6. Amorette
AMORETTE
L afe.
His name was Lafe. At least that part of the conversation had been in English. And he abhorred Laugh, although I thought that was the proper pronunciation…Wasn’t it Scandinavian or something?
Instead of thinking of him, I tried to process what had just happened in that warehouse, but my head was too fucked up. I was confused, aching, and ready for this nightmare to be over. But I knew it wasn’t a nightmare, just like I knew I had been about to be gang-raped.
As soon as the guard had delivered me to Randall’s grasping hands, he gave me sad eyes and scurried out of the room.
Thanks a lot, kid.
I was positive he had, if not a sister, then someone he was trying to keep alive in this hellhole, but something other than watching the back of his head leaving me to die would have been nice.
No, that was dramatic. I wasn’t going to die, only brutally assaulted and potentially beaten.
“My small thorn, I’m so glad you’ve come back to have some fun,” Randall cooed, his southern drawl shining through.
He flicked two fingers behind me, and suddenly my arms were restrained.
Fingers bit into my arms as I tested the strength of their hold.
I whimpered when they ground my muscles against the bone.
A dozen or more men left whatever job they were doing around the ample open space to crowd around us, excited grins on their faces like they knew exactly what was going to happen and couldn’t wait.
Randall must do this with all his special girls.
My gut instinct was to fight. I wanted to fight so badly, but I wasn’t completely stupid. With two men holding me, and more surrounding us, I didn’t have a chance of escape.
Randall closed in, pulling a long serrated knife from a holder on his belt. He dragged the tip down my cheek and I held still, avoiding the cut. If I were impulsive, I’d lean into it, let him tear my face up and make it bleed until it scarred. They wouldn’t use me then.
All the girls I’d seen were gorgeous, even in the filth that covered them from being kept in cages like dogs. If I wasn’t attractive to their disgusting patrons, I’d be killed.
A quick death over a few years of sex slavery was my preference. I said a few years because the life expectancy couldn’t be long here. In all the studies I’d read, it never was.
But I didn’t lean into the knife. Randall hated me enough that he wouldn’t allow anyone to tend to it, and in the cages it would get infected.
I had no illusions they’d taken the girls to comfy, clean rooms. Wherever they were now, they were still slaves.
I’d prefer to go out my own way than weaken until I couldn’t fight back.
In this light, a scar that curved around his left ear and down his neck stood out against the tan of his skin. His jolly appearance wasn’t so jolly now. The illusion of an ordinary man fell away as his sinister soul poured through.
Then I looked in his eyes.
Those soulless black pits sparkled as he pulled the collar of my shirt away from my body. He gave me two seconds to realize what he was doing before he slashed the knife down.
I jumped. Fucking hell, I gave that to him.
I paid for it too, as I swayed, darkness clouding in and my mouth watering. The clarity I’d woken up with started to wane under the constant torture of my body.
The macabre grin on Randall’s face said that was what he lived for, little moments of terror from those weaker than him.
Instead of pushing away, I straightened my shoulders and worked to calm my now racing heart.
There was no cut, no blood. The knife hadn’t even touched my skin.
Tears of relief threatened to surface, but I breathed deep, in and out.
In and out until they were gone, and only my resolve remained.
His amusement fled the longer I held his stare.
Not the reaction you were expecting, hm?
He didn’t get the entire shirt in one swipe, poor man. Using angry, choppy slashes, he finished cutting it open and forced it from my body while the men adjusted their holds on me. I jerked back, damn it, but I couldn’t help it.
Another wash of agony.
Cool air hit my body and my fucking nipples pebbled. Sometimes bodies reacted and I loathed that they saw mine. These monsters probably enjoyed it, believing it was from fear or arousal.
I glanced around at the naked lust on their faces. It was most likely fear that turned them on, considering why they had me here in the first place.
Randall pushed me to my knees and I sucked in a sharp breath. Once I was down, he strode around to my back, cupping my nape, and reached around to grope my breast in a punishing squeeze. I gasped but otherwise kept my mouth clamped shut.
I would not scream. I would not cry. I would not give these motherfuckers the satisfaction.
Once I was alone, then I could cry and feel sorry for myself. But not now.
When I didn’t yell out from the pain, he twisted.
Fuck, that hurt. I gritted my teeth and fisted my hands on my thighs.
I would never, not ever, give this man a reaction.
Not if I could help it. I almost laughed as I thought of that gorgeous man questioning me on why I made things harder on myself. Like I didn’t feel fear.
I felt plenty. For the last few days, my life had been one mashed-up ball of fear. My constantly vibrating chest proved it. Fear colored every action, every thought, and even coated the back of my tongue.
But the rage was stronger.
And my pride.
There was only one thing in this world that would give Randall the power he wanted over me, and she wasn’t here. So fuck him and them.
Men started to crowd closer, some openly palming their crotches like the anticipation was too much for them to wait for the party to officially start. One man to the side of Randall began to lower his zipper while baring his teeth in his excitement.
Then he had appeared.
Ah, the way I detested him on sight because he was here.
I had been furious, believing he was there to take part in Randall’s games, but he quickly shattered that thought as he took down a few of the guards.
Some words in English, some in Spanish. The one clear message was he was particular about his name.
He’d spoken in rapid Spanish to him . The one who gave the pretty speech on our first day.
The man was older by about twenty years, and despite having an inch over Lafe, he cowered before him.
The older man was dressed in a full suit, clearly trying to appear as the master here.
But he was afraid of the daunting man in the hoodie. That was interesting.
Which brought me to now, shoved back in the bedroom I’d recently left, by that man who seemed pissed he’d pulled me from the warehouse.
“What are you planning on doing with me?” I asked as I backed up to the wall, trying to keep the adrenaline from shaking my voice. My gut said he wasn’t into the same kind of torture as Randall, even though he was violent. He had no problems with that.
Had I just traded one torture master for another?
“Saving your ass, you ungrateful brat,” he spewed and ran his fingers through his blond hair before turning around and punching a hole in the plaster. “Shit, Andre is going to have my ass over this.”
Another question was on the tip of my tongue when a soft knock came at the door.
He threw it open then stood back for a tall, statuesque woman to walk through.
She was in her late thirties at least and carried it well.
There was enough sadness surrounding her that I knew she wasn’t here by choice, but she lacked too much of the self-hate to be used like the other girls.
“Lafe,” she murmured, sending him a puzzled look. Did she know him? More than just as an acquaintance?
It didn’t matter. He was the enemy.
“Julie,” he returned, walking closer to the bed. I didn’t like how he eyed me, but I didn’t react fast enough to escape his sudden hold on my arms. “Sedate her.”
“What?” I yelled. “You mother fucker! You said you wouldn’t drug me.” I thrashed, dizziness and delayed pain distantly rolling over me. But it was no use. Between his death grip on my arms and his legs holding my knees together, he was too strong.
"Hurry,” he urged. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled.
I had one thought as darkness drifted over my conscience.
Why was he afraid?
* * *
Laughter filled the locker room as I finished changing. Practice was brutal, like always, but I loved the thrill of the workout and the competition. It got me hotter than my on-again-off-again boyfriend Ethan.
He was a nice guy, but he didn’t make my panties wet like scoring a goal on our rival team.
“Amorette?” My twin sister sang out as she pushed past the girls in various states of dress. She was in a great mood, considering she didn’t comment on the smell or the steamy heat from the showers.
My dear sister. I loved her more than life itself, but she was a bit of a priss. In the best way possible.
“Yes, twin?” I grinned and stuffed my sweat-soaked jersey into my bag.
“I’m going to the mall with some friends. Want to ride with?” My smile reflected back at me. We were mirror-image twins. Identical. The same size, haircut, and makeup sense—mainly because she forced me into a chair to apply it every morning.
She tucked her arm in mine as I slung my bag over my shoulder. “See you guys tomorrow!” I called out to the team before ducking out of the locker room. The cool air in the hallway brought chill bumps to my arms after roasting for the last thirty minutes. “Who are you going with?”
Grace rolled her eyes. "Andrew. His friends Cohen and Matt are going too. You should absolutely come. It’d be a hell of a lot more fun than spending time with Ethan.” Her mouth twisted over his name. She wasn’t a fan of his, at all.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I told her like I’d told her a million times. “Keep your phone on and check in with me if you go anywhere outside the mall.”