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Of course it’s locked. I knew it was locked. But somehow I’m still stabbed with disappointment, dread and fear flooding me.
“Help,” I say quietly, rattling the door handle.
There’s no response. But they probably couldn’t hear me. Walking around the mansion, preparing for their party, they’ve forgotten about me. They’re going to dine and schmooze all night, talk to other women and men and maybe a new girl will catch their attention. Angelo will invite a handsome young man to have a threesome with, and they’ll laugh about their rival’s daughter they have locked in the guest room.
Before I know it, I’m pounding on the door. “Help! Angelo! Saint! Victor! Please! Let me out!”
Still nothing, but if they’re walking around downstairs, that makes sense. I just have to be louder. More insistent. More—more anything, I don’t care, as long as it gets them to open that fucking door.
A manic energy overtakes me as I start pounding and shouting. The words don’t really matter.Please! Help! I’m sorry!Over and over, until my fist starts to hurt, until my voice grows hoarse. I think I might be crying, but who cares. Nobody can see me here anyway, and if they do finally open that door, well, they’ve seen me crying and worse.
The longer I go without hearing anything, the more force I put into my pounding. I try slamming my shoulder into the door too. Anything. I can’t stay here. I can’t! I’m going to suffocate in this room all by myself.
Until, finally, there’s a rattle at the door.
I sob in relief and collapse to the floor. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Whichever one of them walks through that door, I’m going to kiss his feet in gratitude. Maybe I’ll regret that later, but that doesn’t matter right now. As long as they free me.
Only it isn’t Victor or Angelo or Saint who steps through the door.
It takes me a few seconds to even remember his name, because it’s been so long since I’ve seen or interacted with anybody who wasn’t my three.
“Well, what do we have here,” Freddie says, smirking broadly. “You’d think they’d take better care of their whore.” He shuts the door behind him.
Dread pools up inside me, shattering any sense of relief I’d felt only seconds before. That smirk promises nothing good, and the last time we’d spent any time together, it had ended with his finger being chopped off.
I risk a glance down at his hand, and it’s not even bandaged any longer. The sight of it is gruesome and scarring, still purple and trying to heal.
He notices the look, and his smirk grows a little wider. “What? That bother you now? You didn’t care when they were doing it to me.”
I hadn’t, not really. He’d merely been the failed means to an end. “I’m sorry,” I quickly say, even though I’m really not. But I’d say anything to smooth this over. Even talking to him is preferable to sitting in silence, forgotten and alone.
I think.
Because the look on his face gets more and more grotesque.
“I don’t think you actually are sorry,” Freddie says. There’s an edge to his voice, one I know I’ve heard from myself when I was desperate. “I think you’re a manipulative little cunt.”
There’s a split-second where I realize what he’s going to do, but I’m not fast enough to dodge away from his hand. He grips my wrist and starts dragging me toward the bed.
“No!” I scream. “Let go!” I struggle against him, but he’s still a fit young man, while I’m a sleep-deprived, half-starved woman. Even at my best I wouldn’t be able to fend him off, and I’d wasted all of my energy calling for help.
“Scream all you like. Everybody’s downstairs right now, having a good time with the guests.” Freddie laughs as he throws me onto the bed. “Fucking easy. They kept you under lock and key for so long, and just dump you when it’s inconvenient for them. Guess that’s how much you matter to them.”
Why does that hurt? It shouldn’t. I know I don’t mean anything to them. If anything, the time in the box, the threats over the closet, the way my ass still aches… All of it should have me positive they don’t give a fuck at all… and the way they’d ignored me all day so easily? That had just been another sign of how little they actually did care about me.
I’m just their rival’s daughter, fit only for ransom and fucking.
The thought takes some of the fight out of me, and I don’t even know why. Did I really expect to matter to any of them? Fucking stupid.
“Let go of me,” I demand with as much dignity as I can muster with the full weight of him on top of me when he crawls forward. “You’ll still regret it if they find out you even tried this. A finger will be nothing.”
“They won’t catch me,” he says with so much confidence I can almost believe him. “Because after you give me what you promised, I’m getting us both out of here. Your daddy wants you back, and he’s gonna pay me well for it.”
My father? My mind is in complete disarray, but that pierces through the terror. It’s an opening. “Really?” I say, trying to sound confident. “Daddy said you could fuck me? Because he wants to hand me off to Emilio Pavone. And—and guess what Pavone does to guys who touch his property.”
My skin crawls to even call myself Pavone’s property, but if it’s the only way out, I’ll take it. It does make Freddie stop, his hands on my thighs where he’d been trying to spread them open.
“…Well, Pavone never needs to find out, does he? He’ll assume it was Victor who touched you.”
