Savage Desires (Black Rose Doms Book 3)

Chapter 2

I clingto the blanket wrapped around me, stumbling behind Madame as she drags me through the club. I barely stay on my feet when we descend the stairs into the basement where the girls like me are kept. I would say it”s where we live, but what we do is hardly living. She doesn”t release her painful grip on my arm until we get to my room, which is really a cell. She unlocks the door and shoves me in, causing me to fall to my knees. She slams the door and throws the lock.

Georgie rushes over and helps me to my feet. She leads me to my thin mattress on the floor and helps me sit. The mattress does nothing to alleviate the biting cold from the cement floor or the discomfort from how hard it is. It”s just another way they show us that we”re nothing but property to be treated as they see fit, which is badly. We are less than human to these people. They own us, and we have to submit to their every whim or suffer the consequences.

I can”t help but wonder what the consequence will be for Kisten stepping in and stopping the scene. Todd Mallory is an important client. It doesn”t matter that it wasn”t my fault. I”ll still be punished. That”s how it goes here. I can only hope that it”ll be a beating. Physical pain is so much better than the other ways they punish us.

Chills run down my spine, making me hiss in discomfort from my wounds. Being subjected to mental torture is so much worse than any physical pain they dish out. I would rather be beaten bloody than put in the cage. It sounds as inhumane as it is… maybe worse. You”re locked in a literal cage that prevents you from standing or sitting. Most of the girls have to stay on their hands and knees the entire time they are locked up. I”m lucky to be small enough to curl in a ball on the bottom of the cage.

That”s only one part of the torture. The room the cage is in is pitch black. Not an ounce of light penetrates the space. It”s also completely soundproofed. No one can hear your screams, and you can”t hear anything other than your own breathing. It”s a total mindfuck. Maybe if they only left you there for a few hours it wouldn”t be so bad, but they leave you for days at a time. There”s no way to know how much time has passed because no one comes for you until the punishment ends.

The longest I”ve been left there is seven days. Seven days without food or water. Seven days of living in my own filth. Seven days of thinking that”s how I would die. Alone in the dark, caged like a dog. It”s happened before. I”ll never forget the guard hauling Bree”s dead body out of the room. He didn”t even carry her. He dragged her down the halls by her ankle. They ensured we were all present to see what would happen if we disobeyed.

It was a lesson that will never be forgotten. However, it”s impossible to avoid because they always look for reasons to punish us. Sometimes, when I”m in the dark, I wish for the same peace Bree found in death. I”m no fool. I know death is the only way out. There”s no escaping this prison. For some reason, I can”t let myself give up. I should be completely broken; in many ways, I am broken, but a flicker of hope is still buried inside me.

That spark of hope flickered a little brighter when I woke up in Kisten”s arms. I was terrified, but something about his eyes told me he was no danger to me. He talked softly like I was a wild animal that might run off at the slightest movement or sound. His dark eyes were hard as he questioned me about the man I was with. He looked moments away from violence, but I wasn”t afraid. Instinctively, I knew his violent anger would never be aimed at me. It solely belonged to Todd Mallory.

Then Madame came, and reality crashed through my momentary reprieve. I can only pray for mercy at this point. None of what happened tonight was my fault. I know it doesn”t matter, though. Someone has to pay, and that person will always be me.

”What happened?” she asks.

”I was brought upstairs for a public scene with Todd Mallory. He whipped me with a bull whip until I passed out. Some guy played the knight in shining armor and tried to give me aftercare until Madame came and dragged me away.”

She pulls the blanket away, and I wince. No matter how soft the material is, having it cling to the open wounds on my back hurts like hell. Georgie sighs and moves to the first aid kit that hangs on the wall. It”s the only nice thing in the room. The white box with a bright red cross shines even in the dull light from the solitary bulb that hangs from the ceiling. They deny us even the most basic comforts but keep that box full of supplies. It mocks us from where it hangs. A constant reminder of the torture we are subjected to daily.

I watch Georgie take out what she needs to clean up my back. Hopefully, none of the wounds need to be stitched. It doesn”t feel like it”s that bad, but my tolerance for pain is entirely skewed. Before I was taken, I didn”t even know what pain really was. Now, it”s my life, and sometimes, the only thing that tells me I”m still alive when I wake up each day. The pain is proof that this isn”t just some fucked up nightmare.

Without warning, Georgie pours alcohol over my back, catching the excess with gauze that she will use to clean the worst wounds. I clench my jaw at the stinging pain. She works quietly. When I first got here three years ago, she would give me pretty lies about how everything would be okay, but after two months of endless pain, I made her stop. I know she was trying to help me. I was terrified when they brought me here. I won”t say my life was good before Mecca, but it wasn”t this bad.

I thought I wanted to escape my previous owner and his sadistic ways. I was laughably wrong about that. Having one man who used me wasn”t nearly as bad as this hellhole. I at least knew what to expect from him. Now, each day is a new, fresh level of hell.

It grates on me to allow myself to be beaten and abused in the worst ways imaginable. My dad used to be an MMA fighter before he tore his rotator cuff during a fight. Despite a totally fucked shoulder, my dad still won that fight, knocking out his opponent. Unfortunately, even after surgery, it never healed properly. He switched from fighting to coaching and opened his own MMA gym.

The only thing that keeps me from completely hating myself for becoming a ghost of who I once was is that I fought like hell when I was taken. It took three grown men to take me down. In the end, they had to drug me to get me to comply. I was damn proud when I came to and saw those same men battered and bruised. I broke at least one nose, and two of them had black eyes. The third guy favored his ribs, where I landed a particularly vicious kick.

Dad would”ve been so fucking proud of his little fighter. A pang of sadness creeps in, and I force myself to ignore it. I don”t know what happened after I was taken. I want to believe that Dad continued working at his gym and found a way to be happy without me. I hate the idea of him hurting because of me.

My mom dumped me on his doorstep when I was just two years old, and I became his life. He was known as a playboy and partied with the best of them. Living up the life of a star in the MMA world. He changed entirely once I came into the picture. He didn”t even do a paternity test to find out if I was really his. From what I”ve been told, my mom was… we will call her promiscuous to be kind. She was a party girl and slept with a lot of men.

My dad admitted it was a drunken night, and he barely remembers having sex with her. I asked Dad why he didn”t do a paternity test, and he told me he knew I was his from the moment he opened the door and saw me standing there in a frilly pink dress, holding my purple bunny.

Mom didn”t even stick around to make sure someone was home. She rang the bell and walked away, leaving me with a small backpack containing a few of my belongings, including my birth certificate, social security card, doctor”s details, and list of allergies. She didn”t want me, but she obviously took good care of me while she had me.

I don”t remember her, and I never tried to look for her. She didn”t want me; therefore, I don”t want her. My dad was all I needed. He loved me harder than anyone else ever could. I hate that he will never have closure on what happened to me. At first, I thought I was kidnapped for ransom, but that thought was quickly squashed when I was put on the auction block for the first time. I was fucking terrified.

I was sixteen and hadn”t even had my first kiss yet. They put me in sexy lingerie and stood me in front of a room full of disgusting old men who looked at me with lust-filled eyes. Silent tears fell from my eyes as the price kept increasing. I”ll never forget when the auctioneer shouted, ”Sold for two million dollars!”. It was a bidding war. Apparently, young virgin girls are a hot commodity.

My first owner snuffed out all my fire. I fought him. I didn”t give in easily, but I quickly learned my lesson. Fighting only caused me more pain. When I behaved, I was treated relatively well. I was fed regularly and had a small but functional bedroom. I was allowed to go into the large courtyard once a week when I was good. If I was really good, I got a new book each week.

I learned to behave. Submission did not come easily to me. I”m a fighter to my core, but I learned how to push that part of me down. I let that side of me simmer deep inside myself. Only in the quiet of my room would I allow myself to remember who I really was. I would mentally walk through all the techniques my dad taught me, vowing that someday I would find a way to fight again. Until then, I would survive.

I push all those thoughts away. Dwelling on a past that cannot be changed doesn”t help.

”Good news, you don”t need stitches. Most of these are just superficial.”

I nod in response. I”m too exhausted to do more than that. She puts antibiotic cream on the wounds and helps me lie on my stomach. My eyes close without permission, and I let the blackness take me away. My reckoning is coming, so I need to take advantage of this reprieve.

I”m unsure how long I sleep before being startled awake by our door swinging open and slamming against the wall. Heavy footsteps head my way, and I know what”s coming—punishment.

”Let”s go, trash,” Vlad barks, kicking the edge of my bedding in warning.

The next kick will be aimed at my body. Vlad is one of the nicer ones, even though he won”t hesitate to dole out punishments. He doesn”t take things too far and doesn”t have a taste for the more sadistic things the others do. He never participates in sexual punishments, and that makes him leaps and bounds above the others.

I pull my weak body off the mattress and stumble after him. Georgie squeezes my hand as I pass her as if to let me know I”m not alone. I wish that were the truth. We”re all alone here. Even in a room full of people, we are utterly alone. Each of us lost in our own personal hell. Vlad locks the door to our room and leads me toward the torture rooms.

I pray that he takes me to the first room. I can handle the pain. It”ll remind me that I”m alive. When he doesn”t stop at the first door, I have to bite back a whimper. There are two other doors. One is what we call the rape room. They tie you up and let anyone who wants a turn have you. I”ve only been in that room once when I first got here. I never want to go back in there, but the thought of complete darkness for an unknown period of time seems worse.

I can”t tell you how many times I”ve been forced to have sex since I was taken. From the time my first owner ripped through my virginity, I”ve never been asked. I didn”t think it could be any worse until my time tied in the rape room. Another piece of me broke that day. I”d be willing to let them break me apart again if it would keep me out of the cage. You know your life is fucked up when you”re actually hoping to get raped multiple times by multiple men.

We pass the second door, and this time, I do whimper. Vlad gives me a disapproving look and grabs my arm harshly. My mind is screaming at me to put up a fight, but I know it will only make things worse. Being beaten and then shoved into a cage is terrible. Ask me how I know.

”H-how long?” I ask, even though I should keep my mouth shut.

I”m not surprised when he doesn”t answer. The heavy door swings open, and the smell hits me first. Even though they spray down the room with a hose afterward, the smell of body odor, blood, and waste never disappears. I can hardly breathe from the anxiety pouring through my veins. I can just make out the outline of the cage from the hallway”s light. I slow my steps, but Vlad squeezes my arm so hard it feels like he could snap it in half.

”Inside,” he growls.

He shoves me to my knees, making me cry out when they hit the cement floor. When I don”t immediately start to move towards the cage, he uses his big, booted foot to push me forward. Another wordless threat. I can move on my own, or he will kick me until I”m inside. Part of the mindfuck is making us crawl into the cage under our own power. Making us participate in the punishment.

When I reach the front of the crate, I spin around and back inside. After the first time, I learned that crawling straight in means you can”t see what”s coming when and if someone opens the door. I never did that again. The cage door slams shut, and Vlad secures it with a thick lock. He doesn”t say anything as he leaves the room. The door closes, and the room is plunged into complete darkness.

I close my eyes and do my best to control my breathing. Panicking will only make things worse. When I”ve finally calmed my breathing, I slowly arrange myself on my side at the bottom of the cage. The bars cut into my skin painfully, but it”s better to spread it out more evenly than to localize it to only my palms and knees, like lying on a bed of nails.

I wrap my arms around my legs and close my eyes. I try to bring up a happy memory, something to lose myself in, but nothing comes. I don”t have many memories left from before I was taken. It”s like every new trauma that happens pushes another piece of my past out of my mind, replacing it with something darker.

After a few minutes, I give up on trying to find a good memory from my past to focus on. I”m starting to hyperventilate again because I don”t know how I will survive this punishment without something to focus on. Before I can completely lose it, a pair of dark eyes fills my mind.

Kisten.

I mentally grab onto the memory and let my mind run with it. I replay what happened and how kind he was to me. I”ve never once been tempted to risk telling someone at the club what was happening because you never know who the enemy is, but I wanted to confide in him. I don”t know how I know he can be trusted, but I do. Kisten is an intimidating man. Tall, muscular, with dark eyes that I have no doubt could be used to terrify someone. He”s dangerous, that”s obvious, but I let my mind latch onto how safe he made me feel.

I lie in the dark, creating an imaginary existence where Kisten rescues me. I don”t know how much time passes. I fade in and out of sleep. The one consistent thing other than the darkness is my growing fantasies about Kisten. My stomach aches from hunger, and my mouth and throat are painfully dry. I”m weak from hunger and dehydration. My punishment has to be coming to an end soon unless they”ve decided to make an example of me like they did with Bree.

Why does that thought not provide any comfort like it once would have?

I have a worrying suspicion that it has to do with my dark-eyed savior. I drift to sleep again, wondering if I”ll wake up or not.

”Willow. Wake up,”a soft voice filters through the silence.

I blink my eyes open and see the first bit of light I have in... I don”t know how long. My eyes hurt from the brightness, but I don”t dare close them again in case this isn”t real.

”Oh, thank God,” the voice comes again. ”Willow, can you move?”

I try to make my body work, but everything weighs a million pounds. Darkness pushes in from all sides, and I can feel it trying to take me under again, but the urgent whispering keeps me tethered to the here and now.

”Come on, Willow. You need to get out of there. Now, before Madame comes back.”

I finally match the frantic voice to that of Georgie. She lightly slaps my cheek, helping push the darkness back further. I attempt to move to my hands and knees to crawl out of the cage, but my entire body protests. My muscles ache from being in one position for so long. My arms and legs are leaden. I grit my teeth and use the little strength I can muster to pull myself out of the cage with Georgie”s help. I collapse onto my back as the blood painfully flows freely through my body again. It”s like a million tiny needles stabbing my extremities. It”s proof of life. Evidence that my body survived another punishment.

”Come on. We don”t have much time before lockdown, so we need to get you to the showers. If we aren”t in our room on time, we”ll both be in that cage,” Georgie says.

She helps me to my feet, letting me lean heavily on her as we slowly make our way to our room. I can feel the eyes of the other women on me as we pass. I keep mine focused on the floor and my dirty feet. I don”t want to see the pity in their eyes. It doesn”t matter that we are all in the same position; there”s always someone suffering just a little more than you are, and right now, that person is me.

We finally make it to the bathroom, and it”s blessedly empty. Georgie helps me to the shower and turns the water on. The cold water steals my breath from my lungs while waking me up even more. What I wouldn”t do for some hot water right now. I”m cold down to my bones, but this place has no warmth. It”s just another way they remind us that we aren”t people.

I turn my face into the stream of water and open my mouth to drink. I stop before I”m satisfied because I”ve learned the hard way that putting too much of anything in my stomach after starving for days ends in puking. Small sips and meals to start. The last thing I want to do is waste any nourishment I”m allowed now that I”m out of the cage.

Georgie helps clean me up since I”m so weak. Most people would be embarrassed in this situation, but modesty and embarrassment left me long ago. It”s all about surviving now.

”How long?” I whisper.

”Five days.”

I just nod in response. What can I say anyway? Five days locked in the dark, left to starve and soil myself. Five days to get lost in my own head. Five days of sinking into insanity. Dark brown eyes flit through my mind, reminding me that I wasn”t completely alone in that hell. My savior was there, even if he was a figment of my imagination. A glimpse into my insanity.

Once I”m clean, she helps me dry off and dresses me in a shapeless dress like the one she”s wearing. When we aren”t working, we wear old dresses or oversized t-shirts that have seen better days. I”d choose this ugly dress a hundred times over the outfits we”re dressed up in for our clients. Depending on the client we have that day, it could be anything from an evening gown to expensive lingerie to nothing at all.

The walk to our room is slow. Even though I”m feeling steadier on my feet, I”m still weak. Even this short walk is zapping the little bit of energy I gained from the freezing shower and water I drank. Thankfully, Georgie keeps her arm around me, letting me lean on her. We finally reach our room, and she helps me to my bed. The thin mattress feels like a cloud after my time in the cage.

”I saved you some dinner,” Georgie says.

”Thank you.”

She hands me a chipped bowl filled with what is supposed to be stew. It”s really just chunks of meat boiled with potato chunks and zero seasoning. It”s disgusting, but I”m so hungry it tastes like a gourmet meal. I don”t even care that it”s stone cold. I eat slowly even though I want to gorge myself. I barely eat half of the small bowl of stew before my stomach protests. I set it aside and lay down facing Georgie.

She”s sitting on her mattress, watching me. She”s worried about something, and it”s not just my condition. Georgie is only a few years older than me but seems so much older. I suppose spending twelve years in this life will do that to a person. The older you get, the more you worry about your expiration date. No one wants an old sex slave. The best we can hope for is dying young or becoming useful in some other way.

Georgie helps take care of the girls here at Mecca. She also helps with the new girls and makes sure we”re dressed appropriately for whatever job they”re using us for. I can”t be mad at her for that, though. She”s just trying to survive like the rest of us, and being useful is how she”s going to do it.

”What”s wrong?” I finally ask.

She closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens her eyes, they are filled with pain, and I know that whatever she says isn”t going to be good.

”There”s an event in a couple days. A big one.”

”Okay…” I say slowly. There”s always some kind of event, so I”m unsure why this one”s upsetting her.

”It”s an auction.”

It takes me a few seconds for that information to sink in. They are selling girls and not just for one night. It”s not the first one they”ve hosted since I was brought here. They like to rotate the girls here at Mecca. Especially the ones that break too easily. They have no remorse when it comes to ending our lives, but money talks in this business. Auctioning us off gives them more of it, and they don”t have to deal with disposing of our bodies. I still don”t really understand why this is upsetting her.

”That”s not unusual…”

”This is different. Worse than normal,” she says, her voice shaky.

”What”s worse than selling us to the highest bidder and shipping us off to God knows where?”

”Selling us to the highest bidder and getting rid of our bodies when they are done with us,” she whispers.

My eyes widen as I process what she just said.

”Why would they do that? Why would anyone spend that much money on a sex slave just to kill them immediately?”

”The kind of men that can”t keep a slave but want to destroy one beyond what Mecca allows.”

”How did you hear about this?”

”I was cleaning and overheard Madame talking to the masked man. You know how they pretend I don”t exist while I”m in the room…”

The masked man is our true owner. Madame runs Mecca”s seedy underbelly, but the man in the mask owns it all. The only thing I know about him is that he wears expensive suits over his muscular frame and has dark hair. I have no idea what he looks like because he never shows his face. The only other notable thing about him is his thick Russian accent. I would know his cold voice anywhere, though. Chills run down my spine at the memory of it. I push those thoughts away. No good will come from dwelling on the past when I apparently have a fresh hell to worry about.

”When is the auction?”

”Two days from now… Saturday night.”

”Do you know who they are auctioning?” I ask even though it”s the last thing I want to know.

”Stacia, Tabitha, Lucy, Reghan…” She trails off, her eyes focused on the floor between us. A single tear slides down her face. ”You.”

I suck in a breath. I knew the moment she mentioned the auction, I would be in it. After what happened with my last client, I became a liability. I”m sure Todd demanded compensation for having his scene interrupted. Not that it was my fault. I couldn”t have prevented Kisten from intervening.

As fucked up as it is, I”m just happy that one of my last moments in this place was with someone who tried to help me. I spent five days in the dark because of what Kisten did, but I spent those five days drowning in the memory of his dark eyes and the gentle way he held me. I always knew I would die in captivity. Now that I know my days are numbered, I”m filled with a sense of peace.

I”m not giving up. It”s not my body failing or my mind breaking apart. They are going to kill me. I have no doubt it”ll be a painful death. One I”ll be begging for in the end if they have their way, but it won”t be because I gave up. I should be more upset than I am. Logically, I should be freaking out. Instead, I”m just resigned to my fate.

”You”re safe?” I ask.

Georgie nods, another tear falling.

”Good. That”s good.”

I scoot over on my mattress and pat the spot I just freed. Georgie hesitates for a moment before moving to my side. She lays beside me, and I pull her into a hug. She loses the fight with her emotions and weeps. I can”t imagine how hard carrying the burden of this knowledge is. I know she wouldn”t have told the others. It would be dangerous. If Madame found out she had overheard and warned the others, Georgie would be punished.

”This is where I tell you it”ll all be okay, and you pretend to believe me,” I murmur, stroking her hair.

”I hate this. I hate them so much,” she says fervently.

”Good. Use that hate to stay alive. Continue to make yourself useful. Become invaluable when it comes to the others. Show Madame how much easier things are for her when you”re around to take care of them.”

”What about you?” she whispers.

”It seems my fate has already been sealed. One of us needs to survive this place. I want you to survive. If you ever get the opportunity to escape… take it. Run and never look back. Don”t try to save the others. Just go. Disappear.”

”But—”

”No,” I say, cutting her off. ”In this world, it”s everyone for themselves. The others wouldn”t hesitate to leave you behind. Don”t die because you want to save everyone. And don”t go to the authorities. It”s not safe. They are corrupt. The only way is to disappear.”

I can see her internal struggle at the thought of not helping the other women. I”m not wrong; she knows it, but abandoning them goes against her caring nature.

“Promise me, Georgie. Promise me you”ll save yourself.”

”I promise,” she whispers.

I nod, holding her tighter. ”Good.”