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Chapter Eight
Alena
“For tonight’s entertainment, we have our scarred house dog,” a voice announces over the speakers. As I turn, something jabs me from behind the gate, pushing me, and I stumble forward into the sand. “Isn’t she an ugly cunt? Strong fighter though. She’s been serving our men’s… appetites for four months now!” Laughter and cheers go up as I clench my fists, snarling at them.
They dare judge me?
They dare mock me?
“And fighting our dog is our newest little virgin. If she survives… well, she will be free for everyone!” The voice laughs. Fight? Virgin?
Then it clicks. They are going to make me fight someone else. This is what this is—a fucking fighting ring. They’re cock fighting, but for humans. What the fuck? I don’t know why it shocks me. They traffic girls, they get them addicted to drugs, they rape and torture them… Why should this be any different?
A crank sounds, and I turn to see another gate opposite mine. A crying, fighting, screaming, skinny blonde is shoved into the pit. She lands hard on the ground, curling into a ball as she sobs. Her body shakes from the force. She’s in a see-through, white nightie, which is torn with some blood spotted across it. Her long blonde hair is tangled and concealing her face.
I glare at the gate and rush to her side, dropping next to her. “Are you okay?” I murmur, reaching out to touch her skin. She recoils with a scream, scrambling across the dirt.
Her blue eyes are wide and bloodshot, and tears cascade across her pale, stained cheeks. Her lips tremble as she stares at me, her gaze broken and almost empty. I can see she’s shattering, or maybe she’s already gone and withdrawn into herself and this is just a knee-jerk reaction.
I saw it in the girls when I was first taken. There were those who could survive the abuse, not just body wise but in the mind. Then there were those who couldn’t, whose minds fractured as they hid inside themselves to avoid feeling anything, leaving them numb and empty.
Broken beyond repair.
I stay crouched with my hand out like I’m talking to a wild animal. She stares back, running her eyes across my scarred face with a flinch. I wince a little at that. I know I look horrendous, scary from the scars, but the fact she reacted like that hurts a part of me I thought was unable to be wounded anymore.
“I won’t hurt you,” I assure her.
“Look at our dog, trying to save the girl,” a voice calls, and I flinch before hardening and ignoring the laughter and teasing comments as they watch us. This may be their entertainment, but for me, this is my nightmare.
I can survive my own torture, my own violation, and I can stop myself from breaking, but seeing an innocent, young girl being tortured and used as bait for me?
It makes me angry, angrier than I have ever been.
It’s that quiet, slow burning fury that means someone will die soon, but I keep my face calm and my gaze on her as she tries to cover her chest to hide her little rosy nipples pressing against the fabric. What have they done to her to put that much fear and detachment there? I dread to think about it. So much can be done while still keeping a woman ‘pure.’ As they told me once, the pure girls go for more money.
The rich fuckers pay to take their virginity.
“Now listen up, dog,” the voice says, and I lift my head, glaring around. They are all staring. “Hurt the girl, kill her, and you win yourself a day’s reprieve from our tender touches.” The crowd breaks out into raucous laughter.
The gate starts to rise and I spin, pushing to my feet in a moment. I stand before her, my legs spread and fists clenched, prepared to defend her, but a man simply tosses a knife into the dirt at my feet and the gate closes again. She’s crying softly now, and when I look down, she’s rocking back and forth.
“Kill her and save yourself.”
They all watch and take bets, wondering if I’ll do it, if I’ll kill her to save myself. I stand there staring, unmoving.
“Do it, dog, or we’ll rape her in front of you and make her our new little toy instead of you.” I flinch, knowing they will. Can I really give up a day’s peace for a stranger when all it will do is bring us both pain?
Grabbing the knife, I drop to my knees and lift her head, then I press the cool metal to her throat. The cheers get louder, but I block them out. I stare into her eyes and flinch. I can’t do it, I can’t kill her even to save myself. Even to stop her from having to go through what I did.
I just can’t.
“No.” I go to stand, to drop the knife, but her fragile hand shoots out, and with more strength than I thought she possessed, she grips my wrist. For a moment, something akin to a person flashes in those glassy blue depths.
“Kill me,” she begs quietly, so low they can’t hear.
I flinch, and she blinks sluggishly. “Please, kill me. I won’t survive this, kill me. Set me free.”
“What?” I snap, trying to pull back without hurting her. “I’m not fucking killing you.”
