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I whimper as he pulls himself from my ravaged vagina, and the fight reignites as he positions himself at my tight back hole. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls so hard my upper body is arched off the bed painfully. “You won’t be checking out on me this time, bitch.”
That’s the only warning I get before he shoves himself past my tight ring and deep into my bottom. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s not the first time someone has taken me there, but most clients use lubricant to ease their way. Not this man. No, he rams himself inside me over and over. His balls slapping against the tender skin below, adding another facet to my pain.
My screams echo through the room as I thrash beneath him. I can feel my hair tearing at the root, but that pain hardly registers because the pain in my bottom is so severe. I fight against his hold, doing everything in my power to unseat him. This time I do beg. I beg for him to stop. I plead with him to have mercy.
“That’s a girl. Fucking fight. You’ll never escape me.” He folds his big body over my much smaller frame and sinks his teeth viciously into my shoulder. The scream that’s ripped from my throat is so forceful I can feel my vocal cords strain and break until my screams turn hoarse and practically soundless.
“Rosie! Wake up!”
I’m jerked from my nightmare so suddenly my mind can’t seem to catch up with the fact that I’m free from that horror. The only thing I can comprehend is a large shadow of a man hovering over me, holding me in place.
I don’t think. I just react. I push the figure away and skitter across the bed. I barely have the sense to brace myself before I hit the floor. I curl myself into a tight ball and rock. Slowly, the nightmare recedes.
Just a dream. Not real. Not real, I chant to myself.
“Shh… it’s okay, love,” Matthew soothes.
I look in the direction of his voice but remain huddled in place. Afraid that if I move, I will fall into a million pieces. Once again, he’s approaching me like he would a wild animal. He stops a couple feet away and kneels down in front of me. He doesn’t reach out to me, instinctively knowing that his touch wouldn’t be welcome yet.
I shut my eyes tight and continue the soothing rocking motion. My inner chant switches to my mother’s voice. Back before the drugs, she was a great mom. She used to sing to me every night. A special song she made up one night when I was a baby and wouldn’t stop crying. She rocked with me for hours, trying everything she could to soothe me. She sang every song she could think of, and in the wee hours of morning, she just started making things up. Those made up lyrics did the trick and became my lullaby.
I let the memory of my mother’s voice soothe my fear. Her sweet words play on a loop in my mind until they chase away the nightmare.
“Love?” I look up into Matthew’s worried eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Yes… no… I don’t know.” The words come out in a croak as if I’ve spent the night screaming my head off.
“Can I?” He holds his arms out to me. I don’t hesitate to crawl into his embrace. He lets out a shuddering breath the moment he’s got me in his arms. It must’ve taken a great deal of restraint to keep from swooping in before I was ready.
He stands with me in his arms and lays me back on the bed. He quickly strips his clothes, then crawls in after me. I sigh with contentment when he pulls me against his body, holding me close. Once again, I’m struck by the ease to which I accept his touch. Even after a nightmare like that, I don’t feel any hint of fear at being vulnerable with him. The exact opposite, in fact. I feel safe and secure, like as long as I’m in his arms nothing can touch me, not even my nightmares.
Exhausted, sleep starts to draw me under. I vaguely acknowledge Matthew kissing my forehead and whispering promises of love and keeping me safe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MATTHEW
My heart bleeds for Rose. I should have known that seeing those pictures would trigger nightmares. I feel like a jerk for leaving her alone for so long. I should have been here, but I was stuck in my own anger over what Rose was put through. Even though it made me sick to my stomach, I went through each and every picture, forcing myself to endure the evidence of my failure to save her.
Rose whimpers in my arms, and I run my fingers through her hair and make soothing sounds. She settles back into sleep, giving me room to ruminate on how I spent my evening. I flex my hand, reveling in the ache of my knuckles. Upon studying the pictures, I realized that some of the men in them were prominent businessmen, a senator, and one very corrupt judge who happens to be right here in the city.
Needless to say, I had a fair amount of aggression to work out, and Judge James Holt got the brunt of it. The fucker didn’t even put up a fight. As soon as I mentioned Red House and showed him the pictures, he simply asked me if I was there to kill him. My reputation precedes me. But no, I wasn’t there to kill him. Beat him half to death and use him to get to the other fuckers in the pictures, absolutely.
Judge Holt won’t be frequenting any other brothels for the rest of his days, and he’ll be nursing his injuries for a long while. He’s also decided to take a nice long vacation. He got less than he deserved, but eventually, he will have served his purpose, then there will be no reason to not exact the full force of my revenge.
Kisten found where Grant was staying, but something must’ve tipped him off because he was long gone by the time he got there. He’ll be holed up somewhere like a fucking cockroach biding his time. It doesn’t matter. We will find him, and once we do, we will make him pay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ROSE
The days pass by quickly. I settle into a routine that keeps me busy and from focusing on Damon’s threats, Mr. Perfect, and all the other unknowns. I spend my days helping Hannah around the house whenever she’ll let me. I’ve taken over cooking breakfast not only for Matthew and me but for the whole staff too.
Oftentimes I go to the club with Matthew and answer phones or file paperwork or whatever other odd job he needs doing. Though, I think he makes things up just to make me happy. I know he doesn’t like me working, but I hate feeling like a leech. He doesn’t argue with me anymore. He’s agreed to disagree and has supported my need to help.
My favorite place to help is in the recovery suites. The third night I worked alongside Matthew at the club one of the submissives experienced something called sub drop. It was terrifying, but I’m well suited to help in those situations because it’s basically like a really intense anxiety attack followed by a wave of depression.
It’s something that tends to pass quickly from what I’ve been told, but in the moment, it’s overwhelming to the person experiencing it. Even more so for someone who has never experienced anxiety or depression in the past.
