Delivered (The Monster Trilogy Book 3)

by Marissa Farrar

  Dinnertime came and went, and no one disturbed him.

  As the hours passed by, a need greater than hunger began to take over, but at least this was a need he could sate. Monster climbed off the bed and went to his bathroom, intending on turning on the cold faucet and drinking his fill. Perhaps the water would also help fill his empty stomach.

  He turned on the faucet, but nothing happened. Confused, he turned it off, and back on again, but still the sink remained dry. Ducking down, he peered up the tap, wondering if something was stuck up there that might be stopping the water, but nothing was apparent.

  Monster swallowed against his dry throat, and tried not to focus on the deep concern squirming around his gut. His father wouldn’t have done this, would he? Had he turned off the water?

  He went to the shower and turned it on, praying the showerhead would spray, but again, nothing happened. He twisted the bath faucet, and held back a sob. His father must have had the water to this wing of the house turned off.

  Trying to ignore the tightness of his throat and the way his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, Monster left the bathroom and went back to his bed. He threw himself on his back, his forearm covering his eyes. His father wouldn’t leave him long enough to die of thirst, but he’d torture him long enough to make sure the lesson was learned and remembered.

  His hunger had taken a back seat to his thirst.

  With nothing else to do, he curled up on his side and fell asleep. His dreams were haunted by tall glasses of water with ice clinking against the side. He lifted the glass and drank deeply, relishing every drop, but when he woke it was with intense disappointment and the realization nothing had changed.

  Monster swung his legs off the side of the bed and walked to the bathroom again. He tried all the faucets, but there was no change. His bladder felt full and heavy, and he went to the toilet to relieve himself. Pulling up the seat, he freed himself and then paused. He was staring down into clear water—the only source in his vicinity—and he didn’t want to piss in it.

  Twisting to one side, he held his penis over the side of the tub and urinated onto the porcelain. The urine was a dark yellow, and the stench of it hit him like ammonia, making him turn his face away. He wished he had some way to wash the piss away, but he didn’t want to waste any of the water he had available. At least he hadn’t needed to take a shit—he guess there were some benefit to not having eaten recently. Emptying his bowels would prove to be more of a problem than peeing in the bath, but, considering he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for hours now, he doubted the situation would be a problem any time soon.

  He glanced toward the water, motionless and clear in the bottom of the toilet bowl, and swallowed again. No, he couldn’t drink from the toilet. He just couldn’t. His father would let him out, or at least have one of his servants push a tray into him soon. He just had to hold out a little longer.

  Putting the seat back down, so the sight of the water didn’t tempt him, he left the bathroom and went to the bedroom door. Using his fist, he pounded on the wood.

  “Hey!” he tried to yell, though his voice came out as a raspy croak. “I’ve learned my lesson. Please, I’m so thirsty. Don’t give me any food, but please just let me have a drink.”

  No response came, no hint that someone was even out there, never mind had heard him and reacted to his pleas.

  Holding back tears, Monster went back to his bed. The effects of dehydration were taking their toll on his body now. How long could someone last without water? Five days? A week? He’d read that just mild dehydration could cause fatigue and dizziness. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last had a drink—perhaps twelve hours. It wasn’t long. He didn’t even want to think what sort of state he’d be in after another twelve.

  He slept again, but woke with his lips cracked and his mouth as dry as sand. He rubbed his gritty tongue over the roof of his mouth, trying to generate some saliva, but there was nothing. When he blinked, even his eyes felt dry, as though it took more effort for him to get his eyelids to slide back up over his eyeballs. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep.

  Getting to his feet, he stumbled back to the door, his legs weak beneath him, and banged again.

  “Father,” he rasped. “I’ve learned my lesson now. Please, I’m so thirsty.”

  How long had it been now? A day? Even if someone could last five days without water, he didn’t think the final days would be pleasant ones. He hadn’t even needed to urinate again, so he knew he was severely dehydrated.

  Unable to give up hope, he tottered toward the bathroom again just in case the water had been switched back on. Imagine he’d been suffering all this time, only for his father to tell him the water came back on hours ago. But when he checked, the pipes still ran dry.

  His eyes were drawn back to the toilet again and he gulped. He didn’t want to go there, imagining all the microscopic feces and germs in the bowl. He could fight it, he could. He would go back to the bed and wait for his father to unlock the door. There was no way he was going to debase himself by drinking out of a toilet.

  Inspiration suddenly struck. Water wasn’t just held in the bowl. There was more, fresh water held in the tank above, ready for the next flush. If he could get to that water, he’d be able to drink his fill.

  Adrenaline caused his heart to race as he hurried to the porcelain tank. There appeared to be a ridge between the main tank and the lid, but it was glued down with some kind of adhesive. Monster ran his blunt nails between the groove, but he didn’t feel any give. He tensed his arms and tried to pry the lid off, straining with the small amount of strength he had left, but it didn’t budge.

  “Fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath, still worried his father might hear the bad word.

  There was no way he’d be able to lift the lid off. The only other option was to try to break it.

  Monster glanced around for something he might use. His hands wouldn’t be enough; he needed something hard and heavy. There was nothing in the bathroom that would be hard or heavy enough, so he walked back out to his bedroom and stared around, his muddled brain trying to figure out what would work. His gaze alighted on a set of weights in the corner, which his father had given him and instructed to use to keep him physically strong, despite his lack of access to the outside world. In particular, the metal circle of one of the dumbbells caught his eye.

  That would work!

  Monster crossed the room and bent to pick the object up. It was heavier than he remembered, though his current physical state didn’t help. Determined to get access to the clean water, he carried it back into the bathroom and stopped beside the toilet.

  Holding the weight in both hands, he lifted it as high as he could, and brought it down on the porcelain lid. It hit, the impact reverberating up through his hands and arms, and he almost dropped the weight, but managed to hold on. He stared down at the white lid, inspecting the damage.

  A crack fractured across the top of the lid, and he drew in a breath. He placed the weight onto the floor and straightened back up. Carefully, he reached to one side, hoping to pry off the lid. He wiggled the top, and the crack spread, running down the side of the tank.

  “No! Don’t you fucking dare!”

  But an inanimate object was never going to care about his curses. He tried to lift the piece of the lid that had cracked, but the crack down the side ran deeper. It was a case of getting the lid off and taking a drink before the whole thing fell apart. Filled with urgency, he heaved the chunk of porcelain off the top, intending on sinking his hands into the tank and drinking his fill, but even as he tried to lift it, he discovered it was heavier than he’d thought. In his weakened, dehydrated state, his grip slipped and it dropped, hitting the top of the tank.

  The hairline fracture opened like a gaping maw, and the side of the tank fell away, hitting the floor, narrowly missing Monster’s toes. He jumped away just as a flood of water like a wave spilled from the tank and onto the floor.

&nb
sp; Not allowing himself to think, he fell to his knees and pressed his mouth to the tiles, but already the pool of water had dispersed, leaving him licking wet tiles, all concerns for germs and hygiene long gone.

  He wanted to cry. Licking the water from the tiles hadn’t quenched his thirst. If anything, it had made it worse.

  Monster didn’t care anymore. With the knees of his pants wet from the tank water and clinging to his skin, he crawled to the toilet. Leaning over the bowl, as though he were about to be sick, he scooped his hand into the water. The porcelain was reasonably clean—his father’s staff would never allow the place to become dirty—but as he lifted the water to his mouth, he had to fight the multitude of voices in his head telling him about all the invisible particles of shit and piss he was about to ingest. He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight, and slurped down the water. It had a faint taste of toilet cleaner, but otherwise it was fine. His eyes opened and he scooped another palm-full, and another. He drank until the water sloshed around in his stomach, but he felt better almost immediately. The dizziness vanished and strength returned to his limbs.

  Drinking the water meant his hunger returned with ferocious demand, but there was nothing he could do on that front. He just needed to wait things out now. He wasn’t going to die; he was just going to suffer some more until his father decided he’d learned his lesson.

  No longer thirsty, Monster took back to his bed.

  Another twelve hours passed before his father eventually let him out again, and with each hour he waited, Monster’s hatred for the man grew.

  Six

  Lily was taken back to her room, Marco pushing her along the hallway as she walked. She knew she’d angered Rodriguez, but at that moment she didn’t care. She was furious at what had happened to Jess, but there was nothing she could do about it. Rodriguez said anything she did to displease him, Jess would be punished for. That evening it had only been a spanking, but she knew things would get worse for both of them. These men wouldn’t be happy with a little light punishment. Things would escalate fast.

  Marco shoved her from behind again, sending her stumbling. “I’m walking just fine,” she snapped over her shoulder.

  He gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Shut it, bitch, or you’ll get a lot worse than a little shove to complain about.”

  Lily faced forward, trying to ignore the bully behind her. She hoped Jess had run back to their rooms. She assumed she had—after all, where else would she have gone? If Rodriguez had any inkling she might have tried to run away, she was sure he would have sent one of the other men after her.

  They reached the bedroom door. Marco leaned past her and swung it open. Another shove against her back sent her flying forward in the expensive dress. She heard a tear from somewhere along the seam as she fell. The moment she hit the floor, the door banged shut behind her and the lock clicked into place.

  Lily remained on her knees for a minute, forcing herself to take deep breaths to keep it together. What she really wanted was to leap to her feet and tear the room to pieces, to punch walls, and scream, and kick at the door, but there was a fragile girl in the room beside her, and Lily knew if she lost it, Jess wouldn’t have anything to grip hold of. Lily needed to be the anchor for both of them. If she went down, they’d both be lost.

  Blinking back tears of anger, fear, and frustration, Lily tugged her torn dress up her thighs and shakily got back to her feet. The anger hadn’t left her—far from it—but she felt she had control over it now. Raging over inanimate objects wouldn’t do any good. She was already weak from lack of food and everything she’d been through, the drop in adrenaline now sapping the righteous energy that had been coursing through her body only moments before.

  She looked toward the bathroom. The door which separated Jess’s room from the other side of the facilities was closed, and she hadn’t heard any sound emitting from behind the shut door. She must be in there. There was nowhere else she could be, but for just a fraction of a second panic rose inside Lily that something else had happened to Jess.

  Spurred by her alarm, she hurried through the bathroom and pushed the adjoining door open without bothering to knock.

  She exhaled a sigh of relief. Jess was curled up on her side, facing the wall. Her body shook with silent tears, and she didn’t do anything to acknowledge Lily had entered.

  Lily crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She lifted her hand, wanting to place it on the other woman’s shoulder as comfort, but wasn’t quite able to bring herself to do so, so her fingers hovered, mid-air, instead.

  “Are you all right?” she asked in the end.

  The crying stopped and Jess’ body went rigid.

  Lily held her breath, waiting for a new outpouring of sorrow, but instead, Jess sat up and faced her.

  “No, I’m not all right! What a stupid fucking question. Would you be all right if you’d just been exposed and spanked in front of a group of strange men?”

  Lily reared back and shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, then, what makes you think I’m going to be?”

  “Nothing. It was a stupid thing to say. I just wanted to …”

  Make sure you were okay.

  She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Jess was right. Of course she wasn’t okay. They’d been taken and were going to be used as slaves to entertain power-hungry, abusive men. Neither of them should be okay.

  And yet Lily felt stronger—far stronger than she’d been after Monster had taken her. Fear no longer held her its captive. She knew what she was capable of now, and that was far more than she’d ever given herself credit for.

  A knock came at the door.

  Lily frowned. Who would bother to knock?

  She exchanged a glance with Jess, and then got to her feet and crossed the room. “Yes?” she called out.

  The lock clicked open, and one of the women who’d been working in the kitchen opened the door. She carried a tray which held two identical bowls, plastic cups of water and spoons. The woman didn’t make eye contact with them, but did a little dip, as though she were of servitude to them.

  “Master told me to bring your meals to you,” she said in a quiet voice, thick with an accent. “I must bring back the tray.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lily said, trying to give the other woman a smile while she lifted the bowls and cups of water off the tray and placed them on the dresser. “Thank you.”

  But the woman had already backed out of the room and locked the door behind her.

  Lily checked out the food and wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly filet steak,” she said out loud, but not to anyone in particular. The meal appeared to be a watery porridge. She lifted one of the plastic spoons and took a mouthful, trying not to grimace. Yes, watery porridge was exactly what the food was. No sugar or cream to add flavor. The meal was as plain as you could get.

  Even so, her stomach growled with hunger. Holding back on her own desire to shovel food into her mouth, she lifted the other bowl and spoon, and carried them over to Jess, who still sat on the bed.

  “Here,” she said, setting them down on the bedside table. “Eat. It’ll make you feel stronger.”

  Jess pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You need to eat.” She lowered her voice. “If an opportunity arises where we can get out of here, how are you going to feel if you’re too weak to run?”

  “We’re not getting out of here,” she said, resolutely. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”

  “I have someone on the outside. He’ll be looking for me, I’m sure of it.”

  But was she sure? What if Monster decided this was too big a problem to get involved with? Though she didn’t want to doubt him, she couldn’t help but worry. She hoped Monster would come for her, but she wasn’t going to rely on him. She would need to save herself, and Jess, too, if things came down to it.

  “He mi
ght be dead,” Jess said suddenly.

  Lily’s head snapped around. “What?”

  “He was shot. I saw he was hurt. He might be dead.”

  A flood of hot, followed by cold, rushed over her. “No, he’s not dead. I’d know somehow. I’d feel it inside me.” But those were stupid, romantic notions. How would she know he was dead? Wasn’t the truth simply that she was lying to herself?

  “Just eat the food,” she said, walking back to where she’d left her own meal. She picked up the bowl and glass, and carried them back to her room. She couldn’t stand to be in the same space as Jess right now for suggesting such a thing. Though she wanted to help the other woman—felt responsible for her, for some reason—she couldn’t allow Jess to bring her down, too. Already she could feel the depression clawing at her limbs, and weighing on her heart, as though it were a living being that literally wanted to drag her down to the floor.

  She pulled the door partially shut behind her and took the bowl to sit on the side of the bed. The food was tasteless, but warm and filling. She ate quickly, and in less than a minute she was scraping the bowl clean.

  Exhaustion swept over her, weighing down her eyelids. She hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and she needed to rest.

  Placing the bowl beside the bed, she curled up on her side, her hand beneath her head.

  Within seconds, she was asleep.

  Monster (Present Day)

  Someone was shaking his shoulder.

  After the shaking, the pain made itself known, throbbing through Monster’s collarbone and down his arm. He forced himself awake and tried to focus, though the memories that had been resurfacing of his childhood clung to his thoughts. Why had his father been so insistent Monster should have been taking care of their ‘property’ and treating it with respect? He’d never been a man to give a shit about respecting women before, or even people in general. Had his father’s reaction been more to do with Sophia’s mother than anything else? Sophia had said she’d believed her mother to be in love with his father, so was it possible his father had thought of Sophia as a daughter—a beautiful child to replace the hideous one he had locked away in a bedroom? Was that why he’d sent Sophia and her mother to belong to the Gonzalez family instead of just casting them out, or having them killed? After all, he knew his father was perfectly capable of killing women he didn’t want to keep around. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d done to Monster’s mother?