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Chapter Nine
For every meal, Skye gave Noah hers, and she ate his. She didn’t know how often they were watched so they would find ways of switching their food. Sometimes they prayed, especially if Mitch had decided to take her.
Not that she did much begging, more like bargaining to try to bring the wrath of some higher power down on the bastard that used her.
Each time he took her, she felt a part of herself die.
She couldn’t stop it.
He was breaking down her spirit, and what was more, she knew he enjoyed it. Mitch always promised her something worse than the last time, and so far, he lived up to his threats. That fear kept on manifesting itself.
What didn’t help either was she was eating less than half of Noah’s portion, and she knew for a fact it was drugged.
She’d gone from feeling perfectly fine, to struggling to move. They must have put enough drugs to make the men physically weak but not incapable of sex. Either that, or when it came to forcing them to rape people, they didn’t use as much of a dosage, and controlled them through other means.
Each day, Noah finished off his meal with gusto.
He stopped lying down all day, and she saw how wired he was becoming. She had to keep reminding him that he had to sit down, to pretend that he was still weak.
Every single time someone came into the room, he was vibrating with vengeance.
After one particularly bad experience with Mitch, some of her hair was missing from him pulling her across the floor. Her body had more bruises than not, and he hadn’t even washed her of his semen, or the other men’s fluids either.
Skye sank down into a deep pit of misery, one that she couldn’t escape from.
“Don’t touch me,” she said as Noah pulled her onto his lap.
Their food was once again waiting for them.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said. “Please, Noah, please, kill me. I can’t stand it. Not anymore.” She sobbed against his chest.
“We’re getting out of here.”
“What?”
“I’m done. You’ve asked me one too many times, and I can’t stand this anymore. I know you want to wait, but I’m done.” He put her down on the bed and gathered their food.
He put her tray in front of her, which was in fact his, and she watched as he ate his food. Once he was finished, he took hold of their forks.
“You know, I realize now that they must love this. Love watching the men struggle to clean their own ass and to just do about anything,” Noah said. “They mock us at every turn.”
The forks were made of metal, and so were the trays. Everything around them had the potential to do harm, only they were never strong enough to fight. Even if the men stopped eating the drugged food, they still wouldn’t be able to fight because they’d be too weak without it.
They clearly hadn’t counted on a woman seeing their operation. By Mitch hurting her at the right moment and needing to take the call, she’d discovered what was keeping Noah at bay.
When the man entered the room this time, Skye’s heart started to pound.
When was the best time to try to escape? Why were they looking for the best time to do anything? They were prisoners. They were being tortured for fun and games. How could they even think of allowing themselves to play into a schedule?
“We need your trays, dog!” The guard glared at him.
“Come and get it,” Noah said. He held onto it and stood.
She watched the guard. His gun was by his side. She’d heard Mitch on the phone a few times talking about how valuable they were as products. The money paid to watch them do things made them the products. The guard couldn’t really shoot them.
As the guard went to grab the tray, Noah lifted it and slammed it down hard on the guy’s head, once, twice, three times, rendering the bastard unconscious.
The other man, who wheeled the cart, came in, and Noah was ready. He used the metal fork, stabbing it into the man’s eye, and he screamed, wheeling back.
