Chapter 10
Nash
I hate his eyes on me. I hate the way they skate over every inch of my skin, cataloging the damage he’s caused.
I don’t doubt Pirro is looking for fresh skin, unmarked places that he can hurt.
The sadistic fuck takes so much pleasure in hurting others, I have to wonder if he’d do exactly this if I hadn’t sat across from him almost nightly while he cheated to get every penny of my money.
He probably would. What he does seems just as impersonal as it does personal, and honestly, that makes no fucking sense.
Just like it doesn’t make sense that he’s just standing there, watching me, when he normally threatens me or comes into the cell to kick me or cut me.
Another man comes in, tossing a bottle of water in my direction.
I’m too slow in reacting to catch it in time before it hits then bounces off my chest. I don’t hesitate to reach for it, less concerned than I should be that I’m not the first one to break the seal on the fucking thing.
I guzzle the water, the bottle crinkling in my hand as I pull it away empty, a gasp on my lips for the effort it took to simply fucking drink.
I swallow repeatedly, trying not to get sick as the liquid threatens to roll right back up my throat.
More than one guy laughs as I tilt my face to the ceiling in an effort to keep from puking.
“Catch,” someone says, but he throws something else that I’m too slow to catch.
The bag makes a crinkling noise when it falls in front of me.
I could cry at the sight of the fucking sandwich, and it only proves just how fucking desperate I am for normal fucking things.
The scent of peanut butter reaches my nose the second I pull open the baggie, and despite the grape jelly on there, being the most disgusting flavor of all time, I lift the fucking thing to my mouth, unable to savor the taste as I all but inhale the damn thing.
Another round of chuckles echoes through the small room when I lift the baggie and upend it over my mouth, wanting every fucking crumb I can manage.
I have no idea how long I’ve been here. It seems like years, but if that were the case, I’d be dead. They’ve only fed me eleven times, counting this sandwich. I’m not a fucking nutritionist, but I doubt a man can live for that long on so little food.
“You’re going to fuck one of the girls today,” Pirro says, a wicked smile on his face when I lock eyes with him.
“I won’t,” I argue.
There’s a lot I’ll fucking do to survive, but rape isn’t one of them.
“Do you have any idea what was in that fucking bottle of water?” the other man in the room asks.
“I was hoping rat poison,” I answer honestly.
Pirro doesn’t look impressed with my answer, and I know it probably kills him not to pull his boot back and kick me in the face.
“Enough Viagra to give you a week-long erection,” the man counters.
“I can have a fucking erection and not use it to fuck someone, you ignorant fuck,” I growl.
“We’ll see about that,” Pirro says, taking a step back as if he might honestly be afraid of me for a split second, regardless of how weak they’ve kept me.
If I thought for a second I could snap both their necks before they got the better of me, I would’ve lunged the second they opened the fucking door.
“You can fuck her with your cock, or I can fuck her with my knife,” Pirro threatens, as easily as if he’d just asked for lemon in his water at lunch.
Two men I didn’t notice file into the room, each of them rushing to one side of me. In a flash, I’m pulled to my feet, Pirro closing the distance between us now that he has more help.
His breath is warm, tinged with tequila and cigarette smoke as he inches closer.
“I guess you have a decision to make,” he says before stepping back. “I’m thinking it’ll be more fun if you refuse.”
My sandwich threatens to make a reappearance when he grips my soft cock in his hand.
“This cock is going to make us a lot more money,” he says before releasing me and walking out of the room. “Get him cleaned up and on set.”
The men drag me from the room, the fight in me almost nonexistent until I see them carrying me across the hall. I’ve suffered so much fucking pain in the room they plan to take me into that I can’t even fight the instinct to try and escape.
It doesn’t take much for them to wrestle me into the room. I’m grateful they have me chained once again with my arms over my head so quickly that I haven’t yet been able to beg to be released. Begging is the very last thing I want to do, but I don’t know how much longer I can resist the urge.
They step away, one guy heading for the water hose wound up on the wall. I’m trembling before he even turns the knob.
I’m blasted with frigid water, hating that I think of the woman from that very first day.
I know now there was care in her touch, despite the freezing water she washed me with.
She didn’t try to hurt me. Despite her silence, she didn’t seem like she enjoyed what she was doing.
Hindsight is always clearer, and I now know that her touch was softer than anything else I’ve experienced since being here.
My teeth are chattering by the time the water is turned off. Several of my wounds are now seeping again, the pressure from the spray opening them up once again.
They don’t grab towels, rather they let me hang there to dry as they laugh and watch fucking videos on a phone they are both looking down at.
I know the reason for the wait. I feel the reason starting to take over my body, and I fucking hate them even more for it.
They needed time for the shit they put in the water to take effect, and goddamn them if it isn’t happening.
I don’t know how many times I’ve wished for death, how many times I’ve reached out to whatever higher being that may be floating around that he just let me die. Right now is no different, especially knowing what I’ll have to do.
I startle when hands touch me, hating that I’m so weak that my body just fucking randomly shuts down.
“Ready for a little fun?” one guy asks, his eyes darting between my legs.
I don’t have to look to check and see if the drugs are working. I can feel the weight of it hanging from me, an insistent ache I can’t help but focus on.
The trip to wherever they’re taking me is filled with more aches and pains as we climb one set of stairs.
“Are you fucking serious?” a guy walking past asks as he points at me. “Let Pirro see that motherfucker without a blindfold. It’ll be both your asses.”
One of the guys spits a curse before pulling the blindfold I’m obviously supposed to be wearing from his back pocket. I don’t bother arguing when he lifts it to my face. It’s not a battle I can win, so what’s the point in wasting the energy?
I’m carted up another flight of stairs, the blindfold not being pulled off until I’m shuffled into a room, the door shut swiftly behind me.
I’m fairly certain it’s the same room I was brought in before, but since they were quick to cover my eyes before and right after the scene was over, I can’t be a hundred percent sure.
A row of cameras stand sentry in front of me, as Pirro looks down at my growing cock, victory in his eyes.
I use the time to look around the room, noticing the microphones suspended from the bed. There are lights and those shiny fucking things that I know direct the glares and shit, but have no idea what they’re called, scattered throughout the area.
The bed is staged, having a fucking disgusting, rustic, decrepit feel to it, but from this side, taking in the entire area. I have no doubt the cameraman will have the ability to make it look exactly like whatever the client is requesting, the sick fuck that he is.
Several cameras are all pointed toward the bed, capable of catching every fucking angle of what they think they can force me to do.
A storyboard hangs on one wall, next to a blank teleprompter, proving me right about where the woman’s eyes were drawn to the last time I was in here.
I can’t look at the bed, and I hate myself more than a little for how the memory of that woman riding me and acting out whatever commands she was given is affecting me right now.
I blame the fucking drugs in my system, wanting nothing more than to slit the throat of every fucking person in this room.
Pirro is just letting me take in my fill, but the woman he threatened to make me fuck isn’t on the bed, and I don’t see another female in the room.
Doom settles in my gut as I consider all the fucking options at these men’s disposal, hating that I know there are ways they could fucking hurt me that I haven’t experienced yet. It isn’t the first time I’ve thought about it, considering what they’re into, but the thought now makes my skin crawl.
I feel like the biggest piece of shit that has ever walked the earth because I know what I would choose if I were given the option to be hurt that way or hurt someone else that way. It speaks fucking volumes as to how much of a goddamned violation it is.
I open my mouth to beg for death when the door opens.
It’s the first time I’m seeing her completely as she enters the room unescorted.
“There’s our star,” Pirro says, and I watch as she manages half a smile.
She’s no more impressed to be here than I am, but she’s also not fighting them either. The contradiction confuses the fuck out of me, but I also know it doesn’t take much these days after hours of torture and being starved for however long I’ve been here.
She nods to each of the men before walking over to the bed. She doesn’t even falter as she climbs onto the thing, holding her arms out and spreading her legs as two men walk to either side of the bed and strap her arms down.
She doesn’t make a sound, not a chuckle or whimper of distress when one of the men twists her nipple harshly.
Her throat works on a swallow, a strand of her blond hair resting there. Her blue eyes are pointed at the ceiling. I watch as she goes from what appears to be calm and collected to her chest heaving, tears running down her temples until they disappear into her hairline.
I let my eyes sweep the length of her, unsure of what I’m witnessing and completely fucking confused by all of it.
I don’t know if the bruises, cuts, scratches, and scars marring her skin are real or just another prop for the fucking movie we’re clearly about to make.
“Here,” Pirro snaps as he presses something into my chest.
I wince from the pain it causes, looking down at the dark mask.
“The customer wants to imagine it’s him, not you, fucking her.”
I take the fucking thing, but before I can say a word, it’s snatched out of my hand by one of the other guys. I glare at my nemesis as the mask is tied on my fucking face.
“I won’t fuck her.”
“You will,” he argues, smiling when I start to shake my head. “You’ll fuck her and make it look good, or the scene will turn into a fucking snuff film.”
I freeze, my spine stiffening as much as capable, wondering if they also gave me a goddamned pain pill because there’s a numbness to my wounds, a kind of relief I haven’t felt until now. Maybe it’s the acceptance of what will happen to me today.
Pirro inches closer. “And before you spit out some stupid shit, know it will be her life you’re sacrificing, not your own.”
Mother. Fucker.