by Shandi Boyes
It’s a pity he underestimated his little brother. After knocking over the blonde my hazy mind still believes is India to drop her lower than the line of fire, I take cover behind one of the massive concrete pillars holding up the top story of this compound.
From my vantage point, I take down another three men without injury. India isn’t as lucky. A howl roars from her throat when her shoulder catches a wayward bullet. It isn’t a kill shot, but the sob of pain tearing from her throat does have me leaving my hidey-hole.
Like a real-life motherfucking mafia kingpin, I walk straight toward my death, firing my gun as if bullets aren’t being shredded through my stomach, my chest, and my shoulder. Even when my knees buckle beneath me, and blood pools in my mouth, I don’t give up. I continue firing until my gun runs out of bullets, and the blood streaming from my body joins India’s on the floor.
I can’t see anything through the wooziness of my head. Her screams, though, they will never leave me, they’ll haunt me through the botched surgery to remove six bullets from my body, through the shudders of an infection when forced to recover in the equivalent of a dungeon, and for the endless amount of torture Cole puts me through, having no clue the years he was missing were just as torturous for me as they were for him…
They are even with me now. They’re just too quiet to break through the thud of my pulse in my ears. It’s thumping nonstop, only ripped away when the pulse fading under my fingertips is torn from my grasp just as brutally.
Nero tackles me so fiercely, I splinter the drywall behind my bed when I crash into it with a bang. The ripple of pain my collision with the wall causes my body has nothing on the convulsions K’s body makes when it fights to fill her lungs with air. She shudders all over, fighting to live with a will I thought she would have lost months ago.
“What the fuck, man!” Nero glares at me with icy, ready-to-kill eyes, looking prepared to wallop me as I want to pound into myself. “You were choking that girl. What the fuck were you thinking? Nikolai will kill you if he finds out.”
After a final shove to my chest and a glare that reveals I royally fucked up, he stands to his feet and paces back toward the bed.
“Don’t touch her,” I growl out when he moves his hand near K’s neck.
His words are spat out of his mouth as quickly as vomit races up my throat from his reply. “I’m checking she has a pulse, dipshit.”
I’m pissed at myself, but I don’t back down when I’m worked up. “I said don’t fucking touch her! For all we know, she’d rather be dead than be touched again without permission.”
Hearing the threat in my tone that I’m five seconds from killing him, Nero steps back from my bed with his hands held in the air like he’s being arrested. Since his eyes aren’t anywhere near K’s frozen and naked form, the torment tearing me in two fails to augment my worded threat to an all-out violent one.
Sensing my lowering temperament, Nero mutters, “Mercy killing isn’t what we do here, Trey.” He slants his head to lock his brown eyes with my blue ones. “If that girl wants to end her life, that shit is on her shoulders, not yours. I thought you knew that better than anyone. Silly me.”
After a final shake of his head, revealing his disappointment in me, Nero exits the room as quickly as he entered it, leaving me defenseless to a woman I thought I could save from the darkness by taking her place, having no clue I’m already there.
I should have known better.
I don’t live in the darkness.
Darkness lives inside me.
Nine
Sales Docket Number 12574
I wake up gasping like I can’t breathe. It feels like I’m suffocating, like more than fear is stopping my lungs from filling with air.
As my hands shoot up to loosen the tightness squeezing my windpipe, my blurry eyes dart around the masculine, yet homey space. It is empty, which isn’t surprising. It’s rare to wake up to an audience. Once the men get what they want, they leave. It’s the fact I fell asleep that has me gasping.
I emerge into the blackness in my head because it’s the lesser of two evils. I feel their beatings for days after they leave, and my muscles ache for almost a week, but not knowing exactly what they do to me offers some weird sense of comfort. I feel safe even when I should feel anything but.
However, I’m not supposed to fall asleep.
That’s dangerous.
It should have gotten me killed.
Mercifully, my heart is still pumping.
Most days, I’d relish the victory. Today, I’m not sure I won. I’m alive, but I can no longer see the light at the end of the tunnel I’ve been crawling toward for years. It has vanished, up and left. I’ve just got to work out if it’s a good departure or a bad one. I’m leaning toward the negative. If I don’t have goals to aspire to, I may as well be dead.
Incapable of ignoring the uneased churns of my stomach for a second longer, I race into the bathroom attached to the lavish room I awoke in. The heaves of my stomach are so violent, they bring up the meal I ate last night with only two big churns.
Once I’m confident my stomach is empty, I rest my backside on my feet before removing a square of toilet paper to clear away the mess on my lips. It’s funny how the simplest things can make a deranged woman even more unhinged. The softness of the toilet paper as it scrapes my lips is one of those things. The paper—if you were lucky to get any—in my cell was as rough as sandpaper. It added to the pain I experienced every weekend—a pain I’m not noticing this time around.
Confused as to why the lower half of my body isn’t aching, I stand and pace backward until the mirror perched above a double vanity exposes me in all my hideous form. The lifelessness of my eyes is still apparent, and the red welts on my neck are standard, however, there are no grab marks on my breasts, and my vagina isn’t bruised and bleeding. Just from looking at me, you wouldn’t think I had been assaulted tonight. I look untouched.
Well, as untouched as a sex slave can look.
Certain my head is playing tricks on me, I use the facilities, slip a shirt four sizes too big I found on the bed over my head, then exit the room. Upon discovering there’s no lock on the door, much less a guard, I increase the length of my strides. Even with this being a dream, I plan to make the most of it. Usually, my dreams are as horrific as the nightmare I’m living, so a change-up isn’t just nice, it’s highly craved.
My steps slow when accented voices boom into my ears. For the most part, they’re male, but the occasional female ones are added to the mix. Although they’re more moans than words, they most certainly don’t belong to any woman doing something against her will. They’re brimming with too much pleasure to be mistaken as sobs.
I halt partway down the corridor when a sparkling of silver illuminates my pale skin. There’s a skylight above my head. Although the darkness of the sky reveals it’s nighttime, not a cloud hides the moon. It beams through the clear glass so brightly, my usually pasty skin lights up like the window in my room the past ten weeks wasn’t boarded up.
Something so simple shouldn’t be so joyful, but it is. It burns my eyes with tears while reminding me no matter how dark things get, there will always be light. It’s hidden inside of me waiting to be released. I’ve just got to be brave enough to set it free.
After absorbing the moon’s rays long enough to recall I have a beating orifice in my chest, I continue down the hall. When my trek has me stumbling onto a group of people in various stages of undress, I pivot on my heels, prepared to find another way back to the room Ana is in.
I’ve barely tiptoed two steps when I spot a man coming from the other end. He’s large, thick, and stroking himself through his pants. Although his face doesn’t register as familiar, he is exactly the type of man I was expected to entertain when Vladimir kept the members of his crew happy during the quiet weeks.
“Are you lost, little one?”
Shaking my head, I take a step back.
“Are you sure? I think you’re lost
. I can show you the way home.” His lips curl into a cruel grin. “After you’ve proven yourself worthy of my help.” When I shake my head for the second time, his smile grows. Just like every man in this country, his evil thrives off fear. “Ah, the silent type. I’m not usually a fan, but I’m willing to give it a whirl for you.”
When he takes a step forward, I take another one back. A squeak almost pops from my lips when my attempt to flee is thwarted by a body just as rigid as the one approaching me. I used to believed there was safety in numbers. I don’t anymore. Men are crueler when they’re showing off in front of their friends.
My silent pleas get answered when a thick, gravelly tone growls out, “Go find a whore to play with Rory. This one isn’t on the cards.” His voice doesn’t have a British accent like Trey’s, however, it’s just as violent. It sends Rory scampering in the direction opposite to the one he was traveling and has my heart rate returning to a safe level, albeit hesitant.
“Stupid piece of shit,” my rescuer mumbles as he spins me around to face him. He’s the man Trey was speaking with earlier tonight. I can’t recall if I’ve heard his name. “What are you doing awake, K? I thought you’d sleep for ages.”
Although he’s asking a question, he doesn’t wait for me to reply. He just continues spinning me until his arm wraps around my shoulders, and he guides me toward a group of people drinking, laughing, and smiling like they didn’t lose any members of their crew tonight. I saw the number of bodies sprawled on the floor during my escape. Not all of them were Vladimir’s men. Even without knowing their names, I knew most of the men in Vladimir’s crew—regretfully.
Halfway to a coffee table lined with bottles of alcohol, packets of smokes, and a variety of drugs, the reason for the prickling of the hairs on my arms comes to light. Trey is in the jacuzzi. He isn’t alone, and none of his late-night bathing companions appear to be fans of personal space. They’re draped all over him, front and back, and everyone one of them is blonde.
My eyes stray from Trey when the man shunting me out of my comfort zone for the second time in my life offers up an introduction to the people seated in the massive living area. “This is Nero, Lexa, Haley, Nathan, Max, and Nerissa.” He shifts on his feet to face me before shoving a frothy pink concoction into my hand. “Everyone, this is K.”
“Hi, K,” the group hums in sync, oddly friendly.
Only Nerissa adds to her greeting, “You’re pretty, K. Perhaps you should come sit with me?” She taps on the minute snip of material next to her meaty thigh.
“Yeah, nah. She is off-limits.” When the unnamed man pushes me into the plush leather chair my knee was balancing against, some of my drink spills onto Trey’s shirt.
I stop panicking about how much trouble I’ll get in for making a mess when a second man’s backside fills part of the chair my skinny frame doesn’t take up. “Taken by who? Nikolai said the women were off-limits, so who could she be taken by, Eight?”
When Eight’s narrowed gaze swings to the other side of the room, I follow the direction of his gaze. I’m not the only one experiencing discomfort by the stranger’s closeness. Trey seems put-off by it as well, but instead of being angry at my chair-hogging companion, he glares at me as if I requested for him to sit with me.
I don’t know what has him so worked up. I’m not the one entertaining five people in a hot tub. They may only be kissing, but that’s the most intimate act there is. Rape, torture, and deprivation of liberty rarely include kissing. None of the men I was forced to ‘entertain’ were interested in kissing me. They wanted my mouth for one thing and one thing only. Although glad none of the women in the jacuzzi are doing that to Trey, for some stupid reason, watching them kiss him hurts just as much.
Needing to settle the flips of my stomach before I hurl on the expensive-looking rug under my feet, I take a sip of the drink Eight shoved into my hand. The burn the liquid hits my throat with is worse than the dryness Trey’s glare instigated. It has me coughing like I’m on the verge of an asthma attack and sends laughter breaking across the room.
The only person not laughing is Trey.
He’s glaring—still.
“Slow slips, baby girl,” encourages the man warming my thighs with his heated gaze. He’s cute, but I’m not interested. I’ll never be interested. “Nothing around here is done in halves. Not even cocktails.”
My drink is a cocktail? I thought they were supposed to be yummy. This is far from tasty.
I grow worried I said my comment out loud when the dark-haired man laughs like he heard my private thoughts. “Eight is a shit mixer. How about I fetch you something more appetizing?”
After inching back far enough, his hand falls from my face, I shake my head then place my barely-touched drink onto the coffee table. Seemingly incapable of understanding the word no, the man snatches up my glass before he moseys to a bar in the corner of the room to mix me a new drink.
Although panicked about how my rudeness will be handled, I’ve had enough of the festivities to risk being punished. When the group breaks into rapacious laughter about Nero saying balls should be excluded in measurements, I slip off my seat and tiptoe away from them. I’m not here to make friends. I need to find Ana and then the closest exit before the unexpected attention has me forgetting I’m no more important than the women imprisoned in a room at the back of this compound.
I’m no one.
I almost make it to the corridor that leads to the dormitory the women are in when a dripping-wet body blocks my exit. Since my eyes are planted on the ground, it doesn’t take me long to realize the person confronting me is naked. Although his cock is flaccid, it’s still large enough for me to know it won’t matter how gentle he is, you’ll hurt for days after sleeping with him.
“Where are you going, K?” His possessive tone gives away who he is, much less his British accent. “Don’t you want to party with your new friends anymore? Eight seems willing to lose another finger for you, and Logan only mixes drinks for the girls he wants to fuck, so why aren’t you taking advantage of their generosity?” The bad slur of his words reveals his level of intoxication, and don’t get me started on his massively dilated eyes, or we will be here all night. He isn’t just drunk, he’s drugged as well. “You trust them enough not to check if your drink was spiked, so why are you running as if you’re scared of them?”
When awareness on what his anger centers around smacks into me, I roll my eyes before attempting to sidestep him. His annoyed sneer makes it obvious he believes he didn’t get adequate payment for the meal he provided me, and his jealousy is doubling the obviousness. He’s acting as immature as Vladimir did anytime his guests went over their allotted timeslots. Instead of taking his annoyance out on those responsible, Vladimir punished the women like they purposely deceived him. We barely knew if it was day or night, so how were we to know his guest’s time was up?
Instead of letting me leave without making a scene, Trey crowds me against the outer wall of the west wing. “I asked you a question, K, and I’m not letting you leave until you answer me.”
He steps closer and closer and closer until the visual of his rapidly thickening cock is pinched from my sight. Instead, it pokes me in the stomach, stealing the last snippet of my sanity. The silver ends of the barbells partway down his shaft feel cool against my roasting body temperature, and the tattoos accentuating his cock makes it more attractive than ugly.
I’ve never seen a penis and thought it was sexy. They usually make my stomach flip in repulsion, especially the ones I’ve seen the past ten weeks, but Trey’s isn’t close to ugly. It actually makes me feel desired, which is ridiculous considering how hard he’s snarling at me.
“You trust Eight enough to drink from a glass not prepared in front of you, but you don’t trust me to shower and take care of you. What the fuck is that about, K? What did I ever do to deserve your distrust?”
I stare at him as if he’s absurd. I don’t trust anyone, much less men I don’t know.
Incapable of standing the heat of his wrath for a second longer, I stray my eyes to the other side of the room. Our charade has gained us an audience. Not a peep projects across the room because everyone, even the women Trey was entertaining before he chased me down, are staring at us with amusement slashed across their faces.
That hurts more than the clutch Trey places on my face to coerce my eyes back to his. “Don’t worry about them. They’re nobodies. Your focus should be on me, K. It should always be on me.”
When I give in to his silent demand, his cock digs into me deeper, making me hot all over. It’s like he gets off on having my undivided attention. I have no clue why. The women pining over his return are far more attractive than me. They also don’t seem like the type to blank out during intimacy. I’m a sex slave with no identity whatsoever. There’s nothing in my file but a sales docket number. That’s how worthless I am.
I am a nothing.
A whore.
A woman not worthy of any man, let alone one who looks at me like I haven’t been chewed up and spat out more times than she can count.
With his head slanted and his pupils massive, Trey says, “Tell me why you trust them more than me, K, then maybe I’ll go easy on them when I show them what happens to insolent men who disregard my direct order.” I want to tell him his jealousy is unwarranted, but before I can, he continues talking, stopping me, “Is it because I choked you? Are you mad I thought you wanted to be freed from the madness? I was trying to save you from additional harm, K. I wouldn’t have if you had given me any indication you wanted to live.”
As my lungs struggle to fill with air, my hand darts up to caress my neck. Is he the reason for its extra thump of agony? Did he try to kill me? If so, why is he acting irrational now? If he wants me dead, he shouldn’t care whose cup I drink from. He should be grateful they took up the slack his failed attempt to murder me bogged him down with, then he’d be free to get back to his bevy of beauties without burden.
