Page 444 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

Dominance established, violence as courtship, rivalry eliminated.

He bares his throat, betrayed by himself in every possible regard and keeps his eyes closed.

He’ll sink into an old story, a book he loved. He’ll hide there until it’s over like the coward he is, submissive little bitch, useless and weak and so helpless it sickens him and that sickness is spreading like a contagion.

‘There we go,’ the man whispers, bending low. ‘Just us now.’

He bends to lick Riley’s cheek.

And then a whipcrack shocks the air and the man above him is yanked sharply away, falling to the side.

There’s a brief struggle and then a clean snap.

Another man to bear himself to.

Riley won’t look.

He doesn’t want to look.

But his body stays still, pliant and unresisting.

He hears Russian muttered darkly. ‘Ublyudki. Chtob vas zemlya ne prinyala, mrazi yobanyye.’

It’s Vasily Sorrenko.

Oh no. Oh God.

That’s so much worse than some unknown man.

Riley turns his face away, bares his neck more but he can’t see, he won’t, he mustn’t. It’s so fucking shameful. So disgusting.

He… is disgusting.

‘Riley.’ Vasily kneels close by. Riley can hear the distinct beating of his heart, strong and fast, but human. Susceptible. ‘Did he hurt you?’

Don’t look, don’t look, it’s not real if you don’t see it.

‘Riley,’ he says again, more urgently. ‘Are you—?’

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘Go away.’

‘They are searching for you.’

‘J-just…’ Say it, fucking say it, ask for death and trust that Vasily Sorrenko would do you the honour of a quick one. ‘Please…’

His body won’t allow it.

Submission is all it can offer.

Safety. Pack. Family.

It’s horror beyond compare.

‘Did they… put something on you?’ Crazed yelling rises up from nearby. ‘We have to move. Riley. Can you walk?’