Chapter 8 Bree
For a solid week, I didn’t leave the guest room I occupied at The Roost until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wasn’t sure if I stayed in the room because I was avoiding the rest of the world, or I just didn’t feel like talking to anyone, or what was wrong with me.
The only exceptions were my sister and Raven.
They both spent a lot of time with me. Sometimes that was good, keeping my mind off the kidnapping and all the shit that happened. And sometimes, it was hard to breathe with either of them near me, forcing myself to remain calm when I really wanted to scream or cry.
After a long hot shower, I pulled on black leggings and an oversized t-shirt, a long sweater, and comfy socks. Even with the summer heat blazing down in Nevada, I couldn’t get warm. The clubhouse temperature usually remained around seventy, so it wasn’t the building; it was me.
With a sigh, I left my room, hoping to make a cup of hot tea.
Alone.
“Hey!” Bella exclaimed, tilting a bottle of amber liquor into a glass pitcher as I entered the kitchen. She finished pouring tequila into the blender and squeezed fresh lime juice inside. “You hungry? Need anything?”
No. I came in here for tea and to escape the walls that felt like they were closing in on me. The time of day never occurred to me, and I didn’t pay attention. It was late, already dark outside, as the stars twinkled brightly in the sky outside the window.
The Roost was packed with members. This was a terrible idea.
“Nah. I just wanted some tea.”
Music thumped through the walls and the closest door, alerting me to the ruckus going on in the common room and bar.
“I’ll make you a cup. I just stopped in here to whip up a pitcher of margaritas.”
Margaritas. Having drinks with friends seemed so strange to me now. Silly.
“Thanks.” I sank onto an empty wooden chair, leaning back as I wrapped my arms around my middle, clutching the thick sweater tighter against my body. My fingers and toes were chilled. Sometimes, like now, I would tremble, and my hands would shake.
A result of the trauma? Probably.
The door to the kitchen blew open, and a biker stumbled in. I didn’t know his name. He pulled a woman in with him, pushing her up against the wall and shoving up her skirt as she reached for his belt.
Bella cleared her throat. “Uh, hello.”
The guy paused, turning his head. “Fuck, Bella. Sorry.”
He grabbed the woman’s hand and rushed out, probably to find a room.
I wondered how many of these club members were already fucking a woman out in the bar. Did they have sex in front of everyone? Blow jobs? Orgies?
It was possible. I didn’t know much about bikers, not enough to know if that could happen.
“I think I’ll take the tea to my room,” I announced as she handed over the mug, brimming with dark liquid. Steam rose from the cup.
“Yeah, good idea. The guys seem a little rowdy tonight.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “They need to, I guess. Crow says they can’t be on high alert all the time and that they have to remember why they fight so hard for this life they love. The freedom of it, I think.”
It did make sense, sort of. “Okay.”
Bella pressed a quick kiss to my cheek and lifted the pitcher. “You need anything? I can hang out with you tonight.”
Nice. I’m the charity case now.
“No, Bel. I’m fine.”
She walked out, and I followed, turning right to avoid the bar. She went left, laughing as I saw her join a few other women.
I made it halfway back to my room when I saw the same biker from a few minutes ago and his woman. His hips were rocking into her, slamming her back into the wall.
Wow. I guess they never reached a room.
I bit my lip, wondering if I could walk around them without drawing attention.
She kept crying out his name. “Hawk. Faster. Yes!”
Whatever.
His hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing as her eyes rolled back into her head. Pleasure burst across her expression as he pumped hard, groaning into her mouth as he kissed her. Then he moved, covering her mouth.
My rational mind knew this was consensual.
I didn’t mean to react the way I did. But the ugly terror of what happened to me chose that moment to sink its teeth in with a vengeance.
A horrified, anguished scream tore free from my throat.
“Take it, bitch. Take all of my dick.”
I shook my head, backing into the wall.
A hand covered my mouth and nose, blocking my ability to breathe.
“You’ll breathe when I say you can.”
My body hit the ground as I covered my ears, desperate to block out his voice. The mug crashed to the floor, spilling hot tea everywhere.
“Look how your pussy grips my dick. Told you I’d fucking ruin you.”
Rocking back and forth, I tried to ignore his words. His hot breath. His body pinning mine down.
“No one will want you after this.”
No!
“Brianna?”
Somewhere in that dark place, I heard Raven’s voice.
“Babygirl. Come back to me. Please.”
My eyes snapped open. A crowd had gathered in the hallway, staring at me like the sideshow freak in a carnival, fascinated and disgusted at the same time.
“Raven,” I wailed, breaking down. “He-help me.”
I would never forget the expression on his face—the fierce, agonized, overwhelming concern he couldn’t hide.
“I got you, sweetheart. I swear it. You’re safe.”
He slipped his arms around me and lifted, carrying me away from prying eyes and into a room I’d never been in before, up a long staircase. It wasn’t hard to figure out it was his room.
He set me down, kicking off his boots and shrugging off his cut. If it had been any other man, I would have freaked out further, but not Raven.
The bed dipped as he lay down, pulling me into his chest. His hands began to rub my back as he whispered soft, sweet words.
“You’re safe, and nothing will harm you. I’m here, babygirl. Try to relax. I won’t leave you.”
“Promise?” I asked like a silly girl afraid of monsters under the bed. I wish mine were imaginary.
“I swear it.”
We fell into silence as I gripped his tee shirt, terrified I would fall asleep and return to the nightmares that never stopped, even when I was awake.
SLEEP WAS THE ONE THING I couldn’t control. The only time I failed to guard my thoughts and all the horrible shit I experienced, those frightening, painful memories I wanted to forget forced their way into my mind and stalked me like the vicious brute who tormented me for eight devastating days.
The nightmares would come. Nothing stopped them. Falling asleep became its own special torment and produced anxiety every minute I fought fatigue, dreading the moment I wouldn’t be able to keep fighting my need for rest.
My head would bob, and I’d jerk awake, terrified the next time I’d awaken would be back on that soiled mattress, feeling the suffocating weight of my attacker as he pinned me to the surface.
Most nights, I woke up with a scream on my lips.
Cold sweat would dampen my skin, and I’d shiver, slowly emerging from the horror of my captivity.
But the exit was only temporary. Every night without fail, I would return, subjected all over again to the numerous assaults that haunted every hour of my day.
They hid in the shadows, watching, waiting, eager to force me into that old brick building and the room with the red door, pushing me into a hell I wasn’t sure I could ever escape.
Red. The color of the paint. The splashes that coated the walls. The droplets that fell from my face during the beatings.
Red. A stain that lingered on my skin. The handprint on my inner thigh. Proof of the trauma my body endured.
When darkness took root, closing in around me, the cycle of trauma was renewed. That familiar sensation of dread settled over me, coupled with the knowledge that I had no ability to change the past. I relived it every time my eyes slid closed.
The definition of true horror?
Being forced to repeat the same violation over and over again, aware enough to understand it would never end and there was no way to break free.
Hell was real . . . and sometimes it took residence in your mind.
The plain gray walls of my prison appeared, crumbling portions of the paint chipping away as time eroded the evidence of its once freshly applied coat. Four wooden chairs, two with the middle spindles of the backrest snapped. A thick heavy table with deep gouges on the surface.
And the metal bed frame in the middle of the room cold and unforgiving as it rested on the floor beneath the stained mattress. Dark red splotches and the ever-present scent of iron proved the layers of blood soaked into the material.
The pungent odor of urine accompanied it, followed by the musk and sweat of numerous males. A volatile cocktail of fluids that also included semen constantly reminded me of the reason I remained on this bed.
My stomach churned, and my senses became overwhelmed.
Two pairs of handcuffs kept my wrists restrained.
The slatted headboard enabled the cuffs to slide up and down the metal bars but prevented any hope of escape.
My legs remained free as I sat as close to the edge as possible, tucking my legs beneath me as my heart began beating faster, the realization of what awaited in the upcoming hours conjuring a fear so powerful that I gagged, sucking in air to prevent emptying my stomach.
Not that it mattered. I wasn’t given much to fill my belly—only enough water and scraps to remain alive.
Panic surged as I heard the voice of my tormentor.
Desperate to get away, I began to struggle, yanking on the metal handcuffs and crying out in terror when I was no longer alone.
My entire body trembled as my chin was grasped and lifted until my eyes landed on the man who had violated me for the last week.
Terror stole my breath. I couldn’t do a thing except stare at the face partially silhouetted in the darkness. Revulsion roiled within me.
My eyes slid shut without permission, and I knew he’d be angry. I wasn’t allowed to close my eyes. He said that numerous times. More than anything, I wanted to escape, to shut out the pain that would come.
The slap stung as it cracked across my cheek, stunning me into submission as my eyes snapped open, widening when I saw his lips twist into a sadistic smile. His face lowered, and his breath, a sour mixture of liquor and cigarettes, washed over my face.
“You’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock in your ass again.”
I didn’t respond, terrified he’d rip me apart as he’d done yesterday. My bottom still hurt whenever I moved.
“Tell me you want it.”
Never.
He watched me, delighted when I remained silent.
“Tell me to fuck your ass.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I held my tongue, knowing he’d only hurt me more for my defiance. Even so, I couldn’t say those words. The tiny bit of my humanity and spirit that remained rebelled against such atrocity.
“Have it your way, bitch. I’ll make you scream before this is over.”
He moved so fast I didn’t realize he’d flipped me over until my chest slammed into the edge of the mattress.
I tried to kick out as my arms twisted, the position tugging on my upper arms and muscles, painfully pressing the metal cuffs into the skin of my wrists.
Contorted, I wondered if both my shoulders would dislocate from the strain.
His body weight pinned me down as he kicked my legs apart, settling between them. His hands remained on my waist as he laughed. I felt his fingers probe my puckered hole. “Damn. You’re still bleeding. Guess I won’t have to go in dry this time.”
Every cell in my body was screaming for release, for escape, to fight against the monster who held me down. I heard his zipper lower. Two fingers speared inside me, violating me in a different way first.
“Fuck. This pussy is so tight. I don’t know which I enjoy most. It’s a tie between your virgin ass and that cunt. Well,” he chuckled, “I guess your ass is no longer virgin. Gonna leave you stretched out from my thick cock after this.”
When he withdrew his fingers, I panted out a breath, tensing as I tried to think of something else, to be anywhere else other than what was happening.
He wouldn’t let me forget.
One hand wrapped around my throat as he shoved his way inside my body.
I struggled to breathe, choking as he tightened his grip. A desperate scream clawed its way up my throat but would never release, trapped by his meaty hand around my neck.
“No!” I tried to protest. Nothing but gurgling sounds made it out from between my lips.
“Say my name when I drop my hand. Do it, and I’ll fuck your pussy instead of your ass.”
A bargain so foul I felt a little part of me die.
He must have sensed my agreement. His hand pulled away, and he gripped my hips, plunging a couple of times until I screamed.
“Say it,” he roared, his voice tainted with excitement.
“Chronos!”
He pulled out, thrusting back in as promised, pounding into me, slamming my body into the mattress with his heavy frame. “Don’t stop!”
And I didn’t.
I screamed his name. For the bargain. For my battered body. Because I no longer had the ability to keep fighting against the pain and horror and inhuman violation that never stopped.
I screamed until I lost my voice, blacking out before he finished.