5. Mona
MONA
M y life was a fucking mess from the moment I was born. I learned the harsh realities of life and the tough choices necessary for survival at a young age.
Those hard roads and hills, which require a strenuous climb, are far more difficult for women. Not because we aren’t capable but because we’re forced into additional roadblocks on the obstacle course known as life.
I’m not na?ve enough to believe that offering these men the only commodity available to me will save me from something far worse, but I hope it will at least buy me time to figure out an escape plan. Then again, considering how I ended up here, my escape plan might need some serious rethinking.
Being snatched off the street by a man in a black car two weeks ago was terrifying. Although I was blindfolded and in a padded room, I was looked after. I had a comfortable bed and hot food, and my captor seemed kind and didn’t wish me ill will.
But I wasn’t about to wait around to see if Mr. Lady Napper’s good nature suddenly became twisted, and he did all kinds of ungodly things to my body and psyche. So, when the opportunity arose, I ran. Guess something more important came up, which made him forget to secure the room.
My escape worked beautifully… until it didn’t.
Only me, Mona Baran, could escape one captor and be caught by another.
I found myself on the road and waved down the first car I saw. Lo and behold, instead of taking me to the police station, the driver took me to a private plane, flew me to God knows where, and delivered me right into the hands of evil.
“Are you done?”
I turn my gaze to Callum. I hope he’s seething after witnessing his man kiss me. I hope his blood is boiling with rage. A part of me hopes he’ll put a bullet in my head to save me from what is undoubtedly a fate far worse than anything he could do to me.
Callum laughs, making me feel like a child placated by an annoyed parent. “Is that all you’ve got, little girl?”
His voice drips with condescension and wry humor. I have the urge to punch him hard enough to wipe the amusement from his eyes and the arrogant smile from his mouth.
But I play the game instead.
I drop to my knees, my face level with Atlas’s crotch, and glare at the big Scotsman.
Callum steps toward me, his eyes never leaving my face. He stands behind Atlas, slides his hand to the front of his black slacks, releases the button, and lowers the zipper.
“Listen, darling,” Callum whispers, pulling down Atlas’s boxers to expose his long, thick shaft. “I have a fondness for games, especially those as risky as chicken.”
Callum grips Atlas’s dick and points it directly at my closed mouth. “Open up, or I’ll assume you’re all talk and no action.”
A sane person wouldn’t willingly suck her captor’s cock. A sane person would regret poking the bear. But I’m not sane.
I part my lips, lean in, and engulf Atlas’s cock. The moan escaping his mouth is the only knowledge I need—if I can’t fight, run, or scream, maybe fucking them will get me out of this.