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I rebound and am on my feet in seconds, only to be thrust back into the cold, damp brick wall. I wrap my hands around his thick wrists when they come to my throat. For a moment, we just watch one another, chests heaving, hearts pounding, lips parting.
“Fuck,” he mutters, but it isn’t a pleasant sound. It’s filled to the brim with anguish, devastation, unwanted lust. His eyes trail from the gash in my forehead, following the blood trickling down over the bridge of my nose to form a path around my mouth. He licks his own before he leans in and forces his mouth to mine. His kiss is harsh, demanding, and he wastes no time diving into my parted lips. His tongue strokes mine fiercely, and a rush of blood flows straight into my cock. I push back to take control of the kiss, but he squeezes my throat with a growl vibrating between us. A warning to stay in my place.
I’ll let it happen this once.
In an instant, he’s at least six feet back from me, his hands flat against his newly toned stomach. Losing his girl has also made him lose some weight. I swallow harshly, trying to catch my breath. He’s distraught, his eyes unfocused. When he bends at the waist and dry heaves over the gravel, I feel slightly bad. He jerks away from me like a threatened animal and the rocks crunch under his feet when he tries to distance himself. A sickening choking noise sounds in his throat and his eyes become glassy when he drops to the ground on his ass.
“Get the fuck away from me.” His head hangs, and he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I have a girlfriend that I’m not ready to give up on yet. Fuck, I can’t do this. I need to find her.”
The regret pouring from him tears at both the good and bad parts of my soul. I’m low-key speechless and for the first time in my life, I sort of feel like a piece of shit. What the fuck just happened?
“Yeah. Alright. I’ll go.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
LENNOX
I lay on the floor,tucked away in my room of the mansion, pain radiating through nearly every part of my body. I’m raw, aching, and bleeding from places I’d rather not talk about or think about. They didn’t clean me up this time, leaving me to my own devices after having locked all the doors, including the one to my bathroom. Point made. Don’t defy them. Ever. Not unless I want to experience this again.
I’ll heal.
I tried to escape again. That was a big mistake. But I had to try. It’s been days since I saw Leon. Days since I’ve eaten. Days since I’ve seen anyone. They stripped me of all my belongings from my room, anything comfortable, and forced me to wear this incredibly uncomfortable and itchy lingerie. I have bruises beneath my breasts from the under wire. Truly one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced, but I’ve had to take my clothes off enough in the last however long—I’ve lost count—that the thought of exposing myself any other time is nearly inconceivable at this point. I’d rather deal with the pain than allow them another ounce of control over me.
I whimper when the sound of someone moving the locks outside of my door reaches me. There is nothing left in me to give. No strength. No light. No hope. I’m starved. Deprived of water. Beaten. Raped. Toyed with mentally. Depleted. Nothing. Left. To. Give.
Not even a smile when I hear the soft thrum and squeak of Leon’s wheels against the freezing tile of my bedroom. My heart tries to race a bit, but that’s all I’ve got. He’s finally come to comfort me as he always does when his men are through with me. I know that he’ll hold me in his lap, rubbing my back, kissing my forehead and temples, whispering how everything is going to be okay over and over again.
That’s if I can even get up from the floor because, in his condition, he won’t be of much help.
That’s if he’ll even want me in my state. Dirty, covered in blood and who knows what else?
Embarrassment crawls over my body. I can’t stand the thought of presenting myself in such a state. What will he think of me?
“My angel. What are you doing on the floor?” A single tear falls from the corner of my eye, and I try my best to curl into a ball to conceal myself so he doesn’t have to see me like this. But the pain is just too much and I’m too weak.
Shame on me.
But I can’t even scramble regardless of how much I crave for him to hold me close to his chest.
“Look at you. Such a mess.” I open my mouth to tell him how sorry I am that he has to see me like this, but nothing comes out. My voice just won’t work. There is a pressure in my throat. A burning pressure that has my hand wanting to grasp it to make it go away. But I can’t. Because. My. Hand. Won’t. Work. They’ve broken my wrist this time. Not that they meant to, but my bones are weak, and they’re big strong men. I tried to fight them when they restrained me and got exactly what I deserved. “Such a shame you’ve left yourself like this. I was really looking forward to tonight.”
His voice is backing away now. Humiliation coats my pitiful frame, scraping my torn and bruised skin with a searing heat. First for his words, the disgust in his tone. A second wave over the thought of him needing help because he isn’t capable of handling me in this state on his own. Someone else is going to see my shame and how I’ve failed him.
Once the door closes, a near silent sob jolts through my body, causing me to whimper once more. Silence descends on the room. That deafening kind that makes your ears ring because it’s so quiet. Or maybe that’s just the swelling that might be in my brain. My head is pounding. Then again, that might be because I haven’t eaten.
There’s a distant sound. At least it sounds distant. For all I know, it could be right outside the door. But I latch on to it, imagining the commotion is my daddy finally coming to find me, to save me from this torment. I’ve dreamt of it so many times. How it would happen?
Would I cry? Or would I hate him for taking so long?
Oh god, he can’t see me like this. I have to clean myself! A shudder flows through my body and a burst of energy comes from somewhere. It doesn’t get me very far. All I manage is to roll over on my side and turn my head so I can see the door.
The way he enters the room is vicious, bloody, brutal. Gun fire spreads around me, slamming into the walls, sinking into the furniture in a mirage of a knight in shining armor.
I don’t flinch.
I don’t scream.
I don’t beg or hold on to any of the hope that tries to sneak its way into my mind.
