40. Brody
brODY
I don’t know how long I’ve been in this room. Minutes. Hours. The flickering bulb overhead gives nothing but shadow and sickness-yellow.
My arms are strung behind the metal chair, wrists cuffed hard enough to grind flesh.
Footsteps echo outside the steel door. My body tenses. The door groans open, hinges shrieking. I flinch, but keep my eyes up. Marcus enters, flanked by two of his men; Cal, the silent wall, and another brute with hands like shovels. They drag something between them. Someone.
Lola stumbles, wrists bound in front of her with black cord, ankles hobbled enough to make her shuffle. There’s blood on her cheek and the collar of her shirt is torn half off her shoulder. She won’t look at me; her eyes are fixed somewhere inside herself, hollow as a kicked-in door.
Marcus’s hand fists her hair, yanking her head up. “Look who came to join the party.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, then cracks them open, searching for me. When she sees me—tied, battered, helpless—her face crumples. Shame, terror, something deeper. Something that makes me want to kill the world.
Marcus shoves her forward. She lands on her knees, inches from where I’m bolted to the floor. He stands behind her, hands on her shoulders, smiling like a snake.
“Family reunion,” he croons. “Don’t you two look sweet? Like matching trash.”
I strain against my bonds and spit blood. “You touch her again, I’ll bite your fucking throat out.”
He laughs. “Always the animal, Brody. Always talking about what you’ll do. Look at you now. All bark, no bite.” He leans down, mouth at my ear. “You’re going to watch, and you’re going to beg, and you’re going to break. That’s your purpose now.”
He straightens and nods to Cal who walks behind me. Thick fingers crush my jaw, wrench my head to face forward. I can’t move, can’t look away.
Marcus crouches beside Lola, strokes the broken edge of her jaw with mock tenderness. “You’ve been a difficult girl, sweetheart. Running. Lying. Fucking. All for what? This?” He jabs at me with his boot. “You think this piece of shit was ever going to save you?”
She shakes her head, wordless, tears catching in the grime on her face.
He glances at Cal. “Make sure he sees everything.”
A slap comes. It’s a white-hot crack across my skull. My vision swims, but I blink the blood away. I won’t look away. I owe her that.
Marcus turns to Lola. “Come here, darling.”
She shakes her head, wild with terror. “Don’t—please—Marcus, please don’t—”
He grabs her by the hair and drags her to the center of the room. She sobs, fighting, but he’s immovable. He yanks her to her knees, fingers twisted in her scalp. He looks at me. “You want her, Brody? You think she’s yours? Let’s see who she really belongs to.”
He yanks her top down, baring her shoulder, then her chest. She whimpers, arms crossed, trying to shield herself, but he slaps her hands away. “No hiding.” He wrenches her arms behind her back, binding them with a zip tie. Her nakedness blazes in the pale light.
I scream behind the tape. Fury, shame, desperation. The men laugh.
Marcus circles her. “Look at you. You thought you could run. That you could hide from me. That you had choices. Let’s remind Brody what you are, hmm?”
He shoves her face to the floor, forces her onto all fours. She sobs, cheeks streaked with spit and tears. “Please, please, please—don’t—”
He crouches behind her, palms her ass and spreads her open with casual cruelty. “You see this, Brody?” He looks right at me. “This is what property looks like. This is what happens when someone forgets who owns her.”
He slaps her again, hard, enough to make her cry out. “Tell him who you belong to.”
She shakes, chokes on her own breath. “No—please—don’t make me—”
He squeezes her jaw, yanks her head up to face me. “Say it.”
She looks at me, eyes pleading, begging for mercy I can’t give. “Brody—”
He backhands her. Blood beads on her lip. “Say it.”
She sobs, voice strangled. “I—I belong to Marcus.”
He grins. “Louder.”
She screams it, broken, humiliated. “I belong to Marcus. Please—please stop—”
He laughs, stands, unzips his trousers.
My vision whiteouts. I thrash, scream, strain against the ropes until my bones crack. “Don’t touch her! Don’t fucking touch her! I’ll kill you—”
The tape muffles everything. Marcus ignores me.
He looms over her, cock out, stroking himself, making a show of it.
“You see, Brody, what you tried to steal? You thought you could take something that wasn’t yours.
Now you’ll watch as she remembers her place.
” He rubs himself against her cheek, smearing her with pre-cum. “Open your mouth.”
She refuses, lips clenched, eyes wild. He pries her jaw open, forces himself between her lips. “Bite me and I’ll break every bone in your body.”
She gags, tries to choke it down, tears streaking her cheeks. The men watch, hungry, laughing. I scream so hard my throat tears.
He fucks her mouth brutally, using her face as a hole. “This is what you’re good for, Lola. This is what you were made for. Tell Brody how much you love it.” She sobs, choked, unable to speak. He pulls out, slaps her again. “Say it.”
Blood drips from her mouth. “I love it,” she whispers, voice dead.
He grins, zips himself up. “Good girl. Now, crawl to Brody. Beg him to forgive you.”
She crawls, naked, broken, shivering, tied and bleeding. She kneels before me, eyes red, snot dripping. “I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry, Brody—I—”
Marcus yanks her back by the hair, dragging her to her feet. He spins her, exposing her for all of them to see. “You see this, Brody? This is what hope looks like—gone.” He turns to his men. “You want a taste? Go ahead. She’s not going anywhere.”
The men laugh as they crowd in. Hands grope, pinch, bruise. One shoves her face-down on the table, spreads her legs. She screams, tries to kick, but there are too many hands.
I lose my mind. I lunge, chair scraping, muscles tearing, but nothing gives. I scream until my lungs give out, until I hear nothing but my own pulse.
Marcus steps back, lights a cigarette, and watches it all with bored detachment.
“This is what happens when you forget who you are. When you try to take what isn’t yours.
There is no escape. No happy ending.” He glances at me, smoke curling from his mouth.
“You want it to stop, Brody? You want to save her?”
I nod, desperate, tears streaming down my face.
He smiles. “All you have to do is confess. Admit you never loved her. That she’s nothing. That you only ever wanted to own her. Say it, and I’ll make them stop.”
I choke, the words burning in my throat.
He waits, patient, cruel. “Say it, and it’s over. Or watch her become nothing but a hole for my men.”
Lola screams, blood on her thighs, face mashed into the table. “Brody, please—please—”
I can’t. I can’t. But I do.
I scream it, sobbing, broken. “I never loved her. She’s nothing. She’s just a thing. Just a fucking hole. Please—please stop—”
Marcus laughs, pure delight. He gestures to his men. “Let her go.”
They drop her and she collapses to the floor, a heap of bruises and shame. He crouches beside her and whispers something in her ear. She flinches, then sobs harder.
Standing, he wipes his hands, surveys the carnage. “Consider this a lesson. There is no escape. Not for you, Brody. Not for her.”
He gestures. The men drag her back out the door, away from me. There’s nothing left but the dark. And Marcus’s laughter, echoing in the ruin of everything I ever loved.