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I swallow. I don’t need to hear it, not out loud, not from him or me or anybody else. Part of me thinks whatever he was going to do—whatever he does now—would be better than saying any of that out loud.
I’m no better than him to the one and only person who matters.
“I don’t know anything,” I whisper after a beat. “Happy?”
“Huh,” Damian chuckles, finally letting go of my neck and setting his hands back in his lap. “After all I’ve heard… Who knew anyone could be too broken for him?”
Dread chills every nerve in my body, and I tuck my chin to my chest, Ghost’s angry words pounding behind my ears.
Because I hoped I’d be the one to destroy something so precious? I’m a monster, Lucy, yes, but I’m not a fucking degenerate.
“Makes sense why he let you leave.”
I pull my knees to my chest. “What?”
“Little birdie told me you got in a car ordered by Roman Cartwright,” he says, and my heart drops like a stone. I’d heard the last name before, so many times. Even more so than Saint. Chuck was so desperate to ‘get in’ with them, chased me off whenever they’d come by.
“Roman…Cartwright.”
He’s not a cousin or family friend of Ghost’s. Hell, he’s not even an acquaintance of Ghost’s. He’s a monster, if what Chuck has said is true.
“Kinda thought I’d been set up, honestly,” Damian continues, “when the Saints showed up here lookin’ for you.”
The Saints—Ghost? He was here, looking for me? How did they get here and leave so quickly? Why couldn’t I have just walked the main street near the road, where they could’ve seen me?
Unless… Norman.
“He was texting you.”
Damian smirks, and I do everything to cool my expression into a defiant indifference.
“Lucky for you Norman’s on my side, or you’d be halfway to Arabia. Maybe locked in a cage.”
Oh my god, I’m so fucking stupid.
Before I can freefall into the what-if’s, Damian’s hand closes on my wrists, trying to pull my arms away from my chest. He may as well break it, my bones screaming at the memory of Ghost so gently pulling them down, praising me in the last moments he found me delicate, worthy of his attention.
Damian isn’t even half as soft. He’s rough, demanding, doesn’t care if I give my submission or he forces it out of me. Ghost wouldn’t have hurt me had I ignored his wishes. He wouldn’t have forced anything I didn’t give him. He made it clear what he wanted was my willing submission, not my broken surrender.
I haven’t fought in I don’t know how long—it always ends up hurting more. I learned that the hard way. But I won’t let Damian take what he wants and pretend to enjoy it. Not this time, not ever again. No matter how far away from precious I am, I won’t let him treat me like that anymore.
I have nothing left to lose, so why would I quit now?
“C’mon,” he says, pulling me hard enough to scrape my hip on the rough interior of the tub. “You’re gonna help me.”
“H-Help you what?” I hiss, grinding my teeth to hide the shudder in my voice.
His grip tightens on my wrist until I whimper, letting him pull it away from my chest. “Try again.”
I bite my tongue, but cave when he moves to push me under again. “Okay, okay!”
“Okay?” he echoes, brows raised. He wants a different answer. He wants ayes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.
I’ll die first.
“I’ll help you.”
“Bitch.” He shakes his head and stands up, ripping the plug out of the bath as he goes. “Get up.”
