Chapter 12
Piper
Iwince awake again, the pain in my face and head starting to feel familiar.
Well, so much for my plan. My one chance of escape. The only thing I have to show for it is getting drugged again, then repeatedly getting punched in the head when I awoke, only to pass out again.
Thank God he was so busy beating me up during the short plane trip that he didn’t have time to do… the other stuff.
Now, I come to, at the sound of Tony’s loud swearing.
Fuck. If there’d been any hope of getting out of the sick things he was intending to do to me, that hope is long gone, and I realize I have only myself to blame.
The guy I stabbed—Phil—was slightly more rational.
Not that he wouldn’t have raped someone at the very first opportunity, but he clearly realized that it wasn’t in the job description, and he risked angering Devil.
Apparently because the Devil founders want me for themselves, so it’s not like I was going to get out of being raped no matter what.
But at least, that sick fuck would have kept his hands off me.
But now, with Phil dead and Tony seething with rage, I’m definitely in trouble.
I can’t even hope that Quill will save me. I still don’t fully believe he’s on my side. And he cried. I saw him cry.
It should have made me sad, but I guess I am somewhat psychotic myself. I derived neither pleasure nor pain from it.
Only anger.
Because he hurt me, and he’s not even strong enough to make it right. He should have taken me in his arms and forced me to be his. He shouldn’t have given me a choice.
But he did, and I made it. And it’s all his fault.
He’s not invincible, like I once thought. He’s human, and humans don’t stand a chance against Devil.
I close my eyes, letting myself sink into self-pitying thoughts that don’t fully drown out Tony’s swearing.
“Should’ve killed that guy,” he’s growling. “He fucking saw. You fucking psychobitch, telling him I was going to kill you! Not that he was going to save you anyway. Never saw anyone drive away so fast. But what the fuck is your problem, you fucking cunt? Who the hell is Quill Nelson, anyway?”
My headache is overwhelming, and my eyes hurt like hell, but I manage to open my eyes at the sound of that name.
“He’s going to come save me,” I breathe out, a trickle of blood winding its way out of the side of my mouth from the cuts inside my cheek that are still oozing.
Moments earlier, I was busy telling myself I’d lost all faith in Quill, and the words I spoke to Tony were meant only for provocation. But the minute I hear them, my body tells me they’re right, even though my mind is yelling at me for being completely insane.
“He’s going to save me,” I mutter again, my heart clinging to that hope.
No, screams my mind. He won’t save you. He didn’t save you last time. He won’t save you now. No one can save you but yourself.
Well, then, I’m about as good as dead.
“No one can save you,” taunts Tony, confirming my thoughts. “And whoever this Quill Nelson is, I’m going to find him and beat him to a bloody pulp. Then I’m going to show him what I’ve done to you before I kill him.”
My hands clench in my lap at that threat. He seems to realize that the threat to kill Quill has even more effect on me than his threat to rape me, because he spends the rest of the ride enumerating all the ways he’s going to torture and kill him.
But after my first reaction, I grit my teeth and do my best to ignore him.
While Tony’s talking about killing Quill, I’m thinking of exactly how I can kill him. Maybe I can’t save myself. But I’m not as useless as he seems to think I am.
Maybe I can manage, while he’s raping me, to grab one of his weapons. That’s probably my only chance now. Pray that he rapes me so he’ll be just distracted enough that I can turn one of his guns or his knife against him.
I shudder at the memory of the knife ripping through the layers of flesh, muscle and bone.
I didn’t think I’d have it in me to do that ever again. But I would do a lot more to save Quill.
Even though I hate him.
_
It must be midday by the time we reach Devil Tower.
It’s strange to drive through Astley, toward my fate, in the bright, cheerful sunlight, while unaware people walk around on the sidewalk, going about their day.
Tony pulls into the parking lot, then grabs my arm and heads over to the elevator.
He takes out a jet-black badge, which apparently gives him access to the top levels, because we go straight up to the floor that I’ve already been on once before, when I stupidly hid in the kitchen with Josh.
I’m back in very different circumstances, stumbling along and wincing with each step, the bruises and lacerations from my beating burning every part of me.
We stop in front of an office and Tony knocks on the door.
Even though Tony never gave me back my glasses, I can see enough to recognize the guy who opens the door, before turning a shocked face at me. It’s Vincent Murilla, the youngest Devil, who replaced Vale Jameson after the latter’s death.
“Got her,” says Tony with a grin. “Is Mr. Wells in?”
“Uhm. Is that Piper Day?”
“Yeah. Is Mr. Wells in? Should I bring her to the cell?”
“Damien is in a meeting. What the hell did you do to her?”
“Just punched her a few times. She killed my partner.”
“Just punched her… a few times?” echoes Vincent, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You call that just a few punches? You fucking battered her. She looks like a veal cutlet or something.”
He guffaws stupidly at his own joke.
I grit my teeth at that unflattering comparison. I don’t know why I get so annoyed when people make fun of my appearance. I’ve been mocked since I was little. And it’s crazy that even as I’m staring death in the face, it still pisses me off.
“She killed my partner,” repeats Tony, looking just as annoyed as me.
“Yeah, well, not sure Damien will like that. But whatever, that’s between the two of you.”
“I don’t see why he would care. He’s going to kill her anyway.”
“Maybe, but he’s not a monster. He doesn’t torture people for the fun of it.”
Tony snorts.
“That is, not most of the time. Anyway, bring her down to the cell, yeah. Damien will be along when his meeting is over.”
My heart sinks. Even though I know Damien Wells is behind all this, some part of me clung to Vincent’s words. He’s not a monster.
The man cheerfully tugging me along toward the elevator definitely is.
And whereas there’s a chance Damien Wells would kill me mercifully, this man has torture on his mind.
He slams me to the back of the elevator, presses the button for the sub-basement floor, and eyes me with satisfaction.
“The minute we’re downstairs…” He starts threateningly, letting his sentence go unfinished as he hungrily roves his eyes over my body.
It’s all I can do to not be sick. If I had any sense of self-preservation, I would be, because throwing up all over him would probably turn him off from me.
Or maybe it would just make him bash my head in while he had his way with me.
Regardless, I keep my bile down as he grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the cell.
Then he shoves me to the back wall, and I barely have time to take in the tiny space with its grey stone walls, its absence of any medieval torturing device—so different from all the rumors I’ve heard—before he slams my front against it and yanks down my leggings and underwear.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
How the hell am I supposed to kill him when he’s going to fuck me from behind?
My eyes water as I realize I’m about to be raped for nothing.
He’s going to destroy me, and I won’t even be able to save Quill.
Tears stream down my face as he grabs my hair, yanks me back, and I smell his fetid breath as he growls, “I’m going to fuck your ass raw. I’m going to fuck you again and again, and make you wish you’d never been born. You’re going to regret the day you killed my partner, you fucking bitch.”
As he talks, he forces apart my legs. I whimper as I feel the head of his cock press against my bottom.
Fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t do this again.
I’m back to freezing as he keeps a firm hold on my hair with one hand and directs the other one, gripped firmly around his cock, to me. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the moment I’m defiled again.
Instead, I hear a shot, a loud, surprised gurgle, and then he stumbles backward, thudding hard against the stone floor.
“Quill!” I gasp.
I whip around, so sure of who I’ll find that I don’t even try to shield my private parts.
But the man standing before me isn’t Quill.
It’s Damien Wells.