Chapter 3
I’m shoved hard on the back, the force sending me stumbling until my knees crack against the wet floor.
Pain jolts up my legs, and before I can even catch my breath, the dustbag is yanked off my head.
Light floods in from the barred windows, searing against eyes starved of it for too long. I squint, disoriented and weak, as the rope around my wrists is pulled loose, leaving behind nothing but raw skin and a dull ache.
I’m suddenly yanked up by my upper arm, my weak legs barely holding me, but I move because there’s no other choice.
When I lift my head, though, something inside me shifts.
The room is broken-down, crumbling around me, cracked tiles hanging slack from the walls, grime seeping into every line.
But none of that holds me.
At the back of the small space, pressed against the wall, is a line of young women. Some huddle together, whimpering softly; others standing eerily still, eyes hollow and fixed on me with some kind of silent recognition.
Each face is different, each one carrying its own story, and it feels like I’ve gone back in time—to five years ago. Back when I was sold.
Before I can even piece anything together, I’m propelled forward, toppling toward them, my body colliding with theirs like I’m just another piece of cargo.
I turn sharply, swiping my black hair away from my eyes, a glare cutting through the man who pushed me, and he just smirks, two others flanking him.
But I don’t know any of their faces. I can hardly remember the moment I was taken, or how many days I’ve been gone.
It’s all just fragments of motion, darkness, and time blurred.
Then another man strides in, older and suited, and the gun hanging loose in his hand makes every woman in here whimper.
He stops in front of us, scanning, his gaze dragging over our bodies, over our faces, pondering and debating.
“Strip,” he orders flatly.
My brows knit as the girls glance at one another, hesitation rippling through them.
Bang!
I flinch as a gunshot tears through the room, and the woman beside me crumples instantly, her skull snapping back before she hits the ground with a loud thump.
Blood gushes from the hole in her forehead, spray flecking across my face.
“STRIP!” His loud voice booms through the screaming of women, thunderous, arrogant and bouncing off the walls. “All of it! Get it the fuck off!”
I don’t. I stand completely still.
But from the corner of my eye I can already see the other girls beside me tearing at themselves, stripping fast, their clothes and underwear hitting the filthy floor until they’re nothing but bare skin and arms crossing over whatever they can hide.
Maybe I’ve finally fucking gave up. Yeah, I must have. Because no sane person watches someone die for disobedience and then does the exact same thing.
His dark eyes don’t leave mine as something cruel twists at the corner of his mouth and he steps closer, the sneer spreading.
The cold press of his gun finds the center of my forehead, and for a second the room disappears, there’s only me and him.
“Are you fucking deaf?” he growls, eyes narrowing into slits, a killer daring me to fall apart.
I lift my chin higher, lips parting.
“Kill me.”
Because that’s easier than doing this again. Much easier than surviving hell after hell, easier than clawing my way back from years of darkness only to be dragged into another pit full of men who think they can own me, break me and take whatever the fuck they want from me.
My body burns with fear, but my voice is stern, and I let it hang between us. Because I’d rather lose my life, here on this dirty fucking floor, than give him what he wants.
All three men burst into laughter, the sound gleeful and bright, ricocheting off the grimy tiles. And I just stare, face flat, feeling nothing and everything all at once.
Then the gun snaps up and before I can move it slams into my nose so hard the world spins, and I tumble back, my ass hitting the floor with a hollow, stunned thud.
“Strip her the fuck down!” he barks.
I press my fingers to my face, slick with blood, then stare down at my red stained fingertips while the room whirls around me.
“I’ll be the judge of whether you should live. Whether I think you’re worth death or more,” he sneers, looming over me.
I lift my head as the other two men move in, their heavy boots sloshing through the puddles on the floor.
I don’t fight as their hands tear at my black dress. I just let them, my body going limp as if I’m watching someone else do it, eyes fixed on the man who broke my fucking face.
If he wants to see how worthless I am, let him.
Maybe then it’ll be over. Law has already destroyed me, left scars that ache under everything, and surviving him has only taught me how to turn myself to stone.
Cold air slaps at my exposed, scarred skin as the last of my clothes fall away. Then they haul me up by the arms until I’m standing, naked.
Their eyes crawl over me like vultures counting meat, whispers threading through the room. But the noise is distant, like someone else’s radio.
Shame tries to find a foothold but slides off. Humiliation tries to hurt me, but instead, it settles into something flat and gray.
Because thinking about those things is what keeps the panic at bay. And somewhere beneath the numbness a tiny, stubborn thing waits.
“What happened to your tits and cunt?” he mocks, but I don’t answer.
I won’t give him my voice, not again. Not for his amusement. Let him stare. Let him wonder. I know what I look like now without clothes and what they carved out of me.
There’s nothing pretty left here, nothing to find attractive. Nothing worth selling.
He steps forward, eyes trailing up my naked body before snapping back to mine, and when our bodies brush, my stomach tightens, but still, I don’t move.
“I’m fucking talking to you,” he growls, trying to show his authority.
“And?” I answer flatly, but the response earns me a vicious tug—his hand clamping into the back of my hair, yanking me down to my knees with a brutal jerk.
“Even in death you won’t escape what you’re here for,” he spits, venom coating each word, face inches from mine.
“Show this mouthy, ugly runt what we do to the dead ones. What we’ll do to her.” He instructions his men, eyes still locked on mine the entire time.
The men grab the dead woman from the floor, flipping her lifeless body onto her front. All the other women step back, eyes full of horror, as one holds her head up while the other forces his dick inside her mouth, shoving himself to the deepest depths of her relaxed throat.
Bile instantly rises in mine, my eyes locked on the disgusting act unfolding in front of me.
Flashbacks race through my mind in intense detail as they violate her corpse, making my heart pound in my chest, cold sweat slicking my skin.
I close my eyes, letting tears streak down my cheeks, and try to turn my head, to look away. But the man holding my hair crouches beside me, yanking my head back, and forces me to watch.
“You don’t get to look away, brave bitch,” he bites viciously against my ear. “Watch what you’ve done to her. Watch what you will become. Dead or alive, warm or cold, you’re nothing more than three filthy fuck holes to someone.”
My mind spins, stomach twisting horribly, and I start to hyperventilate, chest panting uncontrollably.
“You like it, don’t you?” he whispers, followed by a cruel snicker, cold and evil, his disgusting gaze lowering to my breasts as he licks his lips. “Whoever fucked you up, didn’t fuck you up as good as I could.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Another man’s voice barks through the room from the doorway.
As soon as the guy releases me, I can’t hold it in anymore.
I dive forward, hands sinking into the muddy puddles, dry gagging, the taste of puke filling in my mouth.
“I was just…” The man above me starts.
“Not ‘you weren’t just’! Why the fuck is one dead?” he shouts in a rage, cutting him off.
“I was teaching this one a lesson, and she’s next. Her body’s fucking disgusting and butchered anyway. I’ll take care of her.”
I feel the cold press of his gun against the back of my head, and I close my eyes, bracing myself as if ready to finally take the bullet and be at peace.
“I don’t think so!” The other man snaps, footsteps heavy on the floor, drawing closer. “We’ve already lost one! Butchered or not, it doesn’t matter with where these lot are going!”
The gun eases away from my skull, just slightly. Then I hear the others drop the dead girl to the floor, leaving her still and silent as if she was nothing. As if she wasn’t someone’s daughter or loved one.
“Hose them the fuck down! They’re being taken to Dr Rot in thirty minutes!”
My stomach pulls like my insides are being ripped out while the men leave the room, their footsteps fading.
Suddenly, a woman crouches beside me, her soft hand brushing my upper arm, and I jerk back.
“Leave me alone,” I growl through shallow breaths, a string of spit hanging from my lips.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she whispers back, voice quiet over the panicked murmurs of the other women.
I turn my head, giving her a reluctant glance, my body trembling despite myself. Blonde, wavy hair frames her face, and she has big blue irises with a sprinkle of freckles across the nose.
She watches me with pleading eyes, and I pause, overthinking every movement she makes.
“Aren’t we already dead, anyway?” I mutter in defeat, lowering my gaze again, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Not yet we’re not,” she says softly, the tiniest thread of hope lingering in her voice.
If I had the energy, I’d probably let out a bitter laugh at her innocence. It’s obvious why we’re here. But there’s still one question that’s haunted me since I've been on this endless, torturous journey to this dump.
Who sent me here?
Before I passed out in the park, I vaguely remember that familiar voice against my ear calling me Flower.
Graham was the only person to ever call me that.
It can’t possibly be him, can it?
It’s been almost six fucking years, and I’m about to face this all over again because of the same damn people.
Or maybe it’s Law. But regardless of him hating me with every ounce of his being, I don’t know if he would truly go this far.
He made it clear I was still his wife, and no matter what, he would never willingly let me go. It felt like he wanted me to die only by his cruel hands, not anyone else’s.
Pushing myself up on unsteady arms, I fight for balance, forcing my body upright. The blonde girl hovers close, just as naked as I am, her wide eyes darting toward the door.
When the men return, and I barely have time to lift my head before a violent rush of water blasts across the room. The freezing spray slams into my skin, so sharp it feels like needles, almost knocking me off my feet.
The men laugh as the women scream, getting off on the torture they’re inflicting. The women scramble against each other, desperate to escape the torrent, but I don’t move.
I let it hit me, head bowed, water stinging my eyes and soaking my long, black hair.