10. Mimosa
CHAPTER 10
Mimosa
At least it doesn’t hurt to walk anymore.
That’s the only small consolation I have, because everything else in my current situation is probably as bad as almost getting drowned several days earlier.
Brutal parks the car next to a bunch of other luxury vehicles. The only building in this isolated forested area is an eyesore of concrete, completely out of place in the middle of all this nature.
The flimsy clothes he put me in aren’t doing much to keep me covered, given how sheer the fabric is. It matches my orange hair, though. I wonder if he picked it on purpose or if he just happened to have it lying around.
He doesn’t seem like the type to have been so deliberate with clothing, though.
He helps me out of the car and wraps an arm casually around my shoulders. “We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, Mimi.” His voice is laden with excitement, and it doesn’t even sound like the dark amusement he reserves for me. It’s like he’s taking me to a surprise party for my birthday or something innocent.
There’s nothing innocent about this.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
He hates it when I don’t show emotion—but that’s probably why I do it. It’s my innocent rebellion, the one that gets me punished but shows me so much about him as a person.
One thing I’ve learned over these past few days is how much he wants to be in control. He talks about his friends derisively, that they’ve lost their spark or their touch, but there’s jealousy there too. He wishes he were like them.
Drake Brutal knows that his position is precarious.
He knows he isn’t as collected as they are, and every reminder that he isn’t sets him off and has him punishing me.
At least he hasn’t been too creative since the near drowning, but that makes me especially wary of what’s going on in this building.
When we get to the door, a big guy with muscles nearly bulging out of his skin looks me and Brutal over. He must recognize Brutal because he waves us through.
Brutal walks in with the certainty of experience — or maybe it’s just the arrogance of someone who can buy any building or business he walks into. That might not be the case here, given the price tags on the cars outside, but that doesn’t stop him from acting the part.
It’s dark, the air saturated with cigarette and cigar smoke. It’s oddly quiet, though I can hear the murmur of voices coming from just ahead.
We get to the doorway, and my heart skips a beat as I see other men there with women on their laps or on the floor, dressed as skimpily as I am.
All of them look terrified.
“Hey, Drake!” a man says, grinning widely. He walks over to us, and although his eyes rake over me, he doesn’t address me. “Glad to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” I notice he doesn’t have a woman at his side, which makes him one of very few who haven’t brought their own…
Prey , a voice supplies in the back of my mind. I try to ignore it, but it’s the only word I can think of.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Brutal says with a grin of his own. “Got something for me, Patrick?”
Patrick produces a little travel-sized bottle of what claims to be ibuprofen on the label, but I highly doubt that’s what’s inside. “What’s up with the sudden vacation?”
I’ve been wondering the same thing .
Brutal tenses, snatching the bottle away from Patrick and stuffing it into his pocket. “Just needed some time to myself.” He couldn’t radiate more defensiveness if he tried. He tries to recover by wrapping his arm around my shoulder and adding, “Got my new toy, right? I wanted to test her out, run her through her paces.”
I’d roll my eyes at the cliche phrasing, but I’m more worried about the entire situation.
Some of the other women in the room are crying softly. A few have their hands bound. I spot one or two with defiant looks in their eyes, one that I recognize. I’d looked like that, before I’d spent months “working” for Giulio Pavone.
I hope those women manage to keep the defiance, no matter how much the rich bastards of the world try to beat them down.
I know all too well just how hard it is to stay strong, though.
“She looks like she needs a little running,” Patrick agrees with a dark chuckle.
“Good thing she’ll get plenty of exercise tonight,” Brutal says, squeezing his arm painfully around my shoulders.
My feet are mostly healed, but I don’t think I’m going to enjoy running.
Maybe that’s the point, though. This is simply an extra cruelty Brutal is heaping upon me, because he can’t stand the idea that I might still have a few independent thoughts in my head.
Suddenly the lights dim, and somebody steps out onto the small stage on the far end of the room. She’s an older woman in elegant clothing, exuding confidence and power.
From her gleeful expression, I doubt she’s going to be sympathetic to any of the women here.
“Good evening, gentlemen! I’m so happy to see the large turnout for tonight.” She glances around the room and waits for the men to offer up mumbled greetings. “I know our regular members understand how things will go, but I thought I’d go over the rules for all the girls.” She laughs cruelly. “We want it to be a fair game, after all.”
What is it with Brutal and his fucked-up, twisted games ?
Clearly someone didn’t play Monopoly as a child — or maybe he did, and that was where he learned to be cutthroat .
“Listen close, Mimi,” Brutal mutters in my ear.
Patrick crowds me from the other side, and I find myself more willing to press against Brutal than to let my side brush against his friend. At least Brutal is the devil I know, and someone supplying drugs to an already unstable man can’t be trusted.
“The ladies,” she pauses for a few snickers, “will get a head start through the maze.” She gestures behind her to a nondescript-looking door.
My stomach churns.
“The goal is, of course, to get to the other side. As you make your way through the labyrinth, you might find hiding spots that could buy you some time. You might find traps that will make you a sitting duck. There will be weapons for you to use, provided you can. A friendly suggestion: don’t pick them up if you don’t know what you’re doing with them because they can be used against you.”
The men start to shift impatiently, clearly ready for her explanation to be over, but she seems to be enjoying hearing herself talk because she continues.
“If you make it through the maze to the end, congratulations. You’ll be treated to a nice drink and a night off from your owners’ perversions!” Like they’re really going to let that happen. “But if you get caught? The only rule is that there are no rules,” she says.
She’s trying to make it sound like we have a chance, but I’m not delusional enough to believe that. This is a one-sided game designed to make us all lose.
I glance at some of the other women.
Maybe the real trick to getting ahead is to sacrifice the other women. If the men are busy with them, then I’ll have a chance to escape and see what the real prize is.
Brutal’s fingers dig into my shoulders. “Doesn’t that sound fun, Mimi?” he whispers to me.
“Yes,” I answer, just as deadpan as always.
He sneers at me, but before he can do anything, the woman on stage speaks again.
“Gentlemen, unbind your girls. Girls, line up at the door,” she orders .
While the men obey, the women are less inclined to go to the door. A few of them exchange looks, and I see tears rolling down cheeks as the reality of the situation hits them. All it takes is for the woman in charge to clear her throat, though, and we file toward the door.
That’s where civility abandons us, as women start to fight to get to the front of the line.
I wait patiently near the back, not interested in getting injured before things have even started. It’s going to be hard enough to run with the still healing cuts on my feet. Everything might have sealed up, but that doesn’t stop my feet from being tender.
“And… go!” the woman says, just as a loud gong sounds.
All the women start running. I take one look over my shoulder at Brutal, half considering refusing to play along.
His expression is dark and thunderous though, and I know rebelling openly would have far too extreme consequences.
I jog through the door into the maze.
The first thing I notice is how dark it is. There’s minor illumination along the floor, but there’s no way to tell how far a wall extends, where the corners are, or if the floor is even safe to step on.
I follow the sounds of the other women. Some of them are whispering to each other, something about working together to maybe outwit the men.
I turn a corner before I reach them, running my hand along the wall to keep myself oriented. I think there’s some sort of trick, where you can follow one wall and be guaranteed to hit the maze exit, but that would take a lot of time and is sure to bring me back into the men’s path.
Without proper light, though, I have no way of knowing where I’m going.
I pause and look down at the floor lighting.
They aren’t LED strips, just small individual lamps spaced out evenly, smaller than the palm of my hand. And sure enough, when I check, they aren’t plugged in to anything. That makes sense, if the maze gets rearranged for every one of these games.
I fumble with the light until I find an off switch, plunging me deeper into darkness.
A glance around tells me nobody else is in this particular corridor— not that I can see, at least. I clutch the light and keep walking. When I reach an unlit corner, I turn the light on and shine it down the path. It gives me just enough illumination to let me know it’s a quick dead end — but there’s a box there too. Maybe that’s one of those weapons stashes the woman was talking about.
I jog over to it, almost tripping over an uneven spot in the floor that I doubt is there by accident, and examine it. It’s a wooden chest, but my heart drops to my stomach when I see the padlock on it. For a second, frustration races through me, but I note that the wood is relatively thin. Instead of giving up, I take a few seconds to consider whether it’s worth potentially giving away my location by breaking into the box.
If that woman was lying about possible weapons, I’m about to make a big mistake.
I pick up the box and throw it as hard as I can against the wall. It clatters loudly, and I hear somebody else shriek on the other side of the wall.
I drop the box and shine the light on the floor. The wood splintered apart, revealing a few items that glint dully in the dim lighting. A hammer, a baseball bat, and… Is that a pocketknife? My heart pounds furiously in my chest. There’s no way they’d give us an actual knife.
I pick up the knife and test the edge. It’s mildly sharp, but I’m not sure if it’s enough to do serious damage to anybody.
“Hey,” a female voice calls out behind me. “Hand that over.”
I sigh, and without protesting, I give her the knife. “Sure. Be careful.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she says. She backs away a few steps, then adds, “Thanks. For not fighting me.”
“Sure.” I watch as she leaves, then look down at the remaining weapons. I don’t like my chances with the hammer, but the light baseball bat might be enough for me to use for something other than just beating somebody. I pick it up, turn my light back off, and walk back out to the main, moderately illuminated corridor just in time to hear the first scream.
It’s shrill and panicked, coming from what sounds like several rows away, but it’s close enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Fuck. I need to make more progress .
I briefly entertain the idea of finding a place to hole up and wait, to deny Brutal his fun by refusing to play the game. If he catches me doing that, though—or if someone else does—I know he’ll make me regret it.
I dart around the corner, blood beating in my ears as I strain to get through this without outright panicking.
There’s some sort of trick to this game. I don’t believe for a second the winner will get a reprieve. The exit might have men waiting for their prize.
Or maybe the trick is that there is no exit to this maze at all. That the walls are designed to lead everything around in a circle, and…
The walls. I stop and look at them. They’re high, but not that high. They don’t extend all the way to the ceiling. I push against them, and they’re sturdy enough that I think they could support my weight.
I just have to reach them. Even if I can’t walk along the top, I might be able to see what direction I need to go in.
I jog until I find another one of the weapons boxes, and this time I put it vertically along the wall and stand on top. It’s very wobbly, but it’s more well-made than the other and holds me well enough. The problem is the baseball bat. I need both hands if I want to pull myself up on the wall. I can hook the small lamp on my fingers, but the bat is too large and unwieldy.
I grimace, but I can’t see any other choice. I bite the handle of the bat with my teeth, then jump so I can grab the edge of the wall.
I only just manage it, and I hear the box clatter back down to the floor. I keep going though, pulling myself up slowly. I apparently should have been hitting the climbing gym.
Drool trails down my chin as I strain to keep hold of the bat.
Once I’m at the top, I stretch out on the narrow wall, take the bat in my hands, and take slow—and quiet—breaths.
A few feet away, I hear another woman screaming, followed by a male laugh.
I try to figure out my strategy. I could lie here the rest of the match, hoping no one looks up to see me, but I don’t know what happens to the women once the game ends. If I trusted my balance — if I wasn’t in the fucking dark — I might try to walk across it like it’s a balance beam, but I don’t think I can handle it .
I breathe slowly, trying not to pay attention to the screams and laughs and grunts and groans and instead focusing on more immediate sounds. I think I hear someone close, and I go still just in time for footsteps to pass me and continue around the bend. I don’t even dare let out a breath of relief.
The fear has turned into adrenaline, and with that comes a strange sort of confidence.
I can do this.
I slowly stand up, wobbling as pain shoots up from the soles of my feet. This would be easier if Brutal hadn’t fucking caned them so recently, but I don’t have time to dwell on that.
I don’t dare turn on my light, which would give my position away to everybody. I have to work with the little illumination I have from the few marked paths below. My steps are slow and unsteady, and I have to test every single one in case there’s a sudden break or turn in the wall.
When I reach the end of my current wall, I stop, breathing quietly, to take in my surroundings. It’s still pitch black, but I have a different view of the lights on the ground.
I also spot an area far enough away that has more lights than the others, and a faint outline of a door.
That has to be an exit. The problem is, can I get there? If I jump down, I’ll lose my view of it, and I’m sure there are plenty of walls in the way to disorient me.
Staying up here isn’t going to do anything for me though. I angle myself so I’m facing the exit, check to make sure there’s nobody below me, then slowly lower myself. The baseball bat drops out of my hands and lands with a loud clatter, but there’s so much screaming happening around me that I doubt anybody else noticed.
I hope nobody else noticed.
I wince when I land, the impact more than my feet could handle. I don’t regret having climbed up there, though. I feel more confident now that I have a plan.
I pick up the bat again and walk in the direction of the exit, until I hit a split in the path. I have no idea if left or right is better, so I pick one at random and keep my hand on the wall facing what I think is the direction of the exit .
The screaming gets louder, and I stop when I realize there are people ahead of me. It’s hard to tell with the bad lighting, but it looks like a man on top of a woman. She’s sobbing desperately while the man taunts her.
I could keep going. I could leave them to it, taking advantage of the sounds to hide my own steps.
My conscience would never forgive me, though.
These men sign up for this because it’s dangerous, right? There are weapons there for a reason — even if they obviously think they can be easily wrestled from a woman’s grasp and used against them in turn. My fingers tighten around the bat, and I quietly come up behind him, swinging at the back of his head.
Something must’ve alerted him of my approach, though, because he ducks out of my way. “You fucking whore!” he screams.
The woman takes advantage of the shift in his attention to rabbit off, not even glancing behind her.
Every woman for herself, obviously, and for a moment, I wonder why I bothered to stop to try to help her. It’s not like she’s actually going to get out of this unscathed.
I swing the bat again, catching the man in his side. Instead of doubling over, though, he grabs the bat and yanks it hard, forcing it out of my hands.
“Thought you could fight me, did you?” he growls.
I don’t try to get the bat back from him. I turn and run.
Unfortunately, now that he’s got sight of me, there’s no way I can hide from him. I kick over a few lights to try to mess up the trail so he doesn’t know which path I took. My heart races and I can feel it pounding in my ears. My lungs start to protest from all the sudden cardio.
I turn a corner, hoping he picks the wrong path?—
And bump hard against another man.
I’m trapped between the two, and there’s nowhere to go.
For the first time since this started, there’s a spike of fear and helplessness. The sound must bring the man behind me in the direction I went because I’m sandwiched between the two of them .
“Bitch tried to swing this bat at the back of my goddamn head,” the man behind me snarls. “She’s mine.”
The other man grabs me, tearing at the flimsy blouse I’m wearing. “Nope. She ran right into my arms. All mine.”
I go completely still as they work to undress me. There’s no point in fighting them now, and it’ll be over faster if they just take what they want from me.
If they get bored and leave me here when they’re done, I might even be able to pick myself up and get back on track. I doubt any of the other women have found the exit by now.
The man I’d attacked grabs my hair and pulls on it sharply. “If you apologize, I might go easy on you, bitch.”
“I’m sorry,” I say in a monotone. “Please go easy on me.”
I can see in the dim light when he sneers at me. “Say it like you mean it, you fucking whore.”
The man behind me doesn’t seem as concerned. He’s already half undressed, shirt unbuttoned and fly undone and pressing against my back with a straining erection barely held back by his pants. “I’ll take her ass. You can have her cunt. Who cares if she means it? She’s just a fucking cocksleeve.”
How predictable. I close my eyes and let my body go limp.
I wonder if Brutal has found another woman to chase down. Does it make a difference to him if it’s my cunt he’s using a cocksleeve, or would any woman do?
What a stupid thought. He brought me here, where there was a high possibility that I would get raped by other men. He probably gets off on the idea. He liked watching me get fucked when we first met, too.
There are heavy footsteps coming from behind, and I can’t help but despair at the idea that I’ll probably end up getting used by three men — and all because I had to try to help someone else.
I hope she at least appreciates the reprieve. I’ve gotten used to all of this, and I don’t like it, but I know I can handle it.
The steps get closer, then there’s a snarl. “Hey!” a sharp, familiar voice says. “That’s mine.”
The two men manhandling me pause, but the one I’d tried to hit laughs first. “Hey, that’s not how it works, Drake. You set her loose in this place. You knew anyone could have her.”
“Yeah, well, I’m changing the fucking rules,” Brutal snarls.
“The fuck? You’re usually the first one to share,” the second says, shaking his head. “You like it when we fuck them in front of you.”
That doesn’t surprise me at all. What does surprise me is that he’s fighting them at all, especially since it seems to go against the so-called “rules” of the place.
Brutal gets closer and he grabs one of the men by the collar, forcefully pulling him off me. The guy slams into the wall and lets out a grunt of pain.
“I said, she’s mine .” Brutal grabs my arm and pulls so hard that I cry out. The other guy lets go of me, though, and I end up in Brutal’s embrace.
His erection strains inside his jeans, pressing insistently against my thigh.
“They’re just worried,” I say, still monotone. “They don’t think they could handle catching another woman.”
“She’s probably a dead fish in bed anyway,” the man who had hit the wall says, touching his shoulder. “Fuck, Drake, is she really worth getting blacklisted from here?”
I’m not sure who’s more surprised when he says, “Yes. So get your fucking hands off her and fuck off. Find one of those other bitches.”
They mutter something under their breaths, but they walk off.
That means I’m alone with Brutal. I don’t relax, because I know this isn’t all that much better from before.
“You’re mine,” he says, and the words sound half-crazed, half- baffled . He laughs. “Fuck. Why the hell do I care?” He shoves me against the wall this time, face-first, and I jerk back, barely stopping my forehead from hitting the wall. He rips my underwear off and grinds against me, then he laughs. “Getting blacklisted from my favorite club for a fucking whore who doesn’t even know how to keep her mouth shut,” he says, and I don’t think he meant to say those words aloud.
I don’t respond.
Even when he pulls his pants down and gets the head of his cock against my cunt from behind, I don’t say anything. I just let him have his way with me, even as he fucks me hard and fast.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Brutal growls against my ear. “You have nothing to say? You’re just going to stand there?”
I let out a half-hysterical laugh. “There’s nothing I can say that will change things.”
“You had enough to say to them . ‘They can’t catch any women.’” Brutal thrusts inside me with a long groan. “Why the fuck do you pretend not to have a personality?”
“You don’t want my personality,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. The wall is rough against my nipples.
“Oh, but I do.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “I fucking do. Mimi, Mimi… I should’ve just drowned you when I had a chance.”
I still wonder why he didn’t. He begins thrusting in earnest, and I have to concentrate on bracing myself so I don’t slide against the rough wall.
“I saw you climb,” Brutal suddenly says. He bottoms out inside me, and I’m forced to stand on my tiptoes. “Got all the way to the top. You’re too fucking smart for your own good, aren’t you.”
“No,” I say. “I got caught. I’m not smart at all.”
Brutal is quiet as he fucks me, only the sound of his grunts filling the air. I can still hear sobs and screams in various parts of the maze, and they make the whole experience more surreal. Maybe I should be crying, too, but I just… can’t.
He reaches around me after a moment, fingering my clit. “Maybe I should’ve let them have you,” he mutters. “I liked watching those other men fuck you, the night we met.” He laughs. “Why do you think that’s changed, Mimi? Psychoanalyze me.”
I can think of a few things that might have changed.
I don’t think he’d like to hear any of them.
“You don’t like to lose,” I say instead. “You didn’t want to be outdone by those pathetic losers.”
“Oh, but I did lose,” Brutal says sourly. “I got to you last.” He keeps fingering me, relentless. I don’t know if it feels good or not. It feels desperate, somehow, and not at all associated with my pleasure. It’s all about him .
It’s always about him.
He stops touching me, focusing instead on fucking me senseless.
He’s still fucking me when the lights flip on, and I have to blink several times to adjust to the sudden light.
Brutal curses, but he only moves faster as the woman’s voice comes over a speaker to invite the men for a drink after their game. He laughs again, the sound somehow broken, and stops without coming inside me. “Let’s go,” he tells me, pulling his pants over his still-erect cock. Another harsh grip on my arm guides me toward the exit, which is now easy to find.
The woman tries to talk to him when we come through the door, but he waves her off with a grunt.
“This is a serious breach of the rules, Mr. Brutal!” she calls out after him.
He ignores her, dragging me outside into the cool evening air like I’m not completely naked. “Get in the fucking car,” he mutters.
I climb in, shivering, and curl up as much as I can in the back seat.
Brutal takes one look at me, then walks to the trunk of the car. I don’t understand why he’s lingering until he returns and tosses a blanket at me. He slams the door shut and gets into the driver’s seat.
I wrap the blanket around myself and watch the woman shouting after us as we drive off.
Brutal doesn’t seem to care as he screeches around the corner with his expensive car. All I can do is hold on for the ride as he speeds through the abandoned streets and into the city.
With any luck, we’ll get there in one piece.