AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He removes a pistol from his hip and points it at me. "If I have to undress you, I promise you won't like it," he growls. "Take your fucking clothes off."
Salty tears slip down my heated cheeks as I slowly peel my clothes off until I'm standing in nothing but my bra and panties. I try to cover myself as best as I can with my arms, shame weighing on my shoulders. Cyrus raises a brow as he stares at me.
"All of it," he says.
"Please don't?—"
"Now!" he barks, taking a step forward with his gun still pointed at me.
Sobs wrack my body as I take everything off, still trying to hide the sacred parts of my body with my arms and hands. Cyrus tucks his gun into his waistband before moving to stand behind the camera. He fiddles with a few buttons before he scowls up at me.
"I'm only going to tell you one time to move your hands, or else I can tie them behind your back," he warns. I lower my arms as well as my gaze, too ashamed to look up at the camera. I'm glad he doesn't force me to look at him, as I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to do so. I try to imagine myself anywhere else but here. I try to think about how safe I feel with Trent. Itry to remember his touch and how it made me feel so beautiful. I force myself to focus on how he'd said I was his. I try to keep holding to that fragile thread of hope that he's coming because it's the only thing saving my sanity from shattering.
After a few minutes, Cyrus moves away from the camera and approaches me. "Let's go," he says, his grip on my bicep painfully tight.
"Wait, my clothes!" I exclaim, but he continues pulling me away.
All the stares, catcalls, and whistles as Cyrus marches me back to the cellar fill me with disgust. I'm not sure what disturbs me more; the fact that the men around here have no issue with objectifying women or the fact that they're so used to situations like this that seeing a naked woman isn't a new thing for them. It only makes me wonder just how bad things get around here, but considering the bruises and blood on some of the other women here, it's something that I don't want to find out myself.
Once we're back in the cellar, one of the guards grabs my hand when I move past him. A shiver works down my spine as he licks his lips and pulls me closer to him, his whiskey-soaked breath fanning over my cheek.
"I was already peeling you out of your clothes in my mind earlier, and you look exactly like I thought you did," he whispers, his large, calloused hand grabbing my ass. I push against him, which only makes him squeeze harder.
Cyrus shoves him back while pushing me in the opposite direction. "You know we don't touch the merchandise," he snaps and then lands his hard gaze on me. "Get over there with the rest of the girls before you find yourself in a shitty situation."
He definitely doesn't have to tell me twice. I scurry away from them, tucking myself into a dark corner, and pull my knees to my chest. Silent tears roll down my cheeks as the reality of my situation bears down on me. I have to get out of here. Trent hadto find me before they transported us.Wherever you are, please save me, I think.
And for my sake, I hope he can reach me in time.
23
TRENT
Ipull up to a large, dilapidated building in the middle of nowhere. Getting out of my car, I look around and am met with nothing but the wind and tension. Something doesn't feel right. I pull the pistol from my hip and cautiously make my way to the entrance. My heart races in my chest at the thought of Morgan. I have no idea what condition I'll find her in, whether or not she's still alive or hurt. There’s also the possibility that she’s not even here, and this could just be a trap. I tighten my jaw and push open the door, fighting the urge to cough when a cloud of dust fills the air.
My eyes fight to adjust to the darkness as the heavy door closes behind me. Old pipes creak and moan in the distance as I take slow, careful steps forward. Something shuffles to my right before a bright light pops on.
"Drop the weapon, pig," someone says from behind me. Before I can even react, three more men with rifles appear in front of me. They’re dressed like the men who’d attacked Morgan and her father at her house the other night, and it’s then that I know exactly who I’m dealing with. The muzzle of a gun pokes me in the back as the guy behind me grows closer. "I said fucking drop it."
I grind my teeth and drop my gun, holding my hands up. “Where's the girl?" I ask.
"Don't fucking worry about it. Walk," the man behind me orders. I swallow down my irritation and follow his commands, keeping my hands up as well as my eyes on the three armed men in front of me. They lead me through a maze of corridors and narrow hallways before we reach a large room that's been transformed into an office. My entire body tenses when I see Christian sitting behind the large, shiny desk made of cherry oak wood with a cigar in his mouth, a grin appearing on his lips when I walk into the room.
"Ah, the man of the hour," he says as he leans forward and puts the cigar out in an ashtray on his desk. "You've been causing a lot of trouble tonight, haven't you?"
“I shot you earlier,” I say, trying to rationalize what I was seeing in front of me. I think back to the chaos of the auction, remembering distinctly going up to him and shooting him in the chest multiple times. But then I realize the man before me doesn’t have the disfigured face and he isn’t tall and lanky as the man I’d seen earlier.
He continued grinning. “Did you now?” He looks down at himself and pats different parts of his body before he shrugs. “Seem perfectly to me.”
I clench my jaw as I stare at him. How in the world did we get the information wrong? He looks exactly like the man I shot, minus the burn on his face and having a bit more muscle. As if sensing my confusion and irritation, he laughs.
“I’m assuming you met my dearly departed brother Cristiano.” He puts his cigar out in the ashtray on the desk with a light sigh. “It’s a shame what happened to him, but thanks for taking care of my dirty work. He was running the organization into the ground anyway, so now that’s one less thing on my agenda.”
"Where's the girl?" I ask, cutting through the small talk. The longer it takes them to tell me if Morgan is okay or not, the more anxious I become.
"You know, you and your organization should've just carried out the hit," he says instead, ignoring the question. "When you go poking your nose in business that isn't yours...well, that's when problems arise."
"Your problems started when you were stupid enough to try to frame the Russians by having an innocent girl killed. If you’re going to be dumb enough to set up your enemy, you could’ve picked a more suitable victim for your bombing terrorist scheme instead of a girl who looks more like a pop princess than a mass murderer,” I state, satisfaction rolling through me when his smile falters. "What, did you think we wouldn't see through your sloppy scheme?”
