Twenty-Nine
I don’t feel any better when I wake up, lying on a bed in some new place – one that doesn’t smell of sex and blood and shit. The pain in my eyes... my eye sockets is gone, as is all the physical damage Sadist dealt to me and the patch of skin cut from my pussy.
But the agony in my chest still burns with a crippling heat, and the fractures in my soul are still spreading out like a web across broken glass.
He took my eyes.
Varius told him to take my fucking eyes.
Furious rage pours through me as I think about all the lies he told me this last month. About how he was so called “devastated”
over what he did to me, how he hated himself for listening to his brother and mother and the pain in his chest when he thought I had betrayed him. He swore to me he’d never hurt me again. He vowed to spend the rest of his life regaining my trust, and he’d fucking started to do it too.
Tears burn my throat as I think about what an utter fool I was. An utter fucking fool.
My brain refused to forgive him, giving me nightmares every night about that hammer and screw and those cold, cold eyes that blanked me out as I screamed. But my dumb fucking heart swallowed up all the stories he told me about how he practically raised Rudy while their mother was busy with newborn Maddox and the other boys. It swooned over the fact that he conditioned himself to have a phobia of line-dancing goats just so Rudy could have something funny to concentrate on in crowded rooms, when his magic would grab on to all the terrible things people feared and demand he bring them to life.
And then…
Then it practically threw itself at him when I ordered a goat plushie, and he full-on freaked out when he saw it. It still sits with a knife through its face down in the basement, six rows of containment circles around it. He didn’t want to throw it away, considering it was a gift I’d gotten him, but he didn’t want to take the risk it could come to life either.
So I fell hard because he knew just what stories to tell. Stories that mirrored me taking care of Lou when our father was dealing with depression. And he did little acts that felt like genuine change. He showed me the ledger – the real one that not even his brothers (except for Khalid and Rudy) know about. He put his entire kingdom in my hands, and he was tearing down his walls for me, giving me weaknesses to exploit, trusting me even though I was angry at him.
Even though his paranoia was beaten into him by his friends, his first crush, his uncle, his cousin, his brother, his mother. He’s been fighting his instincts and twenty-odd years of experience for me.
And so I believed that he could change.
That he could eventually love me like I loved him.
But it was all just a fucking lie.
Varius is still capable of hurting me.
My chest aches so hard, I struggle to breathe.
How could he do that to me?
How could he choose to take my eyes away?
Or did he wish to punish me because I offered up his tattoo? Because I revealed his weakness at the first sign of torture?
That thought almost breaks me, and I press my face into the pillow. Biting down on it, I touch the patch missing from my skin.
He poured his soul into that tattoo. His trust when he never trusts anyone.
It was a symbol of his vulnerability, a declaration of his weakness.
A rebellion against all the rules he had to put on himself in order to survive being betrayed by those he loves.
It was hope.
It was fear.
It was him in all his jagged pieces.
With that simple scribble of ink, he claimed me, but he also gave himself to me. A collar to a sub. A ring to a wife. His heart in his eyes, he begged me never to remove it.
I knew offering it up to Varius’ enemy would break him. There’s no sugarcoating what I did.
I just thought that there was a chance he could forgive me for it. That he would understand I was only hurting him to save myself just like he’d hurt me to save Khalid.
Whereas, I knew I would not be able to forgive him for choosing which sense I lost.
Yet, he went and did it anyway. He chose to hurt me. He thought about it and decided that it was acceptable.
We’re never going to come back from this.
Tears claw at my throat as that truth resonates inside of me.
The last month I’ve spent trying to forgive him was for nothing.
The anger comes back now, pushing aside the grief.
I hate him.
I hate him so fucking much that all I want to do is break out of here so I can yell at him. So I can torture him like he tortured me.
An eye for an eye only works with enemies. It leaves only bitterness, no second chances. No returning from one’s mistakes. But we are already too broken to fix, and my rage is all I have left to carry me through this nightmare.
So I use it. Wield it. Letting it burn furiously through me, I rub my face against my pillow. I need to figure out where I am. With me blind, they might lower their guard around me now. So if I keep being smart about it, I can escape. Maybe not today, but eventually.
Then I can kick Varius’ ass.
With a strengthening inhale, I push myself up and search for the edge of the bed. My fury falters a bit under the panic that slams into me from being unable to see. I’m only doing something simple, yet I feel like I’m climbing a sheer rock face with a hundred-foot drop. A river raging below without mercy.
I shudder as I breathe, trying to find my focus.
It’s just a bed.
But what if I’m on a top bunk? Or there’s glass or trip wires on the floor to keep me imprisoned without the use of chains?
He wants me alive to breed, but I don’t need to be able to walk.
Moving slowly, I scoot forward on my ass until my feet find the edge of the bed. I hold my breath as they swing off it, the anticipation of pain sending needles across my skin. I reach down, stretching my legs.
Fuck.
Where’s the floor?
My pulse starts to pick up.
I point my toes.
There! Hard wood presses against my soles, and I exhale with relief. Pushing to my feet, I spread my arms out around me and inch forward.
Something grabs my wrist and hauls me towards it.
My body recoils.
My heart rate spikes.
The fear in my belly tells me it’s Sadist, and I swing for him with my other hand. He laughs as he dodges, then kicks me in the stomach. My legs buckle, but before I can hit the ground, he knees me in the face. My head jerks back. Pain explodes all down my jaw and neck. My teeth bite into my tongue, and blood fills my mouth as I start to fall. He shoves me, angling me towards the bed, and I hit it on my back.
Panic rushes through me. I need to sit up. I need to –
His hand wraps around my throat; he drags me beneath him, up the mattress, as he crawls on top of me. I try to kick him, but it doesn’t throw him off. He lies down on me and licks the side of my face.
His hard cock rubs against my thighs.
At the feel of it, I immediately stop fighting. He wasn’t able to finish when I was dead and unresisting. Perhaps he will tire of me quicker if I just don’t react to anything at all.
Pressing his lips to my ear, he murmurs, “You’re going to come for me today like a good fucking whore.”
Bile claws its way up my throat. I tremble beneath him, unable to hide my fear. I know my orgasm won’t be because I want it. He’s going to give me V, and there’ll be nothing I can do to stop it. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal; my body already isn’t mine. They took it, tainted it. What should it matter if it does something else I don’t want it to do? It has already betrayed me.
But the thought of orgasming with the sick fucker on top of me…
No!
Jerking my head towards him, I aim to bite his cheek, but a hand slaps down on my face, pinning me before I can.
“Don’t,”
Bear pleads as I struggle against him, and Sadist laughs. “Antonio will take your teeth.”
But I don’t care.
I can’t go through this.
Reaching between our bodies, I grab hold of Sadist’s balls and squeeze.
Hard.
He yelps as he pushes off me, but I clamp my fingers, not letting him go. Kneeling between my legs, his balls being crushed in the palm of my hand, he screams like a fucking manwhore. Bear’s shoved back; his hand dragging across my face. Then two fists swing into me, splitting my lip and busting my nose. I bask in the pain, knowing that he is feeling as helpless as I am, that he’s desperate to stop me. But he can’t.
I jerk my arm up with everything I have.
His testicles rip free, blood spraying across my chest and face.
I laugh maniacally as he screams. Will Antonio kill him now that he’s unable to breed me? It’ll be a loss, not getting to do it myself, but at least the fucker will be dead.
He won’t ever be able to hurt me again.
Won’t ever be able to make me come on his cock.
It takes only a hundred and ten pounds of force to tear off a ball sack – well within the average pull strength of a woman. He should’ve known better than to crawl onto the bed. He should’ve checked what he was wearing if he didn’t want this to happen. My laughter turns into pain as dark humor bleeds into my thoughts. I just want to go home. I want to be held by Varius even as I stab him for taking my eyes. I can kill him, then taxidermy him. Then he can hold me without hurting me with his presence.
My laughter gets more fractured.
My breathing turns hollow and sharp, the air dragged into my lungs, kicking and screaming and doing everything it can to escape. I want to open my eyes.
I want to do something so fucking simple, but I can’t.
Varius took them from me like I took Sadist’s sack.
Phantom pain erupting behind my eyelids, I squeeze the balls in my hand harder, making them pop.
Crack!
I scream as my arm is broken at the elbow. I couldn’t see the attack, couldn’t prepare for it, or even know it was coming, and that adds to the fear, the helplessness. My dark humor vanishes, and all that’s left is pure terror because I know that wasn’t Sadist.
Antonio is in the room with us.
“You better hope Eduardo can fix these,”
the alpha says as he grabs my hand. With it broken at the elbow, I don’t have enough strength to keep my fingers closed.
He pulls them apart and takes what he wants.
Then someone’s hands are on my jaw and nose, forcing my mouth open. The pop of a vial sounds beside me, and I know they have a V. I jerk my head side to side, trying to resist.
The potion pours down my cheek, missing my lips. One of the men curses as I take the small win. But a blow to my temple soon knocks me into compliance. I struggle to think through the rattle of my brain, and the rest of the V’s forced down me. It tastes of pomegranates and chocolate.
Desperately, I spit it out.
“Enough,”
Antonio says, and I hate how fast my body obeys him, freezing in undeniable fear. He isn’t like Sadist or Eduardo, who have to curb their darkest desires because their boss won’t like it. He is the Boss, and I am nothing but a toy for him to break.
He grabs my chin and pours an entire vial of V into me. His hand slides down my throat, a silent threat.
I tremble, my pulse jumping erratically against his palm, but I do not swallow.
“I can cut off your hand for what you did to Timothy,”
he says calmly, “or you can convince me that you now know how to listen. The choice is yours, Micha.”
He rips out my soul with those words. If I continue down this path, he will cut me into pieces. Eyes here, hand there, tongue next, then arms, then legs. Bit by bit, he’ll destroy every part of me. There will be nothing left for Dayne to rescue. A hollow husk with a broken mind.
I need to be smarter about this if I’m going to survive.
And I need to survive.
Lou is going to be a mother; she’ll need my help.
Dayne will spend the rest of his life looking for me, so I can’t give up first.
And Varius… Varius needs to get his ass kicked, so I have to keep my arms and legs to do it.
Fighting back the tears, I deafen myself to the screams inside my skull telling me that I’ll be consenting if I do this.
That I’ll only have myself to blame when I come.
That I should stay strong.
But I am staying strong.
I’m just choosing to protect my mind over my body.
To survive instead of die in this place.
A cock is a weapon, I tell myself. As lethal as any knife. It is okay for me to stop fighting…
There isn’t any shame in this.
Liar.
There isn’t any shame.
My lips shaking, I swallow down the V.