12. Chapter 12 Cara
Chapter 12: Cara
P ain. That was the first thing I became aware of as consciousness slowly returned. A deep, throbbing ache that seemed to radiate from every inch of my body. My head pounded, my throat felt raw and swollen, and there was a sharp, lancing pain between my legs that made me want to curl into a ball and whimper. Before I opened my eyes, I knew I wasn't alone. Knew I was in deep, deep shit of the "probably won't make it out alive" variety.
"Well, well, well. Look who's finally awake."
That voice. That hated, sneering voice, dripping with cruel amusement.
Mikhail.
My eyes snapped open and I jerked upright - or tried to, anyway. I didn't get far before the clank of metal and a sharp tug on my wrists brought me up short. Chains. I was chained to the fucking wall.
Blinking hard to clear the blurriness from my vision, I stared wildly around the room - a basement, from the look of the damp concrete walls and single bare lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. And standing in front of me, arms crossed and lips curled in a sadistic smile, was none other than Mikhail Sokolov.
Flanking him on either side were two other men. His brothers, I realized with a sinking feeling of dread. The other two-thirds of the unholy trinity of evil.
"What..." I coughed, my voice a raspy croak. "What's going on? Where am I?"
Mikhail tutted, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "So many questions, devotchka. And here I thought you were supposed to be a clever girl."
He crouched down in front of me, his meaty hand coming out to grip my chin. I tried to jerk away, but his fingers only tightened, digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.
"You're in my home, little princess. My playroom, to be specific." His eyes glittered with a malevolent kind of glee. "We decided, my brothers and I, that after the insult you dealt us, the way you shamed us in front of your father, well. You needed to be taught a lesson."
My heart seized in my chest, fear clawing its way up my throat. I knew what kind of "lessons" men like Mikhail liked to teach, had heard the stories of the girls who'd been unfortunate enough to catch his eye. They always ended the same way - with broken bodies and shattered minds, discarded like trash when he was done with them. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how terrified I was, how close I was to breaking down and begging for mercy. I sure as fuck will not break.
I lifted my chin as best I could in his bruising grip, my eyes spitting emerald fire as I met his gaze head-on. "Fuck you," I spat, putting every ounce of venom I could muster into the words. "Fuck you and your shriveled little dick. You think you can break me? Think again, asshole."
For a second, Mikhail just stared at me, then a bark of laughter escaped him, harsh and ugly. "Oh, devotchka. You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy this."
He released my chin and stood, nodding to his brothers. They moved forward, identical leers on their faces as they started to unzip their pants. I felt bile rise in my throat, my stomach churning with fear and revulsion. I knew what was coming, knew the pain and degradation that awaited me.
I wouldn't let them see me cower. Even as they descended on me, even as rough hands pawed at my clothes and bruising fingers dug into my flesh, I fought. Fuck, did I fight. Kicking and thrashing and clawing like a wildcat. I sank my teeth into any skin I could reach, I raked my nails down their faces and arms and chests. I wouldn't make this easy for them, wouldn't be the broken little fuckdoll they wanted me to be.
But in the end, it didn't matter. There were three of them and one of me, and they were too strong. I felt my clothes rip, felt the cool air of the basement on my bare skin. Felt the brutal, tearing pain as they forced themselves inside me, one after another, grunting and rutting like animals.
I screamed. Screamed until my throat was raw and bloody, until I tasted copper on my tongue. But they didn't stop. Didn't even slow down, pounding into me with a savagery that made me feel like I was being split in two.
At some point, mercifully, my mind began to drift. I felt myself detach from my body, from the pain and violation being visited upon it. I floated above it all, watching with a kind of clinical detachment as they used me, broke me, shattered me into a million jagged pieces.
I thought of Finn. Of his sweet, shy smile and the gentle way he'd touched me. I thought of the love in his eyes when he'd looked at me, the way he'd made me feel cherished. Safe.
My tears tracked through the blood and filth on my face as I thought of Finn. I knew I would die here, in this dank little basement. Die as a plaything for sadists and rapists, my body broken and defiled beyond all recognition. And the worst part, the part that made me want to howl with equal parts rage and despair? My father probably wouldn't even care. Probably wouldn't shed a single tear over his ruined, disposable daughter.
He was sending a message to me. Because I had no doubt that this, all of this - my abduction, my torture, my impending death - was his doing. His way of punishing me for defying him, for daring to sully myself with another man's child. My own father did this.
Never mind that there was no child. That it had all been a desperate, poorly-thought-out game to buy myself some time. To Declan Maguire, perception was reality. And the perceived slight against his authority, his iron grip on my life, was too much for his ego to bear.
Now here I was. Chained and bleeding, my body a broken shell and my mind fracturing, waiting for death, or worse, at the hands of men who saw me as nothing more than a hole to fuck and a throat to choke. But there was still a tiny spark of life left in me. I would fight. I would cling to that spark, and if, no when, I survived this I would use it to light a fire that would burn this whole fucked-up place to ashes. There would be a reckoning. A blood-soaked, screaming reckoning that would make the devil himself shake in fear.