are you doing?” the voice demands. It’s not Zeke’s, but I don’t dare open my eyes. I know I’ve been hallucinating. I haven’t had enough to eat or drink, and I keep seeing things, hearing people.
“Siren, open your eyes,” he says.
“No, I can’t. I can’t fuck you, again. I can’t…” I’m crying because I never thought I’d turn Zeke down, but I just can’t. My body needs a break. Zeke and I like to play with my limits, but he’s pushed me too far.
He chuckles. It’s deep and unnerving, enough for me to want to open my heavy eyelids. I open them just a crack, and I realize the man in front of me isn’t Zeke.
“No!” I cry, grabbing at the covers, trying to pull them over me and protect myself from this man, this monster.
Bishop grabs my wrist. “I’m not here to rape you.”
I don’t believe him. I kick, trying to get free. I throw a punch, landing on his neck. My aim is shit right now because I’m so exhausted and can’t see. The room spins as I move, but I have to get free. I can’t let Bishop touch me.
“Stop,” Bishop commands, his voice booming.
“No! I won’t let you rape me!” I scream. This time when I kick, my aim is perfect, and I hit him right in the balls.
He releases me, grabbing onto his crown jewels as he doubles over in pain.
I take the chance to run. I jump out of bed and run to the door, my brain becoming clearer and clearer. I grab the doorknob, but the door doesn’t budge.
“Help!” I yell, slamming my fists on the door. Surely whoever is on the other side won’t want me in here. He won’t want to share. He won’t let Bishop rape me.
I just don’t let my brain name who ‘He’ is. It’s too close to the truth. That truth will destroy me.
“Someone, please, help!” I yell some more, pounding my fists over and over, but the door is thick and soundproof. No one can hear. No one is coming to save me.
My arms are yanked back, and I’m shoved against the door, my face and stomach feeling the coolness of the thick door against my skin.
“Stop. No one is coming,” Bishop says. He holds me at my wrists, but otherwise, he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t press his front to my naked back. He doesn’t drop his head to sniff my hair or caress my neck. He just stands behind me, holding me in place.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, knowing only one man has the ability to enter this room.
“You really want to ask that question? You think he’s more powerful than me?”
“I think he’s the man in charge and you follow his orders.”
“Julian is merely a thug I use to get what I want; he’s not in charge.”
I wince when he says Julian’s name, because it breaks a little of the illusion, but I quickly put my walls back up. It was Zeke. Zeke, Zeke, Zeke…
Bishop notices my change and doesn’t continue to talk about Julian.
“I’m not going to rape you,” he says, dropping his voice until it sounds almost like a lullaby.
“You’re a man holding a naked woman hostage, in a soundproof room that only two men can enter. What’s stopping you?” I ask, my heart thumping a million miles an hour.
“Did I rape you before?” he asks.
I think back to before, the last time this man held me captive. He didn’t rape me. He didn’t touch me in any sexual way, but he did fuck with my head.
“No, you didn’t.” I exhale, knowing I don’t have to worry about him raping me. Maybe he’s gay? Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive? Maybe he prefers to get his power in different ways?
Bishop releases my hands and then takes a step back, preparing for me to attack him again.
I turn to face him, watching for his reaction to my nakedness. He doesn’t glance down. Not once. His eyes stay on mine, like my eyes alone hold all of my secrets.
“Are you gay?” I ask, needing to know why he won’t look at me.
He smirks. “No.”
That’s it—one word. That’s all I get. I know nothing about this man other than he’s fit, tall, and handsome in a pretty-boy sort of way. He’s muscular, but not as big as Zeke.
He has scars similar to mine on his arms, but that doesn’t seem to be where his pain comes from. It comes from a woman. The love of his life that desperately hurt h
im.
“Who hurt you?” I ask, trying to understand this man.
“You already know.”
I frown, racking my brain for the answer, but I come up empty.
“What did you do to me? I know you messed with my head, tortured me, planted your thoughts inside me, and now I think about you all the damn time. When I’m sleeping, dreaming, awake, at the most random times. What did you do?”
“I prevented you from ever feeling the pain I feel,” he answers calmly and stoically, like he knew this would be my question, and he’s been ready for it.
“What does that mean?”
“I made you mine, instead of his.”
“Who? Julian?”
He shakes his head. “The man you think you love. I made sure that I control you instead of him.”
“No,” I whisper, but I know it’s true. Suddenly, a rush of torture floods my mind as I remember every excruciating thing he did to me.
I look at Bishop. “You had no right! I don’t care if Zeke eventually hurts me, I love him! I’ll love him for as long as I can, even if it’s not forever, I’ll take the heartbreak later.”
Bishop blinks rapidly, like something I said hurt him. Just as quickly as it flashes, it’s gone.
I stalk forward, angry and needing to control my own thoughts, my own heart.
“Fix me.” My voice is calm, collected, and purposeful. I don’t stutter. I choose the exact words I mean.
“No,” he shakes his head.
He’s a liar.
This is what he wants. He wants me to beg him. He wants me to offer up everything in order to be free again.
I pause, trying to decide my next move. Do I continue to beg for him to fix me? Getting him to give me what I want, but knowing what he could do to me is so much worse?
Or do I back off and live with what he did to me? Missing this opportunity would cause me to betray the man I love, again, and this time in a way that I can’t take back. A way that is unforgivable. A way I can’t live with.
I stare down at the ring I wear on my right hand.
Bishop stares too.
“Forever doesn’t exist,” he says.
I frown. “Forever is as long as you want it to be. Forever can last years or for a single second. It makes no difference. The promise to love someone forever is a promise I will never break. I love him. He loves me. Our forever might be shorter than most, but we’ve made it this far. We can make it till the end of our forever.”
Bishop walks closer, his eye on the ring. “And how many times have you already betrayed your forever?” He takes my hand, his thumb running over the ring, sending shivers through my body.
“Never,” I lie.
“You can’t lie to me, Siren. I know you better than anyone. I’m that voice in your head. You don’t love him. You don’t love anyone.”
“Stop!” I yell, trying to push his voice out as I rip my hand from his.
He grins, knowing what he’s doing to me.
I hold my hand against my chest, protecting the ring and my heart.
“Fix me,” I say again, having to push this. This is why he’s here. He wants something from me, and this is the only trade I’m going to be willing to make.
“You are fixed. When you are in love and owned by another man, that’s when you are broken,” Bishop says.
I shake my head and step toward him, not caring that I’m naked. Not caring how vulnerable I am. I need to be fixed. I still don’t know what thoughts Bishop put into my head; I don’t know how much control he has over me.
“I want to be free. I want out. I’ll make a trade. You came here for a reason. You want something from me. I’ll do it. Whatever it is. But get me out of here. Fix me, free me.”
A slow grin forms, but his eyes continue to hide his truth. Whatever it is he wants from me will be devastating to give.
I close my eyes, taking a deep calming breath, but I know this is the right choice.
I can’t be raped again.
I can’t stay here.
And Zeke needs me. There is a reason he didn’t come here, that he didn’t save me. Zeke needs me, and that trumps everything else. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask, extending my hand.
His eyes flutter down for the first time. He spots my ring, and I’m sure, my naked body. But his body doesn’t harden. He doesn’t lust after me.
“I’ll set you free, if you do a task for me. But you’ll have to come back for me to fix you,” he says.
I want to argue for better terms. I want to argue for him to fix me now. I want to be free of this man—all of his darkness.
But I feel Zeke calling to me. He needs me. The most important thing right now is getting out of here. I can figure out how to kick this man out of my head later.
“Deal,” I say, inching my hand toward his.
Bishop puts his hand in mine, and we shake. I just made a deal with the devil, and I don’t even know what he’s going to require me to do. But whatever it is, I don’t care right now. I just need to be closer to Zeke.
A shockwave jolts through me though when I touch Bishop. Our eyes meet, and I know Bishop feels it too and doesn’t understand. Something big just happened between us, but neither of us know what. And I’m not going to stick around to figure it out.
10
Zeke
Beep.
Beep.
Beep. Beep.
God, I hate that sound. I know where I am—a hospital room.
I’m alive. I should be grateful that Palmer’s guards agreed to bring me here. I remember them finding us in the basement.
Palmer distraught and confused, still thinking the best thing for her was to end her life. Me barely able to move with a knife in my groin. I would have bled out in minutes if they had just left me.
“Hospital,” Palmer said. One word; one order.
Everything went black after that. I passed out. Palmer’s order must have been enough for her men to bring me here.
I don’t feel any pain. I have so many drugs pumping through the IV in my arm, I could get stepped on by a five thousand ton elephant right now and I wouldn’t feel it.
No one else is in the room when I open my eyes. I’m in a sterile white hospital room, with an IV pole, and a fucking beeping machine, waking me up from the depths of a drug-induced coma.
I want to rip off all the cords, the IV out of my arm, and the catheter out of my dick. I want to run away, but I’m not even sure I can sit up on my own, let alone walk out of here. Last time I checked, I could barely move my fingers.
My eyes cut down my body. I’m covered to my chest with a thick white blanket. I have no idea what’s underneath. My arms are resting on top of the covers.
I grit my teeth, trying to keep the fear at bay, and then I tell my hand to move—just move. I don’t care what it does—even slap myself in the face and yank the IV out.
I raise my arm.
And I exhale the fear.
I hear the door open, and a person silently walks in—not typical of a nurse or doctor entering a patient’s room.
I close my eyes and still, assuming it’s one of Palmer’s guards coming in to check on me. I hear the heavy footprints of his steps in his boots on the floor.
I don’t have a weapon. But I don’t need one.
I wait patiently for him to approach my bed. He still doesn’t speak—he’s not going to have a chance to. I’m not becoming Palmer’s prisoner again. I’m getting the fuck out of here.
His feet stop, and I attack, even though I don’t have a clue if my body can still move the way I need it to.
I punch hard with one hand while I grab for his gun with the other. I swing my legs out, taking his feet out from underneath him. I watch his body fly up and then slam to ground as I aim a gun at him before I realize my mistake.
The man I just attacked is not my enemy.
“Well, I guess that answers whether or not I need to get you a wheelchair,�
�� Enzo says.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe hard and fast, my body shaking as I stand over Enzo on the floor on his back. But he has a grin on his face.
I extend my hand. He takes it and is back on his feet a second later.
“Glad to know you still have plenty of fight in there.” He play punches me on the chest.
“Fuck,” I bite my lip as the jolt hits me like he just punched me full out.
Enzo frowns and then looks at my arm and grabs the IV lying on the bed instead of in my vein. I didn’t expect the second the drugs weren’t continuously running through me that I would be in this much pain.
“We have to go,” Enzo says.
I nod, trusting his judgment, even though in about five minutes, ten if I’m lucky, everything Palmer put me through is going to hit me.
I grab the cords at my chest and rip them off, knowing alarms will sound as soon as I do.
“Take a breath,” Enzo says.
I don’t. I don’t need a breath to deal with the pain.
He yanks on my catheter.
I hiss, but still have enough medication in me to avoid registering the pain.
Enzo grabs his gun from me and slips it in his pants. He starts walking toward the door. I follow and stumble from dizziness.
“Hold onto my arm,” Enzo says.
I want to argue, but I won’t make it out of here otherwise. I grab his arm, using him like a walker.
“Isn’t this going to be suspicious, us walking out with me still dressed like this?”
Enzo opens the door. “Definitely.” He grins like he did when we were teenagers and about to get into trouble.
I grin back. “Maybe I should hold onto that gun.”
“No way in hell. I’ve always been the better shot, even when your body wasn’t beat up,” Enzo says.
I’m about to argue again, but he pushes us out into the hallway. I have no idea what country we are in. I have no idea what dangers await us in the hallway. Are we going to just have to deal with fussing nurses telling me to get back into bed? Or are we going to have to fight our way out?
