Chapter 48
We lie there for what feels like an eternity in a tangled, sweaty mess.
The only sounds are our ragged, syncing breaths and the frantic hammering of my heart, which I’m certain he can feel through my back.
His release is a warm, intimate presence inside me; a final, degrading stamp on my body that proclaims, more than any contract or collar ever could, that I am his.
I hate it, I hate the possessive weight of him.
I hate the way my body still clenches weakly around him, milking the last drops of his pleasure from him as if it’s my sole reason for existing.
Most of all, I hate the treacherous, warm glow that spreads through my limbs in the wake of my own shattering releases, a contented hum that feels like a betrayal of everything I am.
Slowly, carefully he pushes himself up on his arms, lifting his weight from me.
The cool air of the room hits my sweat-slicked skin, raising goosebumps.
I feel him withdraw from me in a slow, deliberate slide that leaves me feeling empty and used.
The physical evidence of our coupling trickles down my inner thigh in a stark, wet reminder.
On some level I can rationalise this, I can define this. It’s survival, nothing more.
Yet the guilt and the shame still churns in my belly. My father’s face seems to appear every time I blink my eyes like some fiendish apparition sent from God himself, and I know I’m being judged. That the weight of my soul is being weighed, and I’ve come up so very short.
A finger touches me, trailing from my shoulder down my arm.
I bite my lip, stifling the cry. I need to be smart, so fucking smart.
I need to make this man believe that I want him, no, that I love him.
I have to play him better than anyone ever has before.
My heart slams into my chest at the notion, because Antonio is the smartest man I’ve ever met.
Even when my own parents tried to out manoeuvre him he knew almost instantly, and now we’re all living with the consequences.
“Any regrets?” Antonio asks quietly.
I shake my head. No.
“Do you wish to return to your cage?”
I don’t hesitate, I don’t overthink it. I turn quickly, fully facing him with all the strength I can muster. “I want to stay with you.” I state, repeating the same sentiment I declared earlier.
He hooks a finger under my chin, and his touch is not gentle. It’s a demand. “You have given me your body, but that is a small thing. A woman’s body is easily taken. Loyalty, true loyalty, that must be given, and it must be proven.”
A cold knot tightens in my stomach. I thought this was the proof. “I, I have proven it,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
A slow, cruel smile touches his lips. “No, Pup. You have only warmed up.” He releases my chin and gestures for me to get fully up. “Come. It is time for you to prove it with more than just your cunt.”
The vulgarity is a slap. It strips away any last pretence of intimacy, reducing what just happened to its basest transaction. I feel a hot flush of shame, but I smother it because shame is a luxury I cannot afford.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my body aching almost as though I’d endured a fresh beating. He doesn’t offer me a robe. He simply watches as I stand there, naked and vulnerable before turning and walking toward the door.
“Follow me,” he commands without looking back.
What choice do I have? Nakedness is a state of being here.
It signifies ownership. He owns me, and my body is simply the proof.
I pad silently behind him on the cold stone floor, my bare feet making no sound.
He leads me not to the main hall or another wing of the house, but down to the one place I never want to go again.
Fear coils in my gut. My steps falter and he grabs hold of my wrist, ensuring I can’t turn back and run.
We reach a heavy wooden door. He unbolts it, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space. The stench that wafts out is overwhelming; urine, fear, and rot.
My breath hitches. I know this place.
This is where I was kept, where I was trained, where I was tortured by his man.
He pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter first. My feet feel rooted to the spot. He places a hand on the small of my back, not guiding, but pushing. I stumble forward into the gloom.
The floor is the same concrete nothingness; the walls, all of it is like a visceral reminder of things carved into my soul that I want to forget forever.
And in the centre, bound in chains are Felice and Julie.
Julie’s face is a mess of bruises, one eye swollen shut. Felice however, holds herself with a shred of her former defiance, though her fine dress is now rags and her hair is matted.
Their eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and hopelessness, snap to me as I enter. Then, they flick to Antonio behind me, and that fear turns to something close to adoration.
“Master…” Julie cries out.
Antonio steps past me, his boots crunching on the floor. He stops between the two cages, a ringmaster in this hellish circus.
“You say you are mine,” he says so loudly that it echoes off those stark walls. “Now is your chance to truly prove it.”
He turns his head, his dark eyes pinning me to the spot.
My mouth is dry as dust. “Hhhhow?” The word is a fragile croak.
He gestures to the two women. “Kill them.”
The world tilts on its axis, and the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. I stare at him, certain I have misheard. This cannot be real. This is a nightmare, a test of my nerves, but his face is granite.
“Master, please…” I gasp, taking a step back. My nakedness suddenly feels agonizing. I am exposed, not just physically, but utterly.
“There is no ‘please’,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “It is them or you, Pup. This is the world. You are either the wolf or the sheep. Which are you?”
My gaze darts to the two figures. Julie has begun to weep silently, her shoulders shaking. Felice’s smirk has widened. She thinks I can’t do it. She thinks I’m still the weak, soft thing she tried to kill.
“Prove you are worthy of the bed you just laid in. Prove you are worthy of my time and attention.” Antonio continues, stepping closer to me.
He moves to Julie first. He grabs her by the hair, kicking and screaming, and drags her out into the centre of the room while the chains rattle around her. In one brutal movement, he throws her onto her knees in front of me.
She collapses into a heap, sobbing, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. “No. Please, Master, don’t. I’ll do anything. Anything. Please, Master, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Her pleas are a gut-punch despite all the horror she has inflicted on me.
Antonio ignores her as he pulls a knife from his belt. It’s a hunting knife with a sharp, wicked curve. He holds the hilt out to me.
“Start with this one. She is weak. It will be almost a mercy.”
My hand trembles violently as I reach for it. The polished wooden hilt is cool against my palm. It feels alien, heavy with intent. Julie stares at the blade, her cries becoming hysterical shrieks.
“I can’t,” I whisper, my vision blurring with tears. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Antonio says, his voice flat and final. “Or you will join her in the dirt.”
This is the choice.
This is the line.
There is no pretending anymore.
This is the brutal, bloody reality of making a deal with the devil. My survival, the fragile hope I’ve been clinging to has a price, and that price is my soul.
Julie’s screams echo in my ears but beneath them, I hear another sound. Felice’s low, mocking laughter. She’s enjoying this. She’s savouring my torment.
That laughter does something to me. It hardens something soft inside. It’s not about Julie anymore, it’s about the brutal calculus of this world. Antonio is right. It’s the wolf or the sheep.
Felice is a wolf. Julie is a sheep.
And I… what am I?
I look at Antonio. I see no pity, no hesitation. This is the test. Fail, and I die. Pass, and I become a monster.
A strange calm descends upon me, and the tears dry up.
The trembling stops. My hand tightens around the knife’s hilt.
I look down at Julie. Her eyes meet mine, and she sees the change.
She sees the life drain from my face, replaced by a terrible resolve.
Her begging turns into a wordless wail of terror.
I don’t think. If I think, I will fall apart. I step forward, grab a handful of her hair to steady her and in one swift, brutal motion I draw the blade across her throat, hacking at the flesh.
The sound is wet and thick, and she makes an awful gurgling sound. Her eyes fly wide open, shocked beyond pain. Blood, shockingly red and hot sprays across my arm, my chest, my face. She collapses forward, her body twitching, making awful, wet noises as she drowns in her own blood.
I drop the knife, and it clatters on the stone floor. I feel nothing. I am numb. Hollow.
Antonio watches me, his head tilted. He doesn’t look pleased or disgusted, he looks satisfied. Like a teacher watching a student finally grasp a difficult lesson.
“Good,” he says softly.
Then he turns to Felice.
Her smirk is gone. She’s pressed against the back wall, her eyes wide with an emotion I’ve never seen on her before. She thought I was the sheep. No, not a sheep, a pig, - a big, fat pig. But she was wrong.
She doesn’t go quietly. She fights, scratching and biting, screaming curses. “You bastard. Let me go. She’s a stupid whore, She’s nothing! You’ll see. She’ll slit your throat in your sleep. I’m the one you want. I’m the one who knows you best, who loves you the most…”
He subdues her easily, his strength absolute. He drags her out and throws her down next to Julie’s still-twitching body. Felice scrambles to her feet and her eyes are wild, fixed on me.