Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
BAILEY - BEFORE
Traces of Anton’s blood still fleck my skin. Under my nails, along my arms, up my legs. I memorize the burgundy stains as King finally comes, focusing on them instead of the brutal way he uses me from behind. It’s not the first time, but I’ll never get used to this.
King. That’s what he tells us to call him. The narcissist bastard thinks he wears a crown. It’s nothing but self-importance and violence that keeps his little band of assholes in line.
Maybe it’s been days since they dragged us from the van. Maybe weeks. Time becomes a blurred haze from the drugs they force on us and the deprivation of the outside world. Blackout curtains on every window hide any sense of day or night. All I know is the way he uses me feels never-ending.
If I keep my eyes on my nails, on Anton’s blood, I’ll remember not to scream, not to run, because next time it won’t be his blood—it will be mine pooling beneath me.
That doesn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face, soaking into the rough wooden desk.
It doesn’t end the whispered pleas from escaping my lips—calling for my mom, my dad, Jasper, Leon.
Names that already feel like they’re from another life.
The house, I’ve come to learn, is a temporary space while King makes permanent arrangements for each of us. Information circulates among us girls like contraband, passed in hushed tones during bathroom trips or when the men guarding us pass out drunk.
“He said one week.”
“I heard two.”
“He found a buyer.”
“There’s a party soon.”
“I think he has my sister somewhere.”
Each time I hear something new, I can’t help but let hope slip further and further away.
He’s just finished with me again. His cologne cloys at my nose and clings to my skin, mixed with the sour, thick musk of sweat.
There’s pain radiating throughout my body, but more than that, shame burns deep.
I feel hollow, dirty, raw. With every brutal thrust, he cleaves pieces of my soul.
Every slap, every cruel bite of thick fingers into my flesh drains my dignity, leaving me as empty as a discarded husk.
He yanks my hair to pull me upright and my body follows his commands by muscle memory alone.
My scalp screams from all the times he’s ripped me across the room by my hair.
I bite back the hurt, but I have to brace my arms against the wooden desk he has me pinned against, wetting my hands in my own sweat and tears.
“That’s my good pet,” he says, smoothing his palm over my knotted hair with all the tenderness of a rabid animal. “You’ve earned a meal today.”
My hollow stomach groans as if on cue. I can’t remember the last time I had a real meal, something more than the packaged granola bars and packs of crackers they’ve thrown at us.
Even after licking the packaging clean, my hunger pangs are so visceral, they’re one of the only things reminding me I’m alive.
He finishes buckling his leather belt, the same one he used to bind my hands the first time.
Then he grabs my chin, forcing my face upward until I’m looking directly into his eyes.
They’re the darkest blue, so cold and devoid of emotion, I wonder if he’s even human.
“I just told you you’re getting a reward, pet. What do you say?”
For a moment, I think about spitting in his face. It would feel so good to defy him, even with just a small act. Consequences be damned. Instead, my tongue darts over my cracked lips, tasting blood, and I give him the response that’ll keep me alive another day. “Thank you.”
His hand moves lower, caressing the front of my neck, fingers splayed across my throat while he coos something in Russian—the language has become a trigger for my fight or flight response.
Then his grip tightens, cutting off my air as he brings his face no more than an inch from mine.
The stubble on his jaw scrapes my skin as he speaks.
“Remember who owns you, girl, and be grateful it’s me in here and not my men downstairs.
They’re dying for a taste.” As the final word leaves his lips, he cups my pussy roughly with his free hand, making a sickly groan that vibrates his chest.
I struggle for breath, my hands instinctively clawing at his cracked knuckles. Black creeps into the corners of my vision and I know this is it. This is where I die. Half naked in some monster’s crumbling mansion, miles from everyone I love.
He must see that I’m on the edge of consciousness, because he finally releases me, letting me slump against the desk.
His retreating footsteps echo against the wooden floor, each one giving me the slightest sense of relief. He opens the door and lingers at the threshold while I suck in deep breaths of stale air. “Yuri! Get in here.”
I’m trembling now, clinging to the oversized white T-shirt they gave me so they could dispose of my bloody dress.
Yuri hasn’t hurt me… yet. But his stare follows me every time King isn’t looking, calculating eyes that give me no hint of what he’s thinking.
If King were to leave the house for good, I’m sure he’d jump at the chance to hurt me.
Heavy footsteps pound up the stairs, and Yuri appears, huffing from the exertion. “King?” he asks stiffly, craning his neck past King into the bedroom where I haven’t moved a muscle.
“Bring her a meal and then let her get cleaned up for later.” King’s voice is casual, friendly even, but I repeat his words in my mind.
For later?
Yuri nods, and King pushes past him into the shadowy hallway. “Who else is ready for tonight? We need three.”
Yuri pulls a hand through his dark greasy hair, leaning against the doorframe. “Any of them would do, but maybe you should pay a visit to the mouthy one.”
Oh God, I know they’re talking about Cat—fierce, defiant Cat who still fights back despite being in this situation for far longer than me. Cat, who whispers to us about escaping. Panic squeezes my lungs.
King laughs low and plants a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “You’re right. If tonight goes well, I think you’re due for a reward too.” He glances back at me. “Something for your hard work.”
Acid churns in my empty gut as Yuri’s gaze meets mine. I can’t read the expression in them, it’s too dark, but I know there’s nothing kind in his eyes. “You’re too generous, boss.”
King pulls out a money clip, thick with bills, from his pocket and shoves it at Yuri. “Make sure they have the necessary clothing for tonight.”
Then he walks away, toward another one of the bedrooms, looking like an evil spirit. His shadow stretches long and narrow against the dull gold wallpaper. As his footsteps fade, I curl into myself, making my body as small as possible, trying to disappear even though I know there’s nowhere to hide.
“Follow me,” Yuri commands, emotionless.
I want to cover myself. Pull the tattered blanket off the bed and wrap my shoulders in its warmth. But Yuri starts walking and I know if I don’t follow, I won’t eat today.
He leads me downstairs into the kitchen.
I’ve only been in here once, and briefly enough that I didn’t take in the sterile cleanliness of it, completely opposite of how I’d imagine a kitchen in this situation would be.
There’s two guys sitting at the table, one typing on his phone and the other eyeing Yuri carefully.
“Out,” Yuri tells them. No explanation. No hint of his mood. They obey immediately, glancing at me with wide eyes before heading into the back of the house.
He gestures to a chair and wordlessly walks to the fridge, taking out a loaf of bread and some plastic-wrapped cold cuts.
I sit but feel unnerved from his silence.
With King, there’s no guesswork. No reading his mood.
I know what I’m getting when he steps into the room.
But not with Yuri. He’s never outright hurt me.
Never raised his voice. It’s the stoic way he stares…
the way he makes me want to know what he’s thinking.
He drops the sandwich in front of me on a paper plate and my stomach groans. For a moment, I just look at it, afraid to move. Until he mutters something under his breath in Russian, and says, “Eat.” I take a bite and swallow so quickly, I nearly choke.
The whole time I eat, I feel his eyes on me. Eventually, he turns, filling a glass with water from the tap and pushing it in front of me. I gulp it down, and he refills it. Drips slide down my chin.
His phone rings, so I take the opportunity of him being distracted to search around the room. Old windows with thick drapes close off the outside world. There must be another exit besides the front door. Maybe if I can get Yuri on my side, get him to sympathize with me, I can find a way out.
I take another sip of water as he finishes his call. “Done?” he asks.
I nod slowly. “Thank you.”
He scoffs and turns toward the hallway. “Upstairs now.”
“Really,” I say, forcing cheeriness into my tone. “That was the best sandwich I’ve ever had.” Starvation will make anything taste incredible. He stays quiet, so I chance a question. “Where are we going tonight?”
The only sound is his booted footsteps on the hardwood floor and the long sigh escaping his lips.
I take slow measured steps behind him, hoping to stretch time. As we reach the staircase, cries from one of the other women echo against the walls. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear I see Yuri flinch.
Adrenaline pounds through my blood, and that urge to run, to hide, pulls at me with ferocity. Out of instinct, I step closer to Yuri—just for a moment before I realize he’s one of them and recoil.
“Let’s go,” he mumbles, barely glancing back at me.
“Sorry.” I sweeten my tone. “I’m just so afraid.”
It’s not a lie. My legs are barely holding me up, and after hearing that soul wrenching wail, the sandwich churns in my gut.
He leads me to the bathroom where we’re normally supervised and allowed to use a few times a day.
Riffling through the cabinet, he pulls out various bottles and a bar of soap, arranging them on the edge of the tub.
A hot shower will be a small blessing in this cruel place.
But is he going to watch me with those emotionless eyes?
He twists the knob and the pipes groan from inside the wall. Steam envelops the small space quickly as he tinkers with the temperature. “You have five minutes.”
“Please… where are we going tonight?” I ask again, more desperate to know the answer.
He ignores me, but something flickers in his eye and he bends to reach into the cabinet again. A razor in hand, he says, “Ten minutes.” His eyes stray to my legs and slowly back up to my face. “Shave everything.”
He doesn’t have to say what’s going to happen tonight. That one command tells me enough.
As he hands me the razor and steps into the doorframe, I glance at it, weighing every possibility. Could I somehow hide it, use it as a weapon? Terrible thoughts swirl through my mind. How I could end it all. Make it quick. Die by my own terms.
He must notice because he stops and narrows his eyes on the razor too. “Undress. Now I will stay.”
My heart sinks, but a part of me expected no less. As my filthy shirt hits the damp bathroom floor, and Yuri’s eyes stay fixated on the razor still in my clutched hand, I realize I’ve lost that chance. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. Probably numb.
Yuri doesn’t touch. He barely looks at me as I shower away caked-on grime from my skin. I wish I could say I feel clean. I still feel just as dirty. No amount of scrubbing will take away what King’s done.
I drip dry for a few moments until Yuri hands me a fresh white T-shirt from under the cabinet and leads me back to my room.
He hesitates in the doorway as I stand there, shaking from the cold with water dripping down my back.
“I will bring clothes.” He sighs, then adds, “You will entertain tonight.”
I nod, but he’s already left.