22. Riley
RILEY
For about the tenth time since I woke up, I wet my finger in my mouth and press it to my clit, circling the bud, putting pressure on it from the sides the same way I did when Aron guided my hand.
There is some sensation, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, just sensitive.
But it doesn’t come close to what he made me feel.
I’m craving more of the same the way drug addicts crave a fix, obsessively and relentlessly.
But I just can’t do it. Not without Aron’s firm body pressed against mine, without his voice in my ear, without his presence, so overwhelming that it drowns out everything else—my fear, my discomfort, the intrusive thoughts running through my mind on repeat.
I’m stupidly anxious for him to come back down here. And scared he won’t touch me again, that he only did what he did to show me what I was missing out on, to torment me.
I shouldn’t, but over and over I catch myself thinking what it would feel like if he fucked me.
I catch myself wanting him inside me. I picture him pounding into me, stretching me, fisting my hair and slapping my ass, and telling me in that harsh voice of his that he’s going to be very rough with me because I’m a traitorous whore who doesn’t deserve any better.
I shouldn’t get so wet from imagining that.
Anytime someone fucked me—whether I wanted them to or not—it hurt, even when they weren’t rough at all.
I always just wanted it to stop. I’m not built to fuck, not even gently, and certainly not the way I fantasise about Aron fucking me.
But anytime I do, it feels like I’m getting closer to an orgasm.
And so I let my thoughts stray wherever they want to go when trying to make myself come.
I don’t feel ashamed. I’ll take anything that helps me make my stay here bearable.
If that means absolutely depraved fantasies about the man who wants to kill me, then so be it.
Sanity is of no concern when survival is on the line.
What does it matter if I let myself come completely undone? This is the end anyway—devastating, degrading, inevitable.
Even without any measurable way to tell how many hours have passed since I last saw him, I can tell Aron’s letting me wait much, much longer than usual.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I definitely shouldn’t keep pacing around, seething like a girl who put out on the first date and is now outraged the guy hasn’t called her back.
In no universe can I see myself as a woman scorned.
I’m a prisoner, here against my own will.
And he is my captor, who only ever touched me to fuck with my mind, to confuse me, to make me feel ashamed on top of everything else I’m feeling.
I hate that it’s working.
When the lights finally come on, and I hear the thud of approaching boots, I know immediately that something’s wrong. This doesn’t sound anything like Aron’s energetic gait. This man—and I’m sure it is a man—is slower, less agile, dragging his heels.
One more reason to be glad that Aron let me keep my clothes the last time he was here.
But damn it, the crushing disappointment I feel now that I know Aron isn’t coming is as pathetic as it is infuriating.
I knew he’d do this. I knew he was only giving me a taste of pleasure so that he could later withhold it.
And still I fell for it. I’m so stupid. What was I even thinking?
That he’d change his mind about me? That he’d finger-fuck me again if I asked nicely?
I knew he wouldn’t, but still I couldn’t resist the thrill, the anticipation ...
When the unfamiliar man’s face comes into view—cropped blond hair, green eyes, thin lips—the scowl I greet him with is more than a match for his own.
“Who are you?” I ask without bothering to hide my hostility.
“Attila,” he replies in a tone suggesting he doesn’t give a shit that his name means nothing to me.
“Where’s Aron?”
“Captured,” he replies tersely.
Even though his facial features don’t as much as twitch, a shadow descends into his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you need me to explain what ‘captured’ means?” The prick cocks his eyebrow at me.
“What happened?”
“What the fuck do you think? Mission went south.” He kicks a piece of gravel, and it rattles loudly down the cave corridor.
“What will you do?”
“Heh.” He steps closer to the bars. “It’s all bad news for you.
You may have had Aron all pussy-whipped.
But not me. I’m going to fuck you and keep fucking you until it’s no longer fun.
And then I’m going to give you to the men to fuck until they get bored with you, too.
And then I’m going to slit your throat and be done with it. ”
“And Corrado?”
“What about him?” He raises his eyebrows, then sighs. “Aron set him free last night. Let him join us.”
“He did?” My eyes well up, the relief staggering.
“Yes. But unless the fucker learns to keep his mouth shut about you, I’m going to get rid of him.
” Attila watches me impassively for a heartbeat, but then something shifts in his expression.
“For what it’s worth, Aron was really torn about what to do with you, too.
I think he was just about ready to let you out.
” His look hardens. “You fucked his brains out good, I’ll give you that. But that won’t work on me.”
I start when he quickly unlocks the cage and steps inside.
He heads straight for me without any hesitation in his step, making me feel like a farm chicken that’s about to become dinner.
For all that Aron’s done, he never once treated me like a thing to be used.
He saw me as a person. A person he hated, but a person, regardless.
My back hits the wall, and Attila is on me, his weight pressing into me, jagged rocks cutting into my skin.
His breath smells like smoke. I scream, knowing that it’s pointless.
When I try to slap him, he grabs both my wrists and pulls my arms above my head.
Then his fist collides with my jaw, hard.
I taste blood from my split lip. Tears spill down my cheeks from the shock.
I start shaking with a nasty mix of fear and outrage.
He shoves his hand down my trousers without bothering to undo them. Roughly. He pinches my clit, and his merciless touch drags a piercing shriek up my raw throat.
“You’re a pretty little thing. I’ll enjoy fucking you. I like screwing disposable women. I like when I don’t have to worry about damaging them. When I can fuck them like I’m trying to kill them.”
His fingers slide lower, exploring my entrance. Not for the first time, I wish we women had a way to clamp that thing shut at will. His touch is revolting, and he is indifferent to my tears and to my pain—he’s not doing this because he wants to hurt me. He just doesn’t care if he does.
Fuck him. He doesn’t scare me enough to just let him take what he wants.
“Talking like that doesn’t make your dick any bigger, you pathetic piece of shit!” I spit out, misting his face with blood. Grim satisfaction cuts through my fear when I see his eyes narrow in anger.
“Whatever the fuck he did to you, I’ll make you cherish Aron’s memory, you worthless cunt.”
I see an opening and grab it.
“Aren’t you at least going to try and save him? He’s your leader! What kind of clowns are you all?”
His features darken with more than just rage this time: remorse, regret, guilt. Bullseye! So easy.
“They took him to their base in Revnik. It’d be a fucking suicide mission. We don’t do that. He wouldn’t have wanted that.” He almost stammers, trying to justify himself.
The plan forms in my mind so fast it’s like it’s always been there, ready to be put to action.
“Revnik? Are you sure?” I ask breathlessly.
Atilla frowns in confusion, distracted enough to keep his filthy, disgusting hands to himself.
“Yes, I’m sure. We watched them take him away.”
“How long have I been down here?” With my eyes locked into his, I’m commanding him to answer me.
“What?” He stares at me dumbly.
“How-long-have-I-been-down-here?” I repeat, gritting my teeth.
“About two weeks.”
Is that all it was? It has felt like years.
“I can get him out!” I blurt out, not giving Attila any chance to snap out of his baffled stupor. “I’ll go there and bring him back.” Intentionally, I don’t phrase it as a question.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He blinks hard, scowling.
The recurring wafts of his breath in my face are nauseating.
“Just think, you idiot!” I sneer at him with more bravado than I feel.
“They won’t know I’m with you! They won’t know!
No one keeps tabs on my movements anymore.
It’s not unusual for me to go off the radar for a week or two to shoot abandoned villages or poverty-stricken territories that they can then claim to be saving. ”
“They’re not saving—”
“I fucking know! Don’t get distracted. The point is, I can walk in there, and no one will say shit.
No one will question my presence.” I square my shoulders and tilt my chin up— anything to make myself bigger in his presence.
“I’m Volker’s favourite puppet. I can go anywhere I want. I can get Aron out.”
His eyes widen, and he exhales, staring at me open-mouthed.
“Are you not hearing me? I can get him out! I know the place. It’s an old garrison, dating back to medieval times.
It’s overcrowded as it is, so they’ll likely be keeping him chained and padlocked in the unused stables for now.
I even know where they keep the spare keys.
” I have no idea whether the blank look he gives me is a sign of confusion or disbelief, but in any case, I plough on.
“They wouldn’t have killed him. They’ll want to make an example of him, publicly.
He’s still there ... unless they moved him already. ”
“He is.” He finally snaps out of whatever that was. “We’re monitoring their movements from a distance. They haven’t moved him.”
His pale eyes scan my expression, studying me as he ponders my words.
“I’ll bring him back,” I repeat forcefully.