Chapter 2 #2
It hits me, and a strange, unwelcome warmth blooms where my soul should be.
“I do what I can, when I can… because I fucking can.” I finish.
She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head hysterically, black strands clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks.
“No, no, no! Don’t do that!”
I draw in a slow, deep breath and take careful steps forward.
“I know it seems unlikely, considering where you’ve just came from, but it’s the truth.”
Her eyes fly open immediately, the blade thrusting out in front of her again.
“STAY BACK!” she roars, voice cracking with rage and terror, her tired body vibrating. “I will stab you! I will… I will…”
I stop mid-stride, my teeth grinding together.
But, of course, I know this is completely normal.
These girls have been devoured by men. Used, abused and broken. And here I stand, dark and towering with this cursed cock between my legs, trying to convince her that I’m the good guy after I bought her like fucking cattle.
The irony tastes like rust and regret on my tongue.
But even as she stands petrified while spitting murder at me, it’s almost as if I am infatuated with her—a overwhelming fascination unravelling inside me like black vines around a dying flower.
Maybe it’s the restless trauma still rotting me from inside out, a disease that never stops spreading, no matter how many girls I pull from the rape market.
Maybe it’s the reflection I see swimming in her hazel eyes, and how it’s the same hollowed-out pain I carry, staring right back at me like a mirror forged from hell.
It never truly gets easier, no matter how many years I spend washing them off my skin, the screams will always live behind my eyes.
Every time I do this, I tell myself I’m carving out a piece of the evil I’ve become. That by saving them, some jagged piece of my own crushed soul clicks back into place.
Like a sick illusion that I’m not completely damned.
And I know I shouldn’t have taken notice, but there was something in the way she first looked at me.
What I sensed wasn’t just the urge to save her, it was the urge to press my fingers into every bruise they left on her skin, and replace their filth with mine.
I clench my bleeding fist tighter, letting the pain ground me. Because if I let whatever this is take over, I won’t be saving her, I’ll be condemning her to something far worse than a fucking auction.
I’ll keep her and make her mine.
And that’s fucking selfish.
That makes me just as vile as them, and the thought curdles inside me like decay.
I can’t stomach the idea of being anything like them.
“Do you have any family?” I ask again, my voice rougher than I intended. “I can take you to them.”
Anything. Anything to get her the fuck out of here before the monster inside me wins. Before I decide I want to keep this broken, beautiful girl for myself.
She suddenly starts hyperventilating as soon as I ask, her chest rising and falling in sharp, panicked bursts.
All color drains from her flushed cheeks, leaving her ghostly pale.
The knife slips from her trembling fingers and clatters loudly against the floor, the sound loud like a final surrender. Then her tired eyes flutter, losing focus.
“My father…” she whispers between ragged gasps, the words dissolving into nothing.
And I see it coming before it happens—she’s going to collapse.
With widened eyes, I surge forward, polished shoes slamming against the ground in urgent, heavy steps.
Just as her knees buckle and her body pitches toward the floor, I reach her. My arm snakes around her waist, catching her before she can smash against the cold stone.
Her limp form drapes over my forearm, back arched, head lolled back, and I swallow hard, throat tight.
My dark gaze drags slowly down her ruined body. The filthy dress clinging to her, the rope burns on her wrists, and the faint tremble still lingering in her limbs even while unconscious.
She feels so small against me as I slide my other arm beneath her knees and lift her effortlessly against my toned chest.
Her head falls limply against my shoulder, cold breath ghosting across my neck. She weighs almost nothing—a broken thing wrapped in silk and blood.
I stand there in the dimly lit room, cradling her unconscious form, my bleeding hand leaving fresh crimson smears across the back of her dress.
And for the first time ever, I don’t know if I’m saving her…
…or if I'm stealing her.
◆◆◆
“Is she going to make it?” I ask, pacing the length of the guest room, fingers scraping over my jaw.
“She will,” my private nurse replies, setting meds on the bedside table with medical care. “But she’s extremely weak, malnourished, dehydrated, and traumatized. Her body has been through it.”
Suddenly, the young woman stirs with violent force, her eyes snapping open. She bolts upright on instinct, slamming her bandaged back against the headboard like a caged animal.
I stop cold, her gaze locking onto mine from across the room, and for a second, the air seems to stop around me.
“It’s okay,” the nurse says gently, stepping closer. “You’re safe now. You’re going to be fine. Just please, take the meds. They will make you feel better.”
But the young woman lunges forward and grabs the nurse’s arm with desperate fingers.