Chapter Thirteen
Livia
Now, more than ever, I need to escape. Meeting my tormentors is the same as being abducted and moved to another location. It’s almost always inevitably over for the victim.
The steel cuffs on my wrist bite into my skin as if they have teeth. I pull so hard that I’m at risk of breaking my wrist or dislocating my shoulder. And with every movement I make, I’m cruelly aware of my nakedness.
I try to ignore it. Now is not the time to hold on to my modesty. I have to find a way out before I meet them, and with that comes my death. What they did to me from a camera screen will be nothing compared to what they can do to me in person.
I’m so desperate that I’m considering breaking my fingers.
“Do you want a head start, pretty girl?”
I startle at the sound of the voice again. I can’t be sure how long has passed since I last heard from them, but it feels like forever.
The steel bars that keep me imprisoned in the basement lift up. My way out of here is clear.
“I also opened the front door for you. Think you can escape before we get there, pretty girl?”
My breath shudders like a bullet train through me. They haven’t lied to me. Not yet. And in some crazy part of my brain, I believe the front door is open, and if I could get to it, I might be able to escape.
But my body seizes up while my mind explodes in a frenzy.
“Think, Livia. Tick-tock. We’re almost there.”
I want to scream at him to shut up, but I reserve my energy. I turn my whole body around and try to spit on my hand, using the saliva as some sort of lubricant. But my throat is parched, and I’ll only dehydrate myself further. I have to reserve some of my strength for when I’m out the door.
I squeeze my relentlessly and unendingly aching breasts and try to use my milk, but it doesn’t offer much in terms of lubrication and dries too easily.
And then I stall. Because I know what I have to do.
“Pretty girl.”
He says my name as a soft, low growl, but I don’t fucking care anymore. I part my legs and close my eyes. My hand travels to my pussy. The touch awakens every nerve inside my whole body. My clit is on fire and begging for my touch.
Tears fall down the sides of my face. I’m beyond the point of no return now. I’ve lost everything to them. They made me this way. And I’m going to kill them for this.
I dip my fingers into my pussy. An unsolicited gasp falls from my mouth, and as punishment, I bite down on my lip until I puncture my skin, and it bleeds all over again.
I’m so wet, my fingers sink into the entrance of my pussy. The heat inside me shocks me even more. I’ve never been this way before.
I scoop out as much of my wetness as possible. When I remove my hand, it glistens on my fingers, like wet silk. I coat my essence on my restrained wrist and hand and try to pull the cuff off.
“Fuck.”
The tone of the expletive is deep, dark, and heavy, but I ignore it.
I need more wetness—so much more. And I need to be quick. My hand goes down between my legs again. I shudder again as my palm hits my clit. I feel my folds throb and the bottom of my stomach tug. Milk drips steadily from my breasts now. I can’t imagine the wanton spectacle I’m making of myself.
I hate them. I hate them so much, and I’m going to kill them.
I need to make myself come. I need more wetness. I stroke my clit, hard and rough. My back arches. I need to come.
Dear god, what have I become?
A glimmer of light from the stairs, triggered by the motion detectors, casts ominous shadows on the landing beneath the last step.
The sound of the footsteps, three pairs, goes off like a nuclear bomb in my head. While my skin still burns like a furnace, my blood begins to turn to ice.
My heart turns over in fear. New tears roll from my eyes as their shadows grow bigger.
I already know I’m not a match for them. This will be where I die. But not before unspeakable things happen to me.
As if the fluorescence of the light has magically increased, I find myself surrounded by three men.
I blink repeatedly, wondering if I’ve really gone crazy this time. How is this possible?
In all my life, I’ve never seen men like this before. I go to school and see only student-type boys. My father is in his late sixties, and so are the business associates he occasionally hosts for dinner. The guys I see at coffee shops, on the streets, where I work as a waitress and even in my imagination when I secretly indulge in one of Faith’s romance novels look nothing like the men around me.
I’m beyond stunned at their presence.
Dressed in suits clearly cost fortunes, they stand over six feet tall, their shoulders and chests so broad, and their thighs so sculpted that I know instinctively beneath their clothes they’re ripped, with possibly not a gram of extra fat on their bodies.
With their dark hair and dark eyes rimmed with gold, my breath is taken away. They’re immaculately groomed, and the scent of their fresh, expensive cologne mixes with the scent of body and a shameful flush coats my skin.
They’re so perfect. So strong. So indescribably handsome, my body quivers. There’s nothing soft about them. Nothing sweet or gentle. How do people like them exist?
But then a moment of relief washes over me. Oh, dear god, they’re going to help me. My mouth forms the plea, but my mind shuts it down immediately as I connect one unbelievable dot to another.
But then my brain glitches. Realization dawns like lightning, and I’m given such intense mental whiplash that I’m dizzy.
I recognize their faces. The whole world knows who they are. They’re the world’s richest men, worth more money than I could ever, ever imagine. They’re the CEOs of... They’re the CEOs of Ursid Enterprises.
Ursid Enterprises.
Ursid.
My insides twist and strangle me. I never, in a million years, would have made that connection. Their logo is a bear.
If fear started to make my blood freeze up, I have no idea what level I’m on now if my body feels as if it is melting in rivers of lava that now run through my veins.
For dangerous, shocking moments, I’m paralyzed by what envelops my gaze.
But these men are my captors, and when I get past the mesmerizing look of their bodies, and their faces, and who they are in the world, I see that beneath their veneers lies unmistakable danger.
I struggle to swallow the lump of trepidation in my throat or conceal the full-body tremble that wrecks me all over again. I scoot upright against the headboard of the bed, while still cuffed to the side, and press my legs together so tight I can’t breathe. Using my free arm, I wrap it around my body—anything to hide my nakedness and my defenselessness against them.
My gaze lifts tentatively, and I’m completely struck down again. How could they be real?
Instantly, I knew they weren’t kind men. Or men who would help me and remove one of their jackets to cover up my nakedness while another uncuffs me and the third gathers my backpack so that I could be on my way.
They’ll be the last men I see before I die at their hands.
Deacon Walsh. Callen Andrews. Mason Blackstone.
“You know who we are,” Callen Andrews says softly, his voice deep but also like silk, as if he could strangle you while soothing you. It feels as if he’s looking right into my soul and sees my emptiness.
“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
“Won’t tell anyone what?” Mason Blackstone asks. He moves to the table where the three bowls are laid, but it’s like watching a predator move—lazy but with deadly stealth.
I’m disgustedly aware that one of the bowls contains milk from my breasts. But nothing prepares me when he picks up a spoon and dips it into the liquid, and then without severing eye contact with me, he sucks the back of the spoon.
I want to die. My body sizzles, my pussy throbs tenfold, and my breasts feel as if he licked them the same way he liked the spoon.
I force myself to be coherent, but I’m so overwhelmed by their presence that words fail me.
“I… that you’re… that you’re the descendants of...”
Not recovered from the duress that Mason Blackstone has put my body under, my gaze shifts to Callen. With his hands in his pants pockets, he strolls over to the chairs, then stands behind the third one.
He leans his tall frame over and, with his finger, swipes at the wet stain I left behind on the wood. My heart threatens to run away with me. Juices flow from the deepest part of me to my folds, then drip onto my thighs. Onto the bedding.
My nerves crumble and melt as Callen sticks his tongue out and licks my essence off his finger. My body betrays me horrendously, and I don’t know who I hate more. Them or me.
“We really don’t care, Livia, who knows about our ancestors or what they were. It’s never been a secret,” Callen says.
“Please, just let me go.” I”m beside myself with fear now.
“What were you really looking for?” It’s the first time that Deacon Walsh speaks, and the cold sternness in his rough voice makes me shiver.
“I was looking for this cottage. That’s all. I wanted it to be true so I could put my mom to rest. She believed in fairytales. I shouldn’t have stepped inside. I’m so sorry. That was never what I was meant to do.”
“And you want us to believe you when we know who your father is and who he works for?” Mason asks.
“What? What does my father have to do with this? He’s a lawyer. That’s all. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“It’ll be easier for you if you come clean, Livia. We know everything about you already, so lying or stalling is only going to make it worse for you,” Callen says, and there’s a reasonability about his deep, smooth voice that makes me want to confess to anything he wants me to.
“It will be the difference between having you in our bed or in a cell.” I whip my gaze up to Deacon. Both the options he’s given me have me rattled with deep apprehension.
“I don’t know anything. I’m doing this because of my mum—” I stop talking abruptly, as if my words singed my throat, and now I can barely offer a squeak. My eyes widen as they start to remove their jackets and ties. I’m frantic when they start rolling up the sleeves of their shirts to reveal an array of tattoos on their forearms.
I try to creep further away from them, as the power in their forearms makes it clear what they can do to me. I want the bed to swallow me into another dimension. I want this nightmare to end.