Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Lifting my head, the tendons in my neck cry out in protest. I peel my eyelids open, fighting against the crust of sleep that glues them shut at the corners. The room swims around me for a moment before everything comes back into focus. Was I asleep?
Even the dim illumination from the overhead lights feels too bright.
I blink, trying to force away the full ache that pounds behind my eyes.
I open my mouth, sucking in a calling breath.
The persistent itch in the back of my throat makes me cough out the exhale.
My tongue slides out to wet my cracked lips, but it only leaves a dry, sticky feeling on them.
I'm so thirsty. How long has it been since I had something to drink? It must have been at dinner with Gray. I didn't drink the cocoa he made us. My heart drops into my stomach. I wish I had tasted it.
I wiggle my fingers, hoping to shake away the ache in my hands. The rope chafes against my wrists with each movement, scraping my skin raw. With my arms locked in place, a throbbing pain stabs between my shoulder blades. How long have I been like this? How long have I been here?
I'm certain that it's been hours since they took me, maybe even an entire day.
My mind wanders, pulling me from the dank basement.
It pulls me back into my own bedroom, to my cozy book nook.
The soft blanket in my lap warms my bare legs.
I stare out of my favorite window, watching leaves fall from the old trees beside my house.
They flutter to the ground in a whirlwind of red and gold.
I never realized how much I've always relied on windows to tell me the time.
Thump, thump, thump.
The sound of footsteps drags me back to the present.
My eyes refocus, damp walls and cracked concrete filling my vision.
A heavy door squeaks open, broad shoulders filling the rusted, metal frame.
Tall, Dark, and Scary is back, another man hot on his heels.
Scary’s eyes find mine and he smiles. A chill rushes through me because it's not a warm smile.
There's no kindness in his eyes as they crawl over my body.
He turns to the man behind him, who instantly straightens his spine.
He's a bit shorter than Scary, but no less frightening.
His navy blue shirt is pulled tight over his muscular chest. The poor fabric looks like it might burst if he were to flex his huge arms. He reaches a hand up, brushing it through his short-cropped hair.
Anxiety pours off of him as he steps into the room.
“What are we doing here?” he asks.
Scary rolls his eyes. “Relax. We're just looking.” He tips his stubbled chin in my direction. “She's a pretty thing, isn't she?” He licks his lips and I suppress a gag. “Nice wide hips. I bet she's got a fat ass, too.”
The anxious one’s eyes roam over me quickly before returning to his shoes. “We can't touch her,” he mumbles. The tightness in my chest loosens and I breathe a sigh of relief.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets, a sound of displeasure rumbling in his throat. “The boss doesn’t let us fuck the fresh ones. Besides, I heard she was promised to someone, anyway.”
Promised to someone? a panicked voice screams inside of me.
My stomach churns and I tilt my head back, swallowing a mouthful of bile.
Promised to someone? My lungs inflate painfully, cold, damp air clinging to my insides.
Spots dance in front of my eyes and the ceiling lights suddenly seem to brighten.
Promised to someone? My head falls to the side, my chin crashing into my shoulder just before the room goes dark.
* * *
I crack my eyes open and my gaze immediately flicks to the door where the men are. Except they aren’t there anymore. My eyes whip around the room, searching for them, but there’s no one here. The door they came in is closed and I’m alone.
“No, no, no, no,” I whisper. “Did I fall asleep again?” My breathing turns ragged, air panting in and out until I feel lightheaded.
“You can’t keep falling asleep here,” I whisper-scream into the empty room. “You have to stay awake. Alert. Awake and alert, Ava. Awake and alert!”
A metallic screech sounds through the room as someone shoves the door open.
I steel my nerves, preparing for the worst. I can’t even fathom what the worst might be, but I need to be ready for it.
I straighten my spine and tense my body until my muscles begin to shake.
Locking my eyes on the doorway, I watch the door push into the room.
A dim light just beyond it flickers, casting little chunks of moving light over someone.
Flicker. Blue jacket. Flicker. Dark hair. Flicker. Tan skin. Only small bits and pieces of the person in the doorway reach my eyes before they step into the room.
My eyes widen in surprise when a man that can't be a day over twenty pushes into the room.
The yellowing lights shine over his face, making his skin appear dull and sickly.
His dark hair is slicked back from his face, copious amounts of hair gel making it appear hard and shiny.
Thick eyebrows sit furrowed over his chestnut eyes.
He's conventionally attractive with his clean-shaven face and strong nose.
His pressed, navy blue suit is perfectly tailored, highlighting his slim waist and broad shoulders.
His brown loafers tap against the concrete as he steps toward me.
Pressing his hand to his chest, he smooths the wrinkles in his vest.
The smell of expensive cologne clogs my nostrils as he moves closer, a welcome change from the stench of damp that clings to the walls of the dirty basement. His considerable height forces me to tilt my head back to look at him. His lips twitch up, a gentle smile forming on his face.
“You must need to use the bathroom by now, huh?” he asks, his voice lilting upward as if he were speaking to a small animal.
My bladder twinges, a familiar ache having built within it in recent hours.
I wiggle in the chair, hoping to push the feeling down and pretend it doesn’t exist. Only now that he’s said it, it’s all that I can think about.
God, I really do have to pee. Not trusting my voice not to crack, I nod my head in agreement.
My nerves spring to life as he steps behind me.
Fear swims in my gut and my body tightens in preparation.
Fingers circle my sore wrists and a gasp jumps from my mouth.
I pinch my lips together, refusing to let any other sounds escape.
The coarse rope tears at my skin and I grimace.
It loosens and my hands fall limp at my sides.
“You can stand up.” The hairs on the back of my neck rise as his breath ruffles my hair. “There’s a bucket in the corner over there.”
My heart sinks and a pained sound squeaks from my throat. A bucket? A freaking bucket!?
The man’s voice hardens, becoming something low and sharp that jabs into my gut. “It’s that or nothing, cucciola.”
I stand, gripping the back of the chair as my legs wobble beneath me.
Pins stab into my calves and thighs as I hobble towards the corner of the room.
My eyes drawn down to the floor, where sure enough, a gallon bucket sits.
The cheery yellow plastic taunts me, reminding me of better days, of rare weekends when my father went fishing and Mom and I were free.
She’d pack sandwiches, sodas, and plastic pails that we’d lug to the beach in a heavy tote bag.
The sun shone brightly on those days, sparkling off the sand where I’d build my castles.
Those were the days that I dreamed, that I dared to hope for something more for my life.
On that beach with my toes in the cool water, I could be more than just a scarred girl.
With my bathing suit hiding the bruises on my back and stomach, I was normal.
Mom, I sigh inside of myself, how did I end up here?
A throat clears behind me, dragging me away from the glistening water.
It yanks me back to the dark room with musty air and a bucket for a toilet.
Tears prick my eyes as I lift the long t-shirt and squat over the plastic pail.
I won’t let the tears fall, not while he’s watching me.
I won’t let them drip from my eyes while his gaze burns against my bare legs.
I won’t let him see me break, even as the sound of my bladder releasing bounces off of the concrete walls of my cage.
My cheeks burn as I wiggle my ass over the bucket, trying to dispel any remaining droplets of urine from my skin.
I walk back to the chair with my eyes on the man, trying to keep my legs steady and my back straight.
He nods toward the uncomfortable surface, telling me to sit back down.
My fists clench at my sides and my steps falter.
I stare at the chair like it’s the thing that kidnapped me and locked me in this room.
My thighs and bum throb from lack of movement.
As my eyes flick between the chair and the man, his eyes change.
There’s something within their depths that frightens me more than any of the men I’ve seen so far, something cold.
Gingerly, I sit back down. The man looks down at me and grins.
A shiver creeps through my shoulders at the sight of his smile.
It looks wrong on his face, like it isn’t meant to be there.
He shoves a small plastic water bottle into my hands. I crack it open and guzzle it down with one word repeating in my mind. Survive, survive, survive.
“Aren’t you a lovely little creature?” he purrs, eyes roaming over my face and body.
The look in his eyes makes the water in my stomach feel like sand, heavy and sickening.
My jaw clenches as he peruses my form. Goosebumps rise on my skin, but it isn’t from the cold air that drifts through the room.
Every hair follicle on my body stands at attention, sensing the wrongness within this man.
My legs quiver, receiving the signal from my brain that tells them to run, but they can’t move.
I’m frozen in place under the weight of his gaze.
He grabs my face, his fingers digging into my cheeks until my teeth scrape against the inside of my mouth. “You’re going to be my birthday present,” he growls. “Did you know that?”
Unable to move or speak with his grip bruising my face, I remain silent and motionless.
“You should be thanking me. Mother wanted to sell you, but I convinced her to let me keep you.” His lips tilt into a proud smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Mother, the word rings through my head, demolishing any question about who this man is. This is Bianca’s son. This is the one they said I’m promised to. My eyes blur, fat tears falling down my cheeks before I can stop them.
His palm whips across my face, agony blooming in its wake. Liquid dribbles down my upper lip, salt and copper splashing over my tongue. A gag lodges in my throat as I taste my blood.
“Thank me, you ungrateful whore!” he screams, peppering my face with spittle.
“T-thank you,” I sob.
He shoves me further into the chair, roughly tying my wrists behind my back.
The wood grinds into my shoulder blades, making me yelp.
His hands trail over my hips and stomach before stopping on my breasts.
Nausea swirls in my belly as he gropes my chest. His fingers clamp around my nipples and I scream in pain and disgust.
He lets out a scoff and withdraws his hands from my body.
“I can’t touch you like this,” he complains, wiping his palms down his suit pants.
“You’re dirty and you stink. I’ll have the men clean you up before my birthday party tomorrow night.
” His fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look at his face. “And you will be fucking grateful.”
He stomps out of the room, leaving me to sob into the empty space.