I’m The Worst (Sovereign #2)

Aj

My wrist is raw where the handcuff chafes, the skin broken and slick with blood. I welcome it as something else to focus on other than the throbbing ache between my thighs and the burning humiliation in my soul.

Time doesn’t exist here. There are no windows, no clocks. Just cement walls that press in and a bed I can’t escape. The men come and go, some brutal, others worse. I don’t know how many, and I’ve stopped counting.

Footsteps echo in the hall, growing louder. My breath quickens despite the drugs they force into me to dull everything—obedience in a syringe. But fear is stronger.

My door creaks open, and a guard steps in. His face is as blank as the walls, his eyes empty. Bitter sweat wafts from him, turning my stomach. Instinct screams at me to move, to shrink away, but the cuff anchors me to the bed.

“Tonight’s the night.”

I close my eyes and try to disappear into myself.

The cuff releases, and he grabs my arm, yanking me off the bed. My knees hit the floor hard, and a small yelp escapes.

He laughs. “That’s nothing. You’ll know pain soon enough.”

His fingers clamp tightly around my neck as he hauls me off the ground. A sharp twinge shoots through me as he increases the pressure, the collar puncturing my skin, forcing another pathetic sound from my lips.

He shoves me forward, and I stumble, the uneven concrete scraping beneath my bare feet. The hallway is dim, the stale air thick and suffocating. We turn a corner, and another guard waits outside a door. He doesn’t even glance at me, just steps aside and pushes me through.

My eyes sting as they adjust to the sudden brightness, a glaring contrast to the smothering darkness I’ve lived in. Blinking hard, I force the disorientation away. The room is small—just a vanity, a stool, and walls that feel too close.

“Put this on.”

The guard thrusts a sheer white robe into my hands. Its fabric is soft, almost delicate, but offers no real coverage. When it brushes against bruises and bite marks, I flinch at the sting. I don’t need a mirror to know what I look like; I can feel the damage every time I move.

“There’s a shower through there.”

He gestures toward a door. The scent of fresh water filters through the stale air.

“You’ve got ten minutes.”

His grip clamps around my face, the pressure digging into my cheekbones. “Don’t make us come in after you.”

Releasing me with another unnecessary shove, he leaves. My legs weakly carry me to the shower. The spray hits my skin, warm and almost soothing, and for a moment, I let myself imagine it’s just a normal day. A hotel bathroom. A night out with friends waiting on the other side.

But reality sinks in fast. Greece. I was taken in Greece. I’ve been there so many times, always safe, always sure of it—until I wasn’t.

I scrub my skin, trying to wash away the past weeks, but the bruises don’t fade, and the memories cling tighter. Ten minutes isn’t enough to erase anything.

The water shuts off too soon. I dry myself quickly, slipping into the robe.

It clings uncomfortably to my damp skin, the soft fabric doing nothing to shield me from the chill or the dread building inside me.

I don’t know why they’re letting me shower or giving me something clean to wear. It feels wrong. Everything feels wrong.

As soon as I open the door, the guard clamps his hand around my arm.

“Good girl.”

The last time he raped me was this morning—or maybe yesterday. I’ve stopped keeping track of time. It’s easier that way. He drags me down the hall, and a faint noise grows louder: music, laughter. My stomach churns.

We stop at a door. It swings open, and the sounds flood my senses, too bright and alive for the dread it carries. The room is large, lined with mirrors and vanities cluttered with makeup and brushes.

Women sit in front of them, surrounded by stylists. The air heavy with smells of perfume and hairspray. I don’t recognize any of them.

“Here’s the new one.”

The guard shoves me into a chair, and a woman stands in front of me, holding a brush.

“She’s worth a fortune. One of Akim’s favorites.”

The woman nods. “She’s a beauty.”

I watch in the mirror as she combs through my long, matted hair. Her eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I think I see pity. Then the emotion is gone.

I look at my reflection. The girl staring back is someone I don’t know. Her bones jut out at sharp angles, and her eyes are vacant. The drugs they’ve given me have kept me alive, but they’ve also ravaged my body.

“Where am I?”

The woman doesn’t answer. She just keeps brushing, gently working through the knots.

I want to scream. I want to rage. I want to rip her throat out, her eyes, her hair. To tear her to shreds for what she’s doing—helping them groom me for whatever the hell this is.

But I sit there, silent and numb.

“What’s going to happen?”

The woman still doesn’t respond, but I notice the slight pause in her hand.

My eyes search her face for answers. “Please.”

“Shh.”

“Where am I?” I demand. “I want to know.”

The stylist glances over my shoulder and shakes her head slightly.

“Where. Am. I?”

“The auction.” Her voice is barely a whisper. She looks around the room before continuing. “They’re auctioning you off for the night.”

Those words suck the air from my lungs.

“To the highest bidder.”

Her eyes flick over me, the pity returning, before she ducks her head, her mouth close to my ear. “Just try to survive. Do what they say, and don’t fight.”

My body tenses, blood freezing in my veins as I stare at her. But her expression has gone blank again. She picks up a hairdryer and begins drying and styling my hair. After she applies makeup, she steps back, her eyes scanning me with practiced detachment.

“That’s the best I can do.”

I don’t respond. It feels pointless. The guard doesn’t seem to care either. He grabs a white silk dress from a hanger, shoving it into my chest.

“Put this on.”

The dress is too short, too tight. Silk clings to my skin, sliding over bruises and cuts.

“Let’s go,” he snaps, and the zipper of the dress bites into my back as he yanks it closed.

I stumble as he pulls me toward a set of heavy double doors. The muffled noise on the other side grows louder with every step—voices, music, something that almost sounds like cheering.

“Stop,” a deep, familiar voice calls out to us.

My throat tightens.

No. Not him.

He comes into view, his suit perfectly tailored, the crisp, white shirt unbuttoned at the top. His blond hair is cropped short, framing a strong, masculine face.

I keep my eyes glued to the floor.

He stops in front of me.

“Look at me.”

Swallowing roughly, I force my head up.

His expression is cold as he reaches for me, his touch feather-light when he runs his thumb across my cheek. “So beautiful, my treasure. They’re going to love you.”

Sliding his hand behind my neck, he pulls me close. I stiffen in his embrace.

“Be good, or the punishment will be brutal. Understand?”

I nod as his grip increases around the collar.

“Good.” He presses a kiss against my forehead, and I barely suppress a shiver.

“It’s time, boss.” The guard tugs me away from him.

Akim’s mouth curls into a smile. “Make me proud.”