Nine
Avalon
As usual, the weekend flew by. Though she was happy to see the sunshine break through the gloomy weather by Monday.
She was looking forward to seeing Varos and Marcus again—even Lysander. She knew that he wasn’t her biggest fan, but she still enjoyed his company—especially when he and Marcus started bickering.
As she settled into her desk and started up her computer, she was approached by the same flower delivery man from before. Yet again, he carried a stunning bouquet along with a small gift bag. With a bright smile, he set down the flowers and handed over the gift. “Here you go, ma’am.”
She couldn’t help the flush on her cheeks as she took it from him. “Thank you.”
He walked away, and she reached into the bag. She didn’t even try to fight the butterflies.
Ava,
We hope you had a wonderful weekend. We would love to take you out on Thursday evening. We won’t be in our office until Wednesday but please leave us a message if Thursday isn’t good for you. We can always rearrange.
Marcus and Varos
Her heart fluttered. Replacing the note, she swapped it for the small velvet box. Inside were a dainty pair of gold earrings. She held the box close, wondering how these men knew her so well in such a short amount of time.
That tingling feeling lasted throughout the day even as she walked into her small apartment. Since she didn’t have a real vase, she settled for placing the flowers in a plastic cup. It wasn’t pretty but hopefully Marcus and Varos would never see what shame she brought on their beautiful bouquet. She giggled at the sight, wondering if they’d simply be amused—or leave and return with a proper vase.
She started dinner, but quickly remembered she forgot to stop for milk on her way home. There was a corner store not too far away, so she grabbed her purse and stepped out into the fresh evening air.
Her mind was still with the two new men in her life, wondering what they’d planned for their next adventure. They didn’t talk too much about their own hobbies. Then again, she hadn’t really asked. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to—she had so many questions that she couldn’t possibly ask them all without being rude.
Having collected her milk and standing in front of her door, she fumbled through her purse for her key. She stepped inside, then yelped as she was yanked back by her hair.
“Make a noise and I’ll cut that pretty little face of yours.”
Hearing Troy’s voice was like being doused in ice water. She was teleported back four years, back to being under his thumb.
“Get inside,” he purred, though the threat lay just beneath the surface. “We have so much to talk about.”
He didn’t need to guide her, her body moved on autopilot. She stepped inside, immediately feeling his fingers wrap around her throat.
“You thought you could just walk out on me, huh?”
She knew better than to respond. She simply grit her teeth as one hand tightened in her hair and the other around her throat.
“Four fucking years I prayed to get you back into my hands.”
Troy wrenched her head to the side, running his nose along her neck. Her stomach churned, his hot breath burning a path over her skin. All she wanted to do was fight, but she froze like a deer in headlights.
Troy hummed. “You left me for dead with those men and after I’m done with you, they’re next.”
“Please,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper.
Troy brought his other hand to her neck, his evil laugh shooting ice through her veins. “Oh, you can cry for mercy all you want, Ava, but your fate’s been decided.”
His grip tightened. She clawed at his hands, trying to scratch her way out or disable him. He only clenched harder. Her lungs burned in a desperate attempt to breathe. Fear swept over her, weakening her knees and churning her stomach. She fought with everything she had, but it was in vain. Darkness blurred her vision, creeping in until she was swept away into unconsciousness.
She woke up to the feeling of something cold and metallic pressing against her temple. She stirred, wincing at the hard floor beneath her. Her eyes fluttered open to blurry vision. Slowly, she made out the scene of her living room. Troy loomed over her as she laid in the middle of the floor.
“Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart,” Troy chuckled, gripping her hair once again to hold her head in place.
She blinked, the gun in his hand finally coming into focus. Panic surged through her, her heart racing in her chest.
“Now, you’re going to fix that pretty little face of yours, walk with me to my truck, and get in without a fuss.”
She sank her teeth into her lip to stifle a whine, and forced a nod. She’d learned early on that it was best not to fight him—not that she stood a chance to begin with.
“Good girl. Now get up.”
Tears stinging her eyes, she pushed herself off the cold floor. He watched with dark, hungry eyes as she steadied her posture. She stood on wobbly legs, waiting as he tucked the gun into the front of his pants. Much like Marcus, he took her hand and placed it on his arm—though there was nothing endearing about it. She did what she knew she was supposed to: tucking her head down and not letting anyone see her struggle.
She scrambled into the truck the second he opened the door, wanting his hands off of her as soon as possible. With her eyes glued to him, she watched as he walked around the hood and climbed into the driver’s seat. Before turning on the engine, he strategically placed the gun on his lap in plain sight. He reversed, indicating the glove box with a rough hand.
“Open it.”
Her hands shook as she did, finding a black silk cloth inside.
“Cover your eyes.”
“W-what?” she stammered, her voice raspy and her throat sore.
“We don’t want to spoil your surprise, do we?”
She swallowed against a wave of nausea, tying the cloth behind her head. Only then did she allow her silent tears to spill into the silk.
The sudden feeling of his fingers brushing her cheek made her sick. “Good girl.”
She’d always hated it when he’d called her that. She wasn’t a dog. Some women liked that, but she wasn’t one of them. Troy never meant it as praise. It was an insult, simply another way for him to degrade her.
They drove in silence, his hand far too high on her thigh for her comfort. Though she didn’t dare reject him. Letting him do what he wanted was just easier—less painful.
After what felt like eternity, the truck slowed and passed over a speed bump. They came to a stop and he lowered the window, the beeping of a keypad ringing out in the silence. Then a gate in front of them screeched open, and he continued driving. A few slow turns later, he parked and shut off the engine.
His door opened and closed, then everything fell silent. She did exactly as he expected of her and stayed still until he opened her door. It took him longer than usual, which made her nervous. She was so tense her muscles ached. Far too long after he’d left the truck, he opened the passenger door, took her hand, and tugged her out.
Careful not to miss a step, she manoeuvred her way to the ground. The door slammed shut and he tugged her along, locking the truck behind them. The air around them was eerily quiet, save for the low hum of traffic somewhere nearby. Thankfully, the ground beneath her feet was even as Troy led her along with a tight grip on her wrist.
After a short walk, he let go. Troy’s footsteps quietly sounded around her, and a metal door shut behind them. Fear took over, and she began to gasp for air.
“Where are we?”
Troy’s bone-chilling laugh wrapped around her like the electricity before a brewing storm. She moved for the blindfold, but a sharp crack sounded through the air and pain rippled through her temple. She didn’t even have time to cry out before darkness wrapped around her once more.
Hot, sticky breath creeping down her neck pulled her back to consciousness. Pain shot through her core, her skin wet and sticky. Slowly, things came into focus. Troy was holding her down with a hand flat on her stomach, the other holding her legs wide open. He thrusted again, making her scream in pain as his pelvis slapped against hers. Pure terror settled in as she tried to regain control of her own body.
He was using her to please himself.
She tried to move, tried to wrestle out of his grip but she was still blindfolded, pain shooting through her head where he’d hit her. Her core burned, his hard pelvis slamming into her repeatedly, his nails digging into her skin as she tried to kick him away.
“Stop!” she cried. “Troy, you’re hurting me.”
“Fuck… little Ava,” he panted. “You feel so damn good.” He was in no way bothered by her attempts to get away.
“Please, Troy— stop,” she begged, scrambling for something to grip onto, anything to pull herself away. But there was nothing more than the cold, concrete floor surrounding her.
Then he groaned, halting his movements—and she froze. He pulsed inside her, and she knew what that meant.
“No…” she whispered, hot tears pouring down her cheeks.
“You feel so delicious,” Troy groaned, pulling out and rolling to the side.
The moment he released her, she scrambled away, banging her head on an unknown metal object.
“You can’t run from me, Ava,” Troy teased, his chilling voice creeping closer.
She yanked off the blindfold, needing to see her surroundings—needing to work out her escape plan. They were in a metal box, the ground made of concrete and the walls constructed of steel. Troy stood in front of her, seeming to enjoy the terror he brought upon her. His pants were still undone, hanging from his waist while his shirt was drenched in sweat.
“Now what shall I do with you?” he sneered. “I mean, you do deserve punishment. But where should I start?”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she cried, attempting to stand up.
Part of her thought he would stop her, but he just watched as she used the wall behind her to pull herself to her unsteady feet.
His demeaning laugh filled the room again. “No men to protect you now, huh? Are you not going to ask me how I found you?”
That was the last thing on her mind. She was more focused on how to escape the room. There was a door, but a lock—and Troy—kept her from going for it.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Troy continued, sauntering over to a toolbox on the side of the room. “I was getting the club ready to open—like we used to do on Saturdays—but a text from a good friend of mine stopped me in my tracks. It was a picture of you.” He looked over his shoulder, a smarmy, crooked smile on his mouth. “You were sitting by a tree reading one of those ridiculous books you like so much.”
He turned back to the tools, metal clanging as he looked for whatever it was he needed.
“He followed you and found out where you live. I knew right then and there that I had to come get you. I was hoping to find Varos too, but I guess his payback will just have to come later.”
Finally locating the tool he needed, he turned back around—with a rusty knife in his hand. Her gaze snapped to the weapon, her body frozen in place as he approached.
“You know, I’ve always liked the idea of giving you something that lets everyone know who you belong to.”
“T-Troy…” she stammered.
“No one else would even be able to touch you. They’d know right away that you belong to someone else–that I own you. But you were always such a good girl. I never thought it was necessary to brand you like that.”
Troy came to a stop just in front of her. He reached for her throat again and just like she’d been taught, she didn’t fight. Instead, she locked her eyes on his. Unwilling to give him what he wanted, she hid her fear. His grip tightened, and her vision faded at the edges. Troy wanted a fight, wanted her to beg. Though in that moment, she welcomed the peace and quiet of unconsciousness.
Pain shooting through her arms awakened her. Slowly, she brought herself back to reality. Though she didn’t want to, she opened her eyes to greet the devil himself .
“Oh good. You’re awake,” he cooed and watched her with morbid curiosity, head tilted just slightly.
It was when she moved her gaze past him that she discovered that she dangled from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Her feet were tied together, anchored to a hook in the floor. The pain, she realised, was because her wrists were bound above her head, taking the brunt of her body weight. Most alarmingly, she was stark naked, exposed and vulnerable in every way possible.
With the knife in his hands, he smirked down at her. “Shall we make sure everyone knows without a doubt that you’re mine?”
“No… Please, Troy.” Her throat was dry, his grip still singed into her skin.
“Oh, little Ava. You and I both know you deserve this. You shouldn’t have run away, shouldn’t have left me searching for you. At least with my mark on you, I know you’ll always be returned to me.”
“I’m not yours.” She wanted her words to be strong and powerful like the woman she’d become, they were nothing but a shadow of her former self.
He leaned closer, gripping her jaw tight and grazing his nose over her cheekbone. “You. Are. Mine . The moment I laid eyes on you, you belonged to me. From that day until the day you’ll die, you belong to me.”
His breath was hot and sticky, sending shivers through her spine.
“And every time you look in the mirror, you’ll know who owns you.”
He punctuated his words by dragging the dirty blade across her skin, just beneath her collarbone. A blood-curdling scream bounced off the metal walls. She twisted, contorting and yanking against the chains—but to no avail. Her screams rattled the walls, piercing her eardrums but nothing overshadowed the jagged cut from the knife. The brand broke her mentally, physically, and emotionally. Yet again, Troy was laying claim on something that was no longer his.
He took his time, an evil grin curling his lip the whole way. He was enjoying this, getting off on her pain. And though she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but scream. Not even when her throat went raw and her lungs burned. Deep down, she hoped someone would hear her.
Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, Troy stepped back with sickening pride covering his face. “Beautiful.”
Hot tears burned down her cheeks. She tried everything not to look. She didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to know what he’d branded into her skin.
Troy tossed the knife, sending it clattering across the room. Then he stepped forward and loosened the ropes around her arms. Her legs buckled, the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the floor being Troy’s arm around her waist.
“Hands and knees,” he demanded, forcing her to kneel on the cold concrete, feet still secured to the hook.
Her body shook, but she followed his guidance as his hand wrapped around her neck and pushed her down.
“Good little girl.” He knelt behind her, the praise feeling more like an insult. “How about I make you remember how it feels to be mine?”
She choked out a sob. Her thighs clenched trying to keep him from invading her.
“Relax, Ava,” he grunted, shoving a hand between her legs.
She whimpered, but words abandoned her.
“Do as I say, and it won’t hurt.”
His grip loosened on her neck, then the cool metal barrel of the gun trailed up her spine. Goosebumps appeared all over her skin as it crept up to her neck. She tensed, another sob pushing past her lips. Then he pointed it at her temple and repeated his threat with a deep, impatient rumble.
“Do as I say, and it won’t hurt.”
Troy pressed forward, and she tried to ease the tension in her body. There was only one thing she could think to do…
Survive.