Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
She was going to give in.
The thought came crashing over Emma like a bucket of ice water.
Hours—although she would have sworn it had been days since she was brought into this room—of being tasered over and over again, had taken a toll.
Broken her down.
Already.
Why had she ever thought she was strong enough to endure this?
Of course, she wasn't. These people were professionals. They knew what they were doing and were good at it. They knew how to break her body and her mind, and while she’d been so confident the first time she was told to strip and she’d refused, thinking she could withstand whatever torture they came up with, now she realized she’d just been a stupid, na?ve little girl.
“You ready to strip yet, girl?” the cattle prod man asked. There was amusement in his voice. He was right, they’d been at this for hours, and he was still enjoying himself. He could do this all day, but she couldn’t.
Still, even as she knew she needed to admit defeat, the word didn't want to come out.
Damn, Emma, now is not the time to be stubborn. Look where it’s gotten you. A shivering, crying, painful mess lying in a huddle on the floor.
Admitting defeat might not be easy, but she had to do it.
Had to accept the reality that she’d been thrust into.
She was going to be broken down and then molded into what they wanted.
The perfect, submissive sex slave. Then she’d be sold, disappear, and never be heard from again.
Her family, friends, and colleagues would never get closure, never knowing what happened to her.
“Think she needs another little prod, another reminder,” the spanker said cheerfully from where he sat in a corner of the room, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, the picture of relaxation.
Another jolt of electricity sparked through her system. Her muscles, already exhausted, jerked and twitched, and by now Emma was powerless to do anything about it. She could no longer stand, much less try to make a run for it. Couldn’t even lift her head.
Okay, breakfast man, you win.
You were right. It’s easier to give in than to fight.
Emma wished that she were as strong as she believed herself to be, strong enough to fight longer than a few hours of agonizing pain, but it turned out she was pretty weak and pathetic after all.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The door to the room swung open, and breakfast man himself strolled in as though she’d conjured him up just by thinking about him.
“Working the new girl over,” the man on the floor replied.
“How long have you been going at it?” breakfast man asked.
“Going on three hours,” cattle prod man answered, grinning down at her like she was his new favorite toy. “Never had anyone last this long.”
“Better stop there, don’t want her heart giving out,” breakfast man said as he strolled toward her.
Could that really happen? She had no idea, never had a reason to know. Just because she’d learned some self-defense skills didn't mean she thought she’d ever be in the position where she’d actually have to use them, so she’d never thought it relevant to learn details like that.
“That can't happen,” cattle prod man said.
“You want to risk it, Deacon?” breakfast man asked as he arched his brow.
“Better not,” spanker piped up. “Plenty of other ways we can get her to break. They all do sooner or later.”
Were they really going to give her a reprieve? Could she be that lucky? Right now, she didn't even care about what exactly those other ways to break her were, she just didn't want to be tasered any longer.
“Told her she wasn't walking out of this room until she took off her clothes,” Deacon complained, sounding more like a whiny kid than a human trafficker.
“I’ll get her to take her clothes off,” breakfast man said confidentially, and his brown eyes glittered with menace as he looked down at her.
“Yeah? What you got planned, Nathan?” spanker asked as he pushed off the floor.
“None of your business, Adrian, and turn off the cameras,” Nathan replied.
Cameras? Were they watching everything? Were they filming it? Did they send footage to prospective buyers? Was that something that these sick perverts enjoyed watching, how their slave was broken?
Too many questions and not a single answer left Emma feeling like she was lost at sea, caught in a vicious storm, with no life jacket to keep her afloat. How was she going to survive this? And when was she going to be able to accept the inevitable that she wasn't?
“Hate when you turn the cameras off,” Adrian muttered.
“Yeah, I want to know how you're so successful at getting them to do what you want,” Deacon added.
“Too bad,” Nathan said mildly. “Now out. I want some time alone with her.”
Still grumbling to one another, Adrian and Deacon headed out the door, closing it behind them. Nathan never took his eyes off her, and Emma gulped once the two of them were alone. Maybe Adrian and Deacon wanted to know how Nathan persuaded the women to obey orders, but she didn't.
For a long time, they both stayed where they were.
Emma staring up at Nathan. Nathan staring back down at her.
She felt anger rolling off him, and yet he didn't lash out at her.
Didn't hit her or kick her. Didn't grab the cattle prod Deacon had abandoned.
Didn't move toward any of the implements of torture hanging from the walls.
Just stood.
Just watched her.
It seemed worse than Deacon and Adrian playing with her.
At least she knew where she stood with them, but with Nathan …
something felt different. She hadn't been there long, but already she hated the way the men she’d met leered at her.
A darkness swirled in them, and they wore their evil like a badge of courage.
But Nathan didn't. He had the same darkness, and yet she didn't get the same creepy vibe from him.
Which was stupid.
He was there. He’d been the one to carry her into her cage, even if he hadn't been the man at the side of the road who had abducted her. He was there now, standing over her, not offering her help of any kind, and telling his colleagues that he could get her to do what they hadn't been able to.
Maybe he was just better at hiding his evil.
“Stand up, blondie,” he ordered after several long minutes of silence. There was a softness in his voice that surprised her, but she was afraid to move, afraid of what he was going to do to her.
Anger was so much better than fear, but her shield was slipping, and the terror was slipping through.
“Emma, stand up, please,” he said again, with a gentleness that made tears blur her vision.
“Don’t pretend to be nice to me,” she pleaded. There was no way she could handle any sort of kindness. That would break her more easily than torture ever could.
“You can do this, blondie. Stand up for me,” Nathan encouraged.
Because she didn't know what else to do, Emma shoved away the terror and planted her palms on the rough ground, somehow managing to get to her hands and knees, and then to her feet.
Every one of her muscles trembled, and she wanted to reach out and grab hold of something, but instead, she clenched her fingers into fists and stared defiantly at Nathan.
“Good girl,” he praised. “I need you to remember what I told you to do. Don’t fight. I know it goes against everything that’s screaming inside you. I know you think fighting is the best way, but it’s not, blondie. Trust me on that. I'm trying to help you, but I can only do that if you cooperate.”
When he took a step toward her, she tensed. “What are you going to do to me? How do you get the women to do what you want when your friends can't?”
“Not my friends, blondie,” he said, but he didn't take another step closer. “And the way I get the women to do what I want is to ask nicely.”
“Ask nicely?” There was no way that was all he did.
“Fighting isn’t always about being aggressive, about lashing out, sometimes you have to take a strategic step backward, forgo the battle to win the war.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered, exhaustion weighing heavily down upon her. She hadn't slept since the drugs wore off, and now she was close to crashing.
“I know, blondie, I know.” Nathan sighed, and it was a deep, weary sound. “Please take off your clothes and go to your cell.”
“But—”
“No buts, Emma. This is the way to win the battle, I promise you it is.”
Too bad his promises didn't mean anything. But it wasn't like she had a choice. She had no power, it all belonged to Nathan and his friends. Maybe Nathan was a weak link she could exploit, maybe if she did what he wanted, she could … woo him to her side?
With shaking hands, she reached for the zipper of her jeans, unzipped them, and pushed them down her legs, pausing to kick off her sneakers before, then stepping out of them.
Her T-shirt went next, leaving her in nothing but a bra and panties.
She wanted to beg to be allowed to keep them on, but one look at Nathan’s uncompromising stare told her they had to go too.
So she just did it.
Unsnapped the bra, ripped it off, and threw it onto the floor, then shoved down her panties and kicked them away from her. Although she wanted to cover herself, she forced her arms to stay by her side and met Nathan’s unwavering gaze.
“Happy now?” she snapped, because yelling was so much better than crying.
“No, blondie, I'm not happy now,” he said softly. “Let me take you to your cell.”
When he reached for her, maybe to pick her up and carry her, Emma quickly stepped backward. No way was she allowing anyone to touch her if she could avoid it. Keeping her head held high and her back straight, she walked to the door. “I can do it myself.”
It was probably her imagination, but she would have sworn she heard Nathan sigh again and then mutter quietly to himself. “Yeah, you can, blondie. I'm pretty sure if you set your mind to it, there’s nothing you can't do.”
July 31st
7:44 P.M.