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“Staaay.Pleeeease.”
“I’ll be back,” I confirm, cradling her face. She looks into my eyes and must see the resolve there because she nods, falling silent but for the sound of her tears hitting the bed. “I’ll buy you. I’ll do what I can with the police. But you have to have the heart of a lion right now, Ava. Be brave. Be strong. Be fearless. Play along, or it’ll all be for nothing. I might get killed, you might get killed. My sister might get killed. I’ll come back for you and take you away from here and keep you safe, Ava, mark my fucking words.”
God, I can’t do this again. I can’t endure the fruitless searching only to find someone else in Sabine’s stead, someone who shouldn’t be here either, but free and loved. I thought I could walk in here and play the role, but inside I'm crumbling. Walking away without Ava feels unholy and inhumane. And yet I know I must. If I offered Luca money to spare her until the sale, he wouldn’t give a shit. He’d take my money and make her suffer all the same.
“Until then, look like I’ve hurt you. Act like I’ve hurt you. Don’t mention this night, or remember this night. And learn what you can for me, Ava.”
Leaning forwards she presses her lips against mine. A burning ache blisters down my spine and into my groin. Fuck, I want her so badly and this isn’t helping.
“I promise,” she whispers. “I’ll forget everything, but don’t forget about me.”
“Never,” I assure her.
One taste of her was not enough so I lean in and kiss those heavenly lips, stroking my tongue into her mouth and taking everything I can get. And it’s so wrong to enjoy it, to continue to ravish her mouth with her abductor metres away, but fuck if I care right now. A groan rumbles inside my throat, my cock leaking in desperation. Stopping the kiss is near-on impossible, but I manage. Just. Ijustmanage to stop it from going in a direction that would be wrong.
Breathing hard, I tear my mouth away and remove my hand that was gripping her hip. The hand that wanted to delve in between her legs and seek her wet heat before I slotted my cock home.
“Fuck, I’ve got a raging erection.”
She blinks several times, not reacting. “Sorry,” I whisper, wrangling my depraved thoughts. “You’re very beautiful.”
It’s too nice a kiss or compliment to end on, to walk away from. She needs to be snivelling, a mess on the bed, ruined and hurt and empty.
“Make a bruise on your hips or thighs,” I demand quietly. “Slap your face.”
I don’t need to tell her to cry. Knowing I’m about to leave has sobs racking her frame. I unhook my limbs from around her body, knowing the insidious cold and fear will replace all the warmth I was able to pass on.
In a harsh voice, I order, “Get dressed.”
I throw back a small whisky, forcing myself to turn and leave. To bang on that door and not look back. Because if I look back, so help me God, I’ll never walk away.
Footsteps sound on the other side of the door. The lock twists. And without a backwards glance, I leave.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
AVA
Then
When I come round,I’m shivering. Or maybe the pervasive cold has chased out the drugs from my system, stealing me back to consciousness where I exist in a state of hell. Either way, I don’t care; being numb to any kind of thought process, being compliant is easiest. It’s the only way I can get through anothertime.
Johns,Lenka called them. But that’s what I thought prostitutes called their clients, and there is nothing consensual about what takes place in the desolate rooms I’m held in.
I prefer Pig; Fucktard; Micro-dick; Hell-man.
The insults fed my soul for about an hour before I realised it was a wasted exercise. My silent name-calling was insignificant against the strength of multiple men who took and took and took. Who passed me on, watching me getting assaulted by another, then another Hell-man.
In the end, they took everything, including my crappy attempt at defiant humour.
My body feels empty, like a barren wasteland, and yet I remember a time when I felt so viscerally hurt and angry. But I soon found out that any anger I harboured for my abusers was easily erased. It was batted away by fists and palms. It was driven out by needles. The rage in my muscles was subdued by heavy-set men who got a kick out of my fight. My struggles. Of taking me against my will.
The drugs soften my outrage, an emotion that serves me no purpose in this place I exist in, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to help me. For someone to take away the dread I feel at every single noise and sound.
At every male voice that approaches.
My tormentors.
And so the cycle begins as, beyond the door, Luca’s voice is discernible. He talks to someone with a deep, unrecognisable voice and it has fear running through me.
