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FORTY-ONE
ASHTYN
Iwake up, a groan escaping my lips as I roll over and bury my face into the soft cool pillow. I’m so tired. It’s the pills. They linger in my system, making my head foggy and body sluggish.
What the fuck had Jessie given me? I hallucinated last night. Or dreamed it. Either way, it felt so real. Saint was there, hovering over my restrained body. His hand over my mouth and nose while he fucked me in the most delicious way.
My hands instinctively go to my lips, and I wipe the drool off. Looking up from the pillow, I catch sight of two leather cuffs on the bed, and my pulse begins to race. Sitting up, I pull my knees up and under me as I face the headboard. I shove the multiple pillows to the floor. I pick up the chains that connect to the leather restraints and yank on them, but there’s no give. I lean over, feeling down between the bed and headboard, and find the chains connected to the bedframe.
It was real.Of course, it was. I should have known. The pills I swallowed wouldn’t have made me sore between my legs. Only Saint has that effect on my body.
He left them here. Saint wanted me to see them. A reminder that it wasn’t a dream. That I’m in his hell and that he has control of me. I used to love that, and he knows it. We tried it one weekend when my mom was out of town, and I was obsessed. I loved the feeling of waking up and knowing he had used me. I submitted to him in any way that I could. It was even better when I woke up with my ass red from his hand and my body sore from how rough he’d gotten.
I fall onto the bed, my head now by the footboard, and I realize something is between my legs. Propping myself up on my elbows, I look, and it’s a white-crusted substance—cum—all over my pelvic bone and inner thighs.
“Fuck him...” My hands go to my face and push the wild hair back. I blink rapidly, my eyes sensitive to the harsh light that filters in through the double doors that lead out to the balcony. I never closed them last night after I had dinner.
“Fuck.” What time is it? I have no cell phone. Shocker. Only a clock in my room hangs on the wall. It’s large and loud as it slowly ticks by the seconds. Time doesn’t matter when you’re a prisoner. At least I get conjugal visits.Silver lining.
* * *
I tookmy time getting ready, mainly because I didn’t have the strength to move any faster. The bathroom was fully stocked with all of my things. I highly doubt they packed up my stuff and had everything moved. I’m sure they’ve been watching me for weeks, months even, and they’ve been in my house. They just bought all new and had everything prepared for my arrival. None of it had been used before. That sounds better than the voice in the back of my head that was shoutingSaint knows you. What you like and choose to use.
I won’t lie; I am pretty predictable. The only thing that changed in my life was him no longer being in it and the hole in my chest that was left behind from losing everything.
Once finished in the bathroom, I walk back into the bedroom to find a robe on the end of my now made bed. Someone was in here while I was in the shower. I’m not surprised. You’re never alone here at Carnage. Someone is always watching. I know that from experience. I bet there are cameras all over this room and the bathroom. Hell, they probably have them in the closet.
They’re probably watching me right now.
I can’t help but notice the leather cuffs are gone. They were connected to the bed, so I’m sure they just shoved them back down between the headboard and the wall.
I walk over to the robe, and my tongue feels heavy. This is what they want me to wear? Again, no surprise. Saint wasn’t wrong. Carnage is hell, a place where people come to die. They don’t allow privacy in a place like that, and I hate how excited I am at the thought of him wanting to chain me up and make me his.
I’ve been dead for years. So no one will be looking for me here. Or anywhere. Other than the dancers at Glass. But let’s face it, the two years I’ve worked there, girls have come and gone quicker than the weather can change.
No one will ever think of me again. I have no cell, no dignity. Just my body and the three numbers branded on my skin to remind me that I’m a slave to the Spade brothers until the day I die. Saint will own me.
Wrapping the thick black robe around me, I tighten the sash high on my waist as if it can save me from them. I open the bedroom door to find a man standing outside it. They’ve given me a guard. Afraid I’ll try to escape again. I could never get as lucky as I was last time. I had help then, and my freedom was short-lived. I won’t try again, mainly because I won’t kill them. I may hate them now, but they were once all I had. I was a coward, and I’m no longer that person.
The man grabs my robe, yanking on it to pull me forward. Once I pass him, he hits my back, shoving me once again, and I stumble but manage to stay standing. “Quit touching me,” I turn and yell at him.
He slaps me across the face. I’ve been hit harder before, but it knocks me into the wall, and I fall to my knees in the hallway. The lingering drugs make me sluggish and weaker than I’d normally be. I catch sight of a Lords ring on his right finger, and I reach up to touch my cheek to make sure it didn’t cut me.
“Fuck you, bitch.” He laughs. “No one here gives a shit about you. You’re here to be nothing more than a fuck-toy for the brothers. And believe me when I say anyone is allowed to have their piece.”
A part of me doesn’t want to believe him. Saint sharing me with Kashton and Haidyn? Now that I believe, but just anyone…? I refuse to think that’s a possibility. But I also know that I no longer mean to him what I once did. I can’t blame him. He loved me, and I shot him, then left him for dead.
I swallow the knot in my throat and get to my knees, my vision a little blurry from his hand to my cheek. I get to my wobbly legs, and he grips my hair, yanking me forward, and I cry out at the sting of my head and the jerk of my neck.
A door to my left opens, and I’m yanked back off my feet and shoved to the floor once again. “Fuck…” I groan, sitting up.
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” a voice snaps.
“I was told to deliver her to your office,” the man assigned to be my babysitter answers in a rush.
I look up, rubbing the back of my neck just in time to see Haidyn grab the guy’s hand in one of his and squeezes it. The man falls to his knees, and I hear bones snap like twigs. “Deliver her, not beat her,” he growls.
My breathing accelerates as a set of blue eyes meets mine. Haidyn Jamison Reeves is by far the biggest of the three Spade brothers. He stands six-foot-seven and is built like a fucking house. He’s always had anger issues and chose to take them out on other men. He used to spend all of his time in the gym.
