Chapter 6
Elowen
I’m bound in ropes. Voices surround me. Men’s laughter echoes through the darkness. I pull at the ropes, trying to break free, shouting, crying for help. But there is no one to help me.
I jerk upright on the floor, eyes wide. Sweat runs down my neck, across my forehead, and along my spine. I push myself up, open the door, and walk to Bruno’s room.
He sits up on his bed the moment he senses me. I sit beside him. He sniffs at me.
“I’m afraid, Bruno.”
I lie down on his bed. “Will you share it with me?”
He snuggles into my side. I chuckle softly.
“Thank you.”
I wrap my arms around him and drift back to sleep.
When I open my eyes again, it’s already morning.
I repeat yesterday’s routine: sneak into his bathroom, get ready, then head downstairs to begin my job as a maid. There I go again, being optimistic. Slave. That’s the right title. The maids are my bosses.
I walk into the kitchen, where I was told to report when a maid came for Bruno’s breakfast.
The same maid who forced me to carry the mattress yesterday blocks the doorway and shoves a large tray of coffee cups into my hands.
“Take it to the guards’ lounge,” she orders.
I steady the tray. The cups are secure in their molded spots, at least I don’t have to worry about spilling.
“Where is it?” I ask.
“The hall near the front door. You’ll see the guards’ lounge door.” She snaps the words at me and disappears into the kitchen.
I turn, trying to remember where the front door is.
After getting lost three times, I finally reach it and find the door to the guards’ lounge. I balance the tray on one arm and knock.
Someone opens the door. The moment he sees me, a slow smile spreads across his face. He steps aside to let me in.
I glance around. The room is filled with massive men, their shoulders broad, their presence suffocating. It’s intimidating as hell.
I step inside, willing myself not to tremble. The door closes behind me. I hear the lock slide into place, the sharp click ringing in my ears. I don’t turn back. Just walk toward the table where they’re all seated.
“Avevi ragione, è sotto la media. Ma scommetto che ha la figa stretta.” The man behind me says in Italian, laughing.
(You were right, she’s below average. But I bet she has a tight cunt.)
I don’t know enough Italian to understand everything, but I catch the beginning—“you were right.” And I know exactly who he’s talking to.
The guard from yesterday confirms it when he replies, “Me la scopo io per primo.”
(I’ll fuck her first.)
Do they mean what I think they mean?
Fear spikes through me. I set the tray down fast and turn to leave, but the man who opened the door yanks me against him. My body slams into his hard frame.
I shove at his chest, trying to get free. He doesn’t move, laughing all the while.
“Let me go,” I snap.
He releases me.
But before I can take a single step toward the door, someone grabs my waist and pulls me back.
“Let me go!” I cry out, clawing at the hand gripping me.
I throw all my weight into driving my elbow back, aiming for him. He catches it mid-swing, and with his free hand traps both my wrists in front of me.
“Didn’t I tell you yesterday, princess?” he laughs above my head.
I keep struggling—kicking, twisting, writhing in his hold. Tears stream down my face. My head feels like it’s about to explode from the sheer force of my fear.
“Let me go!” I scream again.
He spins me around to face the others—all of them laughing.
“Look at the face of every man who’s going to fuck you.”
The sadistic bastards roar with laughter.
He throws me onto the table. I land hard beside the coffee tray. I snap my head up just in time to see him unbutton his pants. I grab the tray and hurl it at him.
“Bitch!” he snarls.
Adrenaline makes me dizzy, but it also fuels me with reckless strength. I push myself up, and before he can recover, I yank the gun from his waistband and aim it at his head. I flick off the safety, cock it, and back away, keeping it trained on him. Now they’re all in front of me.
They freeze for a second—then burst out laughing.
“Kitten has claws,” one of them says.
“I’m a king’s daughter. I don’t just have claws.” My voice cuts through the room.
They still for a heartbeat. The man I drenched in coffee steps closer. I pull the trigger.
At the same moment, a knock pounds against the door.
The shot misses. Recoil hits me. I’ve never practiced shooting, I just know how to pull a trigger. And with that one shot, they know it too.
He lunges, and I fire again. This time the bullet slices past his ear. He stops.
The others draw their guns and point them at me.
“Drop the gun,” one of them orders.
I don’t look at anyone else. My eyes stay locked on the man in front of me.
Blood roars in my ears. Black dots blur my vision, but I refuse to blink.
I take a step back—and the door crashes to the floor with a deafening thud.
Salvario
“Where is she?” I ask Silla as she sets down my breakfast.
“I sent her to take coffee to the guards. She hasn’t come back,” she replies evenly.
I frown. “When?”
She pauses. “Ten minutes ago.”
I’m out of my chair instantly, sprinting from the dining room.
There’s only one reason she would take this long.
I reach the guards’ lounge and knock on the door. At the same moment, a gunshot explodes from inside. I knock again, shove against it. Another shot rings out.
I step back and kick. The hinges give, and the door crashes down.
Inside, she stands four feet from Paolo, gun aimed at his head. Every other man has his weapon trained on her.
“What’s happening here?” I roar.
She turns to me. Her face drenched in panic and fear, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Rage surges through me, scorching my veins.
She doesn’t wait another second. She runs out of the room.
I draw my gun and step inside. They lower their weapons. I walk to the couch and sit.
Antonio enters, Luca and Dante behind him.
I look at each guard.
“What happened here?”
My gaze settles on Paolo.
He drops his head. “We were doing what you ordered, but she retaliated, and it led to this.”
My frown deepens, jaw ticking relentlessly.
“What did I order?” My voice is cold.
“You ordered us to use the slave.” His words falter as he sees the unmistakable promise of murder well in my eyes as the word ‘use’ leaves his mouth.
“Who gave you that order?”
“Silla. Yesterday.” The words tumble out fast.
I look at Luca. “Call Silla.”
When he leaves, I ask my next question. “Who touched her?”
No one answers. My gaze sweeps the room. Instantly, mouths start moving.
“Paolo and John.”
I load my gun and point it at them. “Get on your knees.”
They obey immediately.
Luca returns with Silla. She crosses the threshold and falls at my feet.
“I’m sorry, Master.”
The toe of my boot catches her in the ribs, sending her sprawling. She crawls back and presses her forehead to the floor.
“I’m sorry, Ma—”
I shoot her in the head before she can finish the word—then Paolo, then John.
I turn to Luca. “Kill everyone.”
I rise and leave the room.
I knock on her door. She doesn’t answer. I don’t knock again. Instead, I go to my room, get the key, and unlock her door.
She stands in the corner, gun pointed at me. Her eyes and face are red from crying, tear tracks still wet on her cheeks. She’s trembling, gripping the gun with both hands like someone who’s never held one.
“Put the gun down,” I command.
She shakes her head fast. “I’ll kill you if you come any closer.”
“Trust me—you can’t.”
I step farther into the room. She trembles harder. The gun tilts slightly, now aimed above my head, but she doesn’t realize it.
“Put the gun down.”
Instead of obeying, she turns the gun and presses the barrel to her temple.
I frown. “Have you lost your fucking mind, woman?”
She screeches, “I’ll kill myself before you and your men rape me!”
I draw my gun. Before she can react, I fire. The shot knocks the weapon from her hand. She freezes, staring at me with wide, shattered eyes, tears streaming down her face.
I stride to her and grip her face in my gloved hand.
“No one’s raping you. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” The words come out harsh—thrown at her stunned face.
I release her roughly.
She just stares, frozen.
“Now stop crying like a child. Nothing’s happening to you.”
She blinks.
“Stupid, weak woman,” I grit out through my clenched teeth, then turn and leave the room.
Once in the corridor, I call Bruno and gesture toward her door. I follow him, stopping outside. He trots in, tail wagging. She drops to her knees, wraps her arms around him, and starts crying again.
Does she know how to do anything besides cry? I’m certain she doesn’t. She knows how to cry, and how to make everyone else furious doing it.
Stupid. Weak woman.
I walk back in. She looks up. Her face is a swollen, tear-streaked mess, and the sight of it makes something violent twist in my chest.
How dare she make me feel pity, when I haven’t allowed myself that emotion in decades.
“Give me the gun.”
And not just pity, another loathsome emotion flickers beneath it. Fear. I don’t trust her not to pull the trigger in another wave of panic.
She picks up the gun and holds it out to me. Her thin hands tremble. I take it. Her palm is flushed red from how tightly she’d clenched it minutes ago—threatening me.
Elowen
I know he doesn’t want to do those things to me. He’s never once looked at me that way. There’s no hunger in his eyes, no creeping intent. And he doesn’t touch me when he has the chance.
There’s no reason for him to lie. I’m in no position to bargain or fight—even if he admitted they planned to rape me, what could I do? The gun has proved useless to me.
I give him the weapon.
“What if those men go behind your back?” I ask quietly.
From the way he reacted when he broke that door down, I know they acted without his permission.
“The dead don’t come back,” he states flatly. “And no one will dare to go behind my back again.”
My eyes widen as the meaning dawns on me. He killed them. Even after what they tried to do, a strange heaviness settles in my chest.
“You didn’t have to kill them.”
“No one tells me what to do in my house. Especially not you.”
I lower my gaze and nod.
“Stop making that face,” he snaps.
I look up. “What face?”
He circles his finger in the air, pointing at my face. “That disgusting face—like something seriously bad is happening to you.”
I purse my lips. “If a near-rape experience isn’t bad for you, then I don’t know what is.”
His jaw tightens. “Starvation. Dehumanization. Skinning. Rape. Death.”
He speaks each word like it’s killing him. Has he been through all of this? I don’t think I’m allowed to ask. I don’t think I even need to. The hollowness in his hard eyes is answer enough.
He leaves the room without another word.