Chapter Twenty-SixRoe
Chapter Twenty-Six
Roe
A sharp pain in my temple greets me as I wake, my body stiff and aching from the cool, hard floor. I groan, the sharp, bright light of the room almost blinding meas I open and close my eyes in an attempt to adjust to the light.
"Roe?" East's hoarse, shaky voice breaks the silence, and I am instantly alert.
Scuttling to my knees, I turn and find East huddled in a corner, her face pink and splotchy, eyes red and swollen.
"East!" I almost fall flat on my face in my haste to reach her. "Are you ok? How long have I been out?"
A fresh wave of sick betrayal rolls through my stomach as I think of Mr. Foster. Who the fuck was he really? And where had he taken us?
East's lips tremble as she shakes her head. "I don't know. An hour? I am so scared, Roe," she whispers.
"Shhh," I soothe. As scared as I was, East was my priority right now. I had to look after her until help arrived. "It’s going to be ok. West will come for us. He will come for you ." I nod encouragingly, giving her a tight smile. I collapse onto the floor by her side, my arm falling around East's slim, trembling shoulders. I pull her against me.
"How? How will he find us? We don't even know where we are."
I look around us, taking in the sparse room for the first time. The walls are a brilliant white and the floor a simple, grey linoleum. A toilet squats in the corner nearest to where we sit, and a single bed with the thinnest mattress I have ever seen sits in another. The last corner is bare, but for the solid door that had no handle, a small, digital screen sat where it should have been. A fingerprint scanner, perhaps.
There were no windows. No escape.
Looking up, I spy not one but three security cameras watching our every move.
"These sick fuckers are literally watching everything we do," I simmer, glaring at one of the cameras, hoping my stink eye is portrayed to whoever is watching nice and clearly. "You going to watch us shit, too?" I snark, raising my voice.
East squeaks at my outburst, and I apologize.
"No, it's ok," East says. "It's just that… well, I've been needing to pee for a while now, but I just can't bring myself to do it while they could be watching. "
Now that she says it, the coke I had had with lunch is beginning to weigh heavy in my bladder. I look around us again, then jump to my feet when I have an idea.
"Here," I say, pulling the thin sheets free from the bed. "I will stand in front of you and hold this out to block the cameras' view. And then you can do the same for me."
East reluctantly agrees, knowing full well it is the best option we have. I stand with my back to East and hold the sheet out as far as my arms can stretch. I hear East's clothes rustling, then silence as she sits on the toilet. The sound of her bladder emptying doesn't come, so I start to sing. Demi Lovato’s “Anyone"is the first song to come to mind. My voice echoes in the small space. It’s not enough to mask the sound of water hitting water, but East eventually relaxes enough to let it happen.
The toilet flushes, and East washes her hands in the small basin next to the toilet before she takes my place. I continue to sing as I pull my pants down because, as it turns out, as shameless as I am, this is still uncomfortable as shit.
After, we sit on the bed and huddle under the thin sheet together.
"Keep singing," East requests, quiet and withdrawn.
I do. I sing for hours until my throat aches and my lips crack. Then we sit in silence for what feels like an eternity before suddenly a loud beep sounds from the door, and the finger scanner turns green.
I leap to my feet as East shrinks into an impossibly small ball, placing myself in front of her as if I could shield her from whatever is about to happen. I desperately hope that I can.
The door opens.
"You mother fucking fraud!" I scream as Mr. Foster enters, anger overtaking my fear the instant I see him.
His lips kick up into his familiar smirk, one that once gave me butterflies but now made me sick.
A familiar laugh sounds from behind him, and I stumble back a step when none other than Vincent Mazzuchelli walks in.
"Dad?" East drops the sheet and shuffles closer. I hold up a hand behind my back, indicating for her to stay where she is. I don't like this. Not one bit.
Vincent's laugh cuts off, his mask slipping to one of fury as the door clicks shut behind the two men.
"I can't say I am surprised at what you've gotten yourself into, Easterly, but I am extremely disappointed," he says, sneering at his daughter as if she is a cockroach in his soup. "I tried so hard to raise you as a proper young lady. But you just couldn't fall in line, could you? "
East whimpers. I blindly reach behind me and grasp her hand tightly.
Vincent's attention returns to me.
"But you, Rowena Nixon, you I expected nothing less of. The little money-mongering whore from the slums who somehow managed to take my only son from me. Quite frankly, I am ecstatic to have you here, Roe."
"And where exactly would here be, Vincent?" I glower.
His face splits into a wide grin, and he laughs again, Mr. Foster joining in.
"Why, you are where you have been trying to get to since you first heard of it."
At my blank look, he continues.
"Welcome to The Den, Rowena.”
"The Den?" I whisper. My shoulders relax slightly. West was here. Or he would be soon. He was going to save us.
"You seem relieved?"
I raise my chin but say nothing.
"You shouldn't be. The Den is lawless, my dear."
"Quit boasting and tell us what this place is," I grunt .
Mr. Foster wags a finger in my face. "Uh-uh-uh, that is a surprise, my sweet thing."
I want to hurl at his endearment.
"Sir is going to get you well acquainted, Rowena, don't you worry," Vincent says. He pulls back a sleeve to take a peek at his sleek black Rolex. "It’s time. East, you’re with me. I have the perfect place for you to watch tonight's festivities. My office has a one-way glass wall that has the best view in the house.”
Anticipating his move, I put myself between him and her as his arm strikes like a snake for her arm.
He growls deep in his throat when his hand is knocked aside.
"Sir, if you will?"
"With pleasure."
Mr. Foster is suddenly there, his arms wrapped around me in a bear hug that holds me tight to his chest.
"No!" I yell and kick as he pulls me aside. East screams as her father takes her arm into a white-knuckled grip and hauls her off the bed. She struggles for a moment before he swings his fist and backhands her across the face.
"Mother fucker!" I scream, my efforts to escape double as Mr. Foster squeezes me tighter. "Don't fucking touch her! Don't you fucking lay a hand on her, you fucking pig! "
Vincent holds a thumb to the scanner, and it turns green and beeps, the door sliding open. He hauls East through the door, her wide, desperate eyes meeting mine once more before she is pulled away and the door clicks closed.
"I'm fucking coming for you!" I scream, Mr. Foster holding tight despite the closed door. "You hear that, Vincent Mazzuchelli? I will find you, and I will destroy you!"
A frustrated and heartbroken shrill vibrates through my throat before I fall limp, the man behind me the only thing keeping me from falling to my knees. I cry as the weight of being truly alone hits me.
After a moment, I become aware of Mr. Foster cooing, comforting nothings in my ear as he brushes my hair back with his hand. I also become aware of the prominent hard length of him poking into my ass.
"Get off me!" I screech, my fight or flight senses kicking in once more.
With a chuckle, Mr. Foster lets me go. I dart into the farthest corner of the room and brace myself. To run, fight, play dead, whatever the fuck I need to do to survive this.
Mr. Foster settles himself on the end of the bed, legs spread wide and a grin on his face as he watches me .
"Oh, how I have craved you, Roe," he says. "Since the first moment you walked into my classroom," he chuckles, "you were always going to be mine."
"I am not yours," I hiss.
He ignores me, his eyes glossing over.
"And then you went and got finger fucked in the hallway. Fuck!" he bites his fist as his eyes roll back. "The number of times I've jerked off to the song of your orgasm…”
My stomach drops, and I want to hurl.
"It was you?" I whisper. "You took the video. You spread those photos around?"
He stands up suddenly, his eyes steel and mouth set. He starts pacing.
"Of course it was me. You looked so fucking stunning in that tiny lingerie piece, your head thrown back in ecstasy. But I was so angry ," he seethes. " So fucking angry that it wasn't me fucking you to oblivion. Those three boys think they rule the fucking world! I cannot wait to put them in their places tonight."
The sickness curdles in my stomach, and I cannot hold it back anymore. I collapse in front of the toilet and hurl into it. I went to this man, this teacher, this person students are supposed to look up to and confide in; I sobbed in his office and ate his fucking weed brownie while we discussed the photo, no video , with each other. Belatedly I realize it was he who had suggested the photograph originated from a video in the first place.
With my stomach empty and skin clammy, I slowly rise to my feet and flush the toilet. I turn. Mr. Foster watches me with his head tilted to the side, like a curious cat observing a mouse it would like to play with.
But I was no mouse.
I clear my throat. "Tell me what this place is. The Den."
Mr. Foster grins as he retakes his seat.
"Vincent Mazzuchelli is a brilliant man," he starts. I roll my eyes because, well yeah, he most definitely isn’t . "We went to school together, did you know?"
I blink in shock. No, I hadn’t known. West never said anything. Had he also been unaware?
Mr. Foster nods and smiles, his eyes going vacant as he reminisces.
"Yes, we ruled that fucking school. I was not born a Duke, but by the time graduation rolled around, my place in their ranks was firmly instated."
He is a Duke? I guess I should have figured that out on my own when he entered the room with Vincent, all buddied up .
"It was during our schooling years that Vincent came up with the idea of The Den. We loved fucking. The willing were great but it was the unwilling that really got us off.”
I quickly close the lid on the toilet and collapse onto it. He enjoys raping women. They both do. And this place, it must be a place where they can do it without consequence.
"I can see your mind whirling over there, pretty bird," he smirks. "You think you have the Den figured out?" he laughs then, full-bellied and delighted. "The Den is so much more than whatever it is you are thinking.
"After graduation, Vincent had me take care of his father. Shot him in the dick, then stabbed him through the heart. From there on out, Vincent inherited his father's fortune and began the renovations. We were lucky, really, that all the hotels had been fitted with basements underground for laundry purposes. It wasn't much of a hardship to move those features to higher floors.
"While Vincent did this, spreading the word amongst the elite men of Australia while he waited, I began scouting. I started with the hostels that housed asylum seekers. They were too easy to bribe. They handed over the children and teenagers with barely a dent in Vincent's bank account. The parents were told some bullshit story about five-star education and the chance to live in Australia as full citizens, so they let their children go so easily.
"And, so, we had our first lot of cubs. Get it? Wild animals live in dens and these pups were in for a long stay."
I swallow the bile in my throat. His story was horrendous. Disgusting. And how easily they reached their goals? I blink back tears as I envision the girls and boys, so full of hope and excitement, being led to the slaughter.
"You are disgusting," I whisper, raising my chin so he can see the repulsion written over my face.
Mr. Foster's eyes flash, and he is on me before I know what is happening. He lifts me by the throat.
"Don't fucking speak to me like that!" he spits in my face before throwing me to the floor.
Unfortunately for me, the toilet is in the way. I feel a couple of my ribs snap as my side hits the porcelain. Sharp pain radiates through my body as I lay for a moment on the cold, hard floor. Slowly, I push myself up into a seated position, whimpering, each movement more painful than the last. Clutching my side, I look up at Mr. Foster as he furiously points in my face, his face crazed. Mad.
"I saved you!” he screamed. “Vincent wanted to kill you; you know? You have poisoned his son with your pretty little pussy. But I argued. You are the perfect specimen for The Den. Your attitude, fuck it turns me on!" He clutches his cock through his pants, his anger seeping away as quickly as it had come. "The customers love a fighter. Fuck, I love a fighter.
"That is why we had to step up our game. Although we transferred the cubs from hotel to hotel, so clients wouldn't get bored of having the same few cubs to choose from, they all lost their fight too quickly. They were boring. Placid and limp. So, Vincent sent me out into the world again. We raided homeless shelters, sweet-talked the troubled kids who walked the streets at night, and then we went to schools. I became a teacher, and my position as a Duke helped me obtain the qualifications without the years of study. I floated from school to school, picking out my prey, luring them with my good looks and sweet nothings that I whispered in their ears. I fucking loved the chase.
"But Vincent called me back when West and his friends started high school. I fucking loathed him for it. I had to watch over his son and his friends. Make sure they were worthy of their titles. Trent was never going to make it. He was too soft, too smart. When he fell for sweet and innocent little Easterly, I knew his time as a Duke was wearing thin .
"Lawson, now he is great with the ladies, but he is too carefree, too lazy, to make it far with the Dukes. But so is his father. He will follow in his footsteps nicely. Brett," Mr. Foster laughs, his eyes gleaming as if he knows something I do not. "Nothing to worry about there. Secretive, broody, and big. His place is already firmly cemented in our ranks.
"And Western, well, he was showing promise. Sure, his heart was a little too large, but hearts are easy to break. He would have been fine, the perfect Duke. But then you showed up."
He studies me then as if I am a puzzle he can't quite figure out.
"You pussy whipped us all, didn't you? Even me…" he trails off before his eyes brighten, and he huffs a laugh.
"Even now, you distract me from the task at hand! I have yet to tell you about my brilliant plan to bring in more new and exciting cubs! We were sitting in Vincent's office getting our dicks sucked by a couple of cubs, watching the show on the stage when an idea came to mind. Live exportation!"
My stomach sank. The live exporting of animals. It was a cover-up. They were going to traffic people .
"Ah, you have it figured out? Yes, we are going to export cattle and sheep, whatever the fuck else needs carting over to who-the-fuck-cares. And we are going to trade some skin while we are at it. We are barely weeks off our first shipment, and guess what? Vincent chose me as his delegate! Maybe, if you are lucky, Vincent will let me bring you along. As my pet. Because I have no doubt that when I finally get in your pussy, I am not going to want to leave it."
"Your dick is not getting anywhere near me!" I spit. "West is here, you know? He and the others are in The Den. Tonight. You won't be getting anything from me."
He laughs. "Oh, my sweet cub, you are smarter than this! Use that clever mind of yours. Vincent planned this. All of this. When he left earlier, he went to meet with your precious Western and his little friends. Vincent bought them here for a show. And you and I? Oh, we are the main attraction."
He leaps, and he is on me before I know what is happening. I scream, kicking and scratching at the man, but I am quick to realize I really don’t stand a chance against him. He rips off my clothes, piece by piece. The tearing of fabric barely discernable beneath my screams and his humor. Bile rises in my throat as I feel his hands on my bare body .
"Help!" I scream, hoping beyond hope that someone will hear me. Someone who would help me and not enjoy the show. "Somebody help me! Please! Get your disgusting, pedophile fingers off me!"
"Yes! Scream for help, Roe! It makes me so fucking hard!" he yells, frenzied.
I don't stop fighting, not as he opens the door, not as someone helps him collar me like a fucking dog, not as I'm restrained by someone else as Mr. Foster takes off his shirt, not as I'm forced onto a stage in front of too many eyes, not when my eyes meet Wests in the crowd. Not when I am forced to lie down, and my legs are spread for all to see.
For all to witness the moment my soul and entire being… is broken.