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There’s blood dripping from her nose, but she’s lying upside down, and I watch in horror as she’s violated once more by the man who turns to the camera and chuckles as his cock is lodged in her throat.
My heart catapults wildly when his face comes on screen and the vibrator against my clit is turned up harshly causing pleasure and pain to skitter through me like a ten-pound weight.
An orgasm rocks me when I look into the eyes of my father and all I can do is succumb to the force of agony that I’m thoroughly fucking broken. I’ve been torn from a normal life.
I’m severed.
The door creaks open and I’m met with the deep blue eyes of the boy who can’t be much older than me. His white hair is a stark contrast to the asphalt color walls. He doesn’t say anything, merely shuts the door and heads to the bucket in the corner. It’s empty. I haven’t eaten anything in the past few days. I don’t recall drinking anything either. My body is weak and I know there’s no way I can fight my way out of here.
“You’ll get lunch shortly,” he bites out coldly. There’s something strange about him, something I can’t place my finger on. When he turns to regard me once more, he sees my face is glistening in the low light of the oil lamp he’s carrying. “Are you crying?”
I don’t want to tell him I am. I don’t want to admit to feeling broken, shattered. I don’t want to tell him what I saw. But something tells me that he knows. Surely, he does.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes, of course I’m crying. I’m locked in hell with the devil and his foot soldiers and I am wounded beyond repair.”
He stalks toward me and I’m certain he’s going to hurt me, but he stops just short of my bed. He leans in close, his face right in mine. I meet those eyes that remind me of freedom, of the clear blue sky and the cool ocean waters.
“If you cry, he’ll only make it worse.”
“What do you care?” I bite out in frustration.
“Did you come when you watched the video?” He smirks, a cold, cruel grin curls his lips. “Did your little cunt get all wet and achy?” He leans in closer, his mouth almost on mine. “And when you came, did you cry out for God?”
“Fuck you!” I spit, the clear saliva hitting his face just below one of his beautiful eyes. The man is sinful, like the devil in disguise.
“Your next training session is today. After lunch, you’ll learn just how much worse it can get.” With that, he spins on his heel and I want to crawl to him and beg him to free me. My mind is awash with confusion, everything is blurry and cloudy. The door opens, another young man walks inside carrying a tray. He sets it on the bed beside me and they leave me alone.
I don’t know what to do, but the food on the tray is my only sustenance and I wolf it down in the hopes that it will strengthen me. I need to fight. I have to get out of here.
The bread is soft and warm, the butter melting on it making my mouth water. I stuff it in my mouth, not bothering to chew. I need to eat, and the ravenous feeling overwhelms me. Tears trickle from my eyes once more as I revel in the flavors on my tongue.
I drink the water from the mug on the tray. It satiates my thirst like I’ve been given life once more. Moments later the tray is empty. I lift it in order to place it on the floor, but as soon as I attempt to stand, my legs give out and I fall to my knees, the metal clanking loudly, my ears feel as if they’re about to shatter and that’s when my eyes flutter closed once more.
Drake
“You’re ready, son.” My father glares at me. Malcolm has been a man of many faces. Most think he’s an upstanding citizen, but those who know who he truly is, down to his rotten soul, they’re the ones who respect him more than anything. They fear him. They fucking love him.
And you know why?
Because he offers them what they want. Fantasies that would make the most fucked up asshole cringe.
Depraved.
Vile.
Filthy.
“You want me to do it?”
He snaps his gaze to me, those blue orbs that match mine and Dante’s pierce me and I feel it down to my fucking soul. At eighteen, I should be out, chasing girls and partying up a storm. Instead, he’s imprisoned me as much as he has the rest of those who work here.
“If you’re a pussy and can’t do it, you can watch,” he grunts, waving his hand at Ivor who’s been in this dungeon for more than eight years. The large man who resembles an ogre, is fast on his feet, and he’s got me in a grip so tight that it steals my breath.
“I can, just let me go, Dad,” I try to reason with him, but he’s already got the opera playing through the speakers. “Ivor, just let me go. I can do the training.” All my pleading will fall on deaf ears. As much as I’ve been working for my father, he’s still in charge. I’m pushed onto the steel contraption, which is similar to the seating at a sports stadium, at the far wall which offers me a clear view of the table he’s about to mutilate Caia on.
A flannel gag is shoved into my mouth and I spit it out immediately. Ivor knows better than to attempt this shit with me. He may be my father’s right hand man, but I’m the son of Malcolm Savage and one day I’ll make sure he pays for the shit he’s done.
