Chapter 24 #2
“I didn't hurt her. Woody got his hands on some stuff he shouldn't have.
He tried to bath her because she was dirty.
I've been bringing her food. He—” Ville's head bobbed in the direction of a lifeless Sylvia.
“He came to see if I had another girl for him, and Jolie hadn't been moving today. I thought she was gone. When I saw her fight back, I tried to help her. To comfort her,” he lied as he brushed my hair with his rough fingers again, and it made me feel sick.
I retched, but baby aside, my stomach was empty. Nothing splattered the floor.
“She wasn’t meant to be dinner for your cannibalistic cunt friends.” Hell leaned in, the blade pricking at Ville’s throat.
“She wasn't meant to be Sylvia’s, at all. Ever. She was always yours. Always. I was training her for you. She'll listen to you now. Anything you say.”
Ville wasn't wrong, and my face proved that.
Silver eyes probed me, and I let mine reply, remaining silent.
“Step the fuck out,” Hell told his father, the blade drifting from his skin only millimeters.
“Son, do you understand what I'm—”
“I understand what you're saying.” Hell dropped to the ground, his blank expression directed at me, because Ville was no concern to him. “I just have no interest in listening to your voice. Step. The. Fuck. Out.”
Hell used the blade to flick the hair from my face and examine my distorted features, and I shielded away when his face contorted with something close to repulsion.
Ville’s unlaced boots on his feet carried him away, and I slumped back to the ground. He sealed the door shut. The sound of the lock clicking into place trapped Hell down here. All light disappeared, and my fuzzy acid-stained vision made it harder to see the white of Hell’s eyes and teeth.
“He hurt me.”
If I could have seen Hell, I’d be sure his cold stare would have told me he couldn’t care less.
“I wish I could have given these—” Hell stopped himself from saying more. The knife pierced through the dark and hit me in the cheek, and I did all I could to rear back, falling into the shadows.
Hell’s long fingers grabbed me by the knees, his thumb pressing into my broken bone, like he knew how much pain that would cause me, and he thrived on it.
I screamed in pain, but I didn’t try to kick away.
He was right between my legs. My vagina was close enough to press against his jean-clad crotch.
I changed my approach, trying to get closer to him, to reach another that lived inside his skin.
My arms crept around his body, and I pressed my naked self against his dark tee.
“Help me. Please, help me. Woodrow loves me. He wouldn’t want you to hurt me.”
“He doesn’t have to find out what kind of fun we have.” There was amusement in his voice, and it grew as our bodies touched.
He made my blood run cold. I needed to get through to him, to stop this.
“You wouldn’t not write.” I was wrong with that statement; Woodrow had told me once that sometimes Hell would choose to plead the fifth on certain details. I didn’t give him time to think over what I said, continuing with, “You live for him. To protect him. Hurting me, hurts him. So, protect me.”
I looked up at him, but I couldn’t see him.
“I need to speak with him.”
Hell didn’t answer.
“Hell. . .?” I clutched at his t-shirt. “I need to speak to Woodrow.”
Again, no answer. He sat motionless, but I felt his stare on me . . .and his cruel hands.
“Hell. . .?”
My voice annoyed him. And in anger, he flipped me from beneath him, and I again, landed on the break in my kneecap. I squealed, but I tried to stay as quiet as I could.
I couldn’t see him in the dark, and his feet were moving too quickly to know where they were rushing to. I panicked, trying to place him. His screams gave no indication as to where he was because they bounced around the room, echoing off the stone walls.
A sound I’d dreamed of overpowered all others.
Hell was pounding on the kitchen door, stabbing at it with his knife.
The wood groaned under his abuse. In my dreams, I was the one hitting that door after finding the courage and strength to climb all fourteen steps, and then it would burst open, giving me a way to escape.
The noise surrounding Hell intensified.
And it frightened me.
Edging backwards, I prodded for my open cage, feeling safer there than out in the open. I quietly tucked myself inside and pulled the door behind me, and it made the smallest clicking sound.
All other sound stopped. There was no rush of feet. No screams. No pounding on the door to the kitchen.
My fingers clasped around Jesus’ body, and I tucked him into my mine, waiting silently for what I was about to face.
“Why are you hiding, doll?” Hell’s deep voice was heavy in my ears, rattling like the door of my cage as he opened it and it swung on its hinges.
I couldn’t see much of him. The speckles of light let in by the wreckage of the kitchen door didn’t reach down here. But my panting breaths hit the darkness that constantly surrounded him in the face.
He dragged me onto my back, his eyes taking in the image of my smaller, naked body.
His fingers spread at each side of my head. The idea of his knife—still embedded in the wooden door—would have brought me a little peace, if I didn’t already know he wouldn’t need weapons to kill me.
I mouthed a soundless, “No.” I shook my head, knowing he didn’t hear me.
His hand pressed me into the ground, the cold ground licking at my cheek.
I heard the zipper of his jeans and the sound of him dragging the material down his legs. He didn't bother with his t-shirt, but his boxers were lost with his pants.
The tears I'd held back caught up to me, as exhaustion from fighting back to stop this from happening took root. His fingers dug into my hips and he hauled me into a new position. Ass up, head down.
He lined his cock up at my entrance, his prominent bell brutally pushing through my folds. I still begged him to stop as he forced himself inside me. I still cried while he ignored me, thrusting deep and hard enough that I'd ache for days.
He whispered something about using me and my sweet pussy to release his frustrations. And I cried harder, realizing he'd let his father get into his damaged mind. . . and he didn’t even fucking know it.
His hands wandered around my body, over my small bump and up to my breasts, harassing my hardening nipples.
I tried again to squirm away as he drove in harder, stretching me.
And he punished me by going harder again.
By pulling me back on his shaft, forcing me to take him deeper than my body was prepared.
His hands moved lower, one of them disappearing between his legs.
I didn't know where it went until he pushed it inside me, double penetrating me with his finger and cock.
My pussy opened wider for him, but my heart shut down, breaking in the moment.
I hated that I was wet for him when this started, my body betraying me to take a little of the brutality away.
But I wished for that treason now.
I was dry, making this so much more physically fucking painful.
“Drying up, my little whore? God, you're no fun.” He chuckled to himself, relishing in my agony.
I clenched my teeth; my molars felt like they'd grind to dust any second. I clutched Jesus tighter, tempting my failing strength to break his neck for not saving me.
Karma hit me hard. Hell's finger pulled out of my pussy—scraping the walls on its exit—and wrapped around my throat. He used his tight grip to hike me up onto my knees, bringing me more pain. I screamed again, and he, in turn, fucked me harder.
I wanted to fight. I wanted to kick. I wanted this to all be over. But I couldn't do any of those things. And screaming was taking the last of my energy. So, with my fingers holding onto the cage, I let go of Jesus and watched him fall, tears trailing him, while Hell raped me.
He forced his cock deep up inside me. A high-pitched howl climbed up my throat, but I swallowed it back down with a hiccup and a sob.
He continued to thrust his dick inside me, with no rhythm, just pain, trying to get deeper and deeper each time, raping my pussy until I bruised internally.
I'd given up fighting, focusing on my breathing, because I thought my pain might become too much, stopping it at any second.
One breath, in and out, two breaths, in and out. . .
He rutted faster and then his cum spewed out inside me, his body spasming against mine.
He was still for a moment, and I didn't move, either. His cum leaked out of me, splashing down on the cold floor where I'd sleep tonight.
I took a deep breath. My eyes rolled shut, so very grateful that it was over.
But it wasn't.
It was only another minute before he started thrusting again. His energy and frustrations back.
Hours passed by. An internal clock ticked on in my head.
Blood droplets leaked from my most intimate area.
I sat against the wall of the cage. My downcast eyes were puffy from crying so much as I stared over my outstretched legs, down to my toes.
. . no polish on my nails. This time last year, that would have been a big issue for me.
But now, it was so trivial and irrelevant, I paid it no attention.
Hell sat on top of my cage, fully dressed, causing the structure to bow.
His stillness alone threatened to squash me.
His agitation was still strong, but luckily, after four rounds in the cage, his cock was too sore to go again.
His knife danced along the bars of the cage, gifting me a haunting and unnerving melody.
“Hell.”
His knife pointed through the gaps of the cage. “Ask for him again, I dare you.”
I tried to be quiet, swallowing my words, but my churning stomach wouldn't keep them.
“I really need to talk to Woodrow.”
He was in front of me within a second. I felt the fury radiate off him. The knife pressed into my stomach, making me rigid.
“Don't,” was the only word fear allowed to pass my lips.
To my surprise, he retracted.