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A sinking feeling settled in my stomach.
I would not only get raped; I would be recorded, too. For all the perverts all over the world to watch. Would they send it to my father? Did they even know who we were?
The man grinned wickedly as he started the camera, then he gripped my arm again, dragged me over to the couch, and lifted me onto the backrest as if I were a doll.
“Kiss,” he growled and forced his lips onto mine.
I refused to open my mouth, clenching my jaw tight.
He leaned back, then slapped me across the face.
The pain shot through my skull, and bursts of light exploded behind my eyelids. I cried out, the pain unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
My hand shot to my cheek. When I was little, my father had hit me sometimes. Before I learned to become invisible at home. Before he turned completely indifferent towards me and started ignoring me completely.
But I couldn’t remember it ever hurting so bad.
I exhaled and tried to shake off the lightheadedness I was experiencing. I focused back on his face, blinked away the tears pricking the corner of my eyes.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking down.
“Listen, girl,” he snarled in heavily accented English and grabbed my chin. “I’m going to do to you whatever I like. I will use you, fuck you raw, and if you don’t do whatever I tell you to, you won’t make it out of this room alive.”
He squeezed. Then he let go and, instead, grabbed my nipples and twisted them viciously.
Pain radiated through my chest, and I moaned.
At that moment, I knew.
Even if I survived this, nothing would ever be the same again. And I couldn’t completely suppress the sob escaping the depths of my soul.
The next moment, strong hands gripped my shoulders and shook me violently.
“Fee! Wake up!”
A voice broke through the fog of my mind, and I jolted awake, gasping for air. My heart was pounding in my chest, and the taste of fear and hopelessness lingered on my tongue. I shook the cobwebs from my mind, then tried to focus on the face hovering right above me.
It was not the vile man who was going to rape me, who had raped me.
“Alex?” I whispered, still disoriented.
He looked concerned, his dark eyes burning into mine.
“You’re safe, princess.” Alex’s voice washed over me, his hands on my shoulders like a lifeline, grounding me to reality. “You’re in Malta, in your hotel room. Everything’s okay.”
“Yes.” I raised my hand to my face—it wasn’t hurting. Instead, I could feel wetness on my cheeks from where I’d been crying in my sleep. The rest of my skin was coated with sweat.
And then I began shaking.
Bile rose in my throat and threatened to overwhelm me. I struggled out of his grip, broke free, and made a mad dash—on wobbly legs—towards the bathroom.
“Fee!” Alex called after me, his voice laced with concern.
I couldn’t. Not right now.
I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me—desperate for a moment alone. Then I dragged myself to the toilet. I barely made it in time before my stomach lurched, and I threw up violently.
Somewhere on the outskirts of my awareness, I heard the door creaking open.
