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‘It’s okay to enjoy it,’ Alfie said.
‘Shut up.’
‘Are you going to make me again?’
With a growl of exasperation, I left him there, slamming the cage closed and stalking off to my room. The situation couldn’t stay as it was. It was going to drive me crazy.
But convincing Harriet to let a plan go never went well.
Her need for revenge outweighed anything else. I didn’t doubt that if I got in the way of it, she would cut me off completely.
The only other option was to make him talk sooner rather than later.
Upping the ante.
Crushing his spirit.
When I closed my eyes later that night, all I could see was his cum-coated smirk.
SIXTEEN
ALFIE
In what I could only assume were the days following Petros’ use of my mouth, he barely looked at me, far less uttered a word to me. When he came into my cage and unlocked me entirely, while holding a gun, confusion made me hesitate.
‘Up,’ he barked.
My limbs were stiff and ached terribly as I used the bars to pull myself upright. Deep, red indents gouged into my wrists where I’d been cuffed for so long. Petros’ face was utterly impassive as he walked out of the cage before standing and waiting for me.
‘Grab the brush and get sweeping the cage. Harriet thinks you need to move more, so get moving.’
I did as he asked, every part of me screaming in protest at the change of position. With the meagre rations of food and water, and the inactivity, my skin looked pale and sunken. The swish of the brush as I scraped it against the floor was the sole sound in the cavernous room. I missed my freedom. I missed clothes. I missed the faces of the few people who I had in my life. Captivity weighed around me like an anchor made from pure melancholy. My shoulders slumped as I swept, dragging me down with my dejected mood. Finding the pep to try and sweet talk my captors was getting harder by the minute.
Eventually, there was a neat pile of dust and debris outside the cage. Petros handed me a scrubbing brush and a pale of warm soapy water. Plunging my hands into the warmth was enough to elicit a moan. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt warm. I had no clothing, no blankets, and the room was damp and chilly. Bar my bare mattress, it was all icy stone and metal bars.
‘Get on with it,’ Petros said. I glanced up at him just in time to see him eradicate a brief softness from his face. I must have looked as pathetic as I felt.
Scrubbing the dirty floor took forever. The water was nearly cold and a murky brown by the time I finished. Brown splatters covered my legs and arms, exhaustion sinking into my very bones.
‘Come on,’ Petros said. He fitted the cuffs back over my wrists, making me wince as they bit back into the already-marked flesh.
Gripping my arm in his wide fingers, he walked me out of the room and through a corridor made of the same rounded stone tunnel as my prison. He opened a door and shoved me into a sparsely furnished room. My eyes settled on a tin bath, the water in it soapy and steaming. I could have cried. A lump formed in my throat.
‘Is this a trick?’ I asked.
‘No, get your ass in before I change my mind.’
I needed no further prompting.
The heat nipped at my legs as I climbed in, but I sank down into the hot water without a thought, welcoming the redness that flushed my body. Holy Mother of God. Scooping up some water, I pressed it to my face, revelling in the feeling of being warm and clean.
Petros sat on a wooden chair, his gun resting on his thigh as he watched me.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘She wants you clean, for tonight.’
Fear rippled in my stomach. Swiftly followed by a flash of lust. Fuck, did she want to kill me or torment me? ‘What’s happening tonight?’
