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I cling to the letter tighter, pretending my arms are wrapped around her. This was one of our last correspondences. The last thing she was allowed to send me a month ago. I read and reread her words on a daily basis, trying to convince myself that she means it. That she’s okay and not suffering alone in some cold dungeon like I was. That she’s healing and getting better. I thumb over the pictures my monster has handed me over the past three years. Photos of my sister, sitting in a hospital bed with a smile on her plump face, gaining her color back. She’s been sick for so long, but my mother was never able to save up to get her the proper care. Until now. Until I fucked up and put all our lives in danger. One quick trade is all it took to make our lives hell.
With a sigh, I put everything back into my false bottom and secure it tight. My mother will do anything to get her hands on more money to fuel her habit. So hiding anything of value is always on the top of my to-do list. Not that I have anything super nice, but still, this money is my savings. My way of investing in my future and hopefully breaking free of this place with my sister. And since my billionaire father is no help, this is all I have to my name.
Peeling myself off the ground, I limp toward the bathroom down the hall, cringing with every step I take. I guess this is why people shouldn't lose their virginity to three men. Was it worth it, though? You betcha. But every inch of me aches like someone punched their way down my body.
No matter what happens or what my future holds, for one night I was free from the confines of my prison—the rules, the lessons, and everything in between doesn’t fucking matter right now. I got out. For just a split second, I reached through the bars and found myself again, under the grips of three masked men.
I relax into a hot shower, groaning when the water flows over my tired limbs. As my hands work down my body, I stiffen when pain takes over my tit, and I look down. Jesus. Mary. And Joseph. My eyes widen at the multitude of bite marks lining my chest and hickies on my goddamn thighs. Holy hell. What did I get myself into last night? A lot, apparently. Those three masked men marked me for the world to see.
I'm as equally turned on as I am terrified.
Even though it's May and warm outside, I’m refusing to wear anything revealing like shorts or a T-shirt until these bruises heal. There’s no way I could explain this to my monster without saying—yeah, I had sex—without getting punished for breaking a rule. He’d throw me in his basement dungeon again, lock me up, and throw away the key for defying him. He’d starve me, beat me, and do whatever he wanted if he ever found out. He’s done it before.
Shit.
What a ridiculous rule. It's something he can't dictate, anyhow. How could he know? He wouldn't. Unless someone was spying on me from afar and telling my monster everything.
Sometimes, I wonder what his motive is for keeping my virtue intact. Like why dictate who I can and can't sleep with or touch? Is it a power trip, keeping me on a short leash? Whatever. I've lived by that rule for so long, it almost feels foreign to think those strangers popped my cherry. Three times over.
After washing the stink of last night off, I rest my head against the cracked shower wall, letting myself truly absorb what I did. I defied my monster’s orders and did something for myself. If only he had let me talk to my sister. If only he’d let me see her goddamn face. But he doesn’t. He knows what he’s doing by dangling her health above my head and expecting me to jump when he says so. With one call, he could end her life. And then mine. Fuck him.
My stomach twists, knotting together. Usually, anxiety would have me in its grasp right now, fearing for the inevitable of him finding out and locking me away in his basement.
But not today.
There's nothing wrong with what I did. In my eyes, at least. I swore on my knees three years ago that I’d follow his rules. I bear the mark he carved between my breasts, near my sternum, promising my cooperation. If only I had a choice. Nothing about this was my decision, but last night… I took back control for the first time since he stole my sister away and forced me under his wing, blackmailing me into doing his dirty work.
I did the job he sent me there for. So, why does anxiety continue to bubble in my stomach until it aches?
Finally, I turn off the hot shower as the cool water takes over. I’ve successfully stayed under the warmth for fifteen minutes, and now, it’s time to face the day. Every Sunday I have a list of things to get done: laundry, grocery shopping, and anything for the trailer. Besides, my mother will need some sort of lunch soon to fill her belly and make her feel a little better before she inserts another needle into her arm and falls into a blissful high. I’m her main caregiver, after all. I feed her, make sure she hasn’t choked on her puke, and throw her in the shower if she does. Anyone else that comes to this trailer either fucks her into oblivion so she can get high or sells her what she wants—drugs. It’s just another day in paradise.
After I’m dried off and dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, I head back to my room to grab my purse and laundry basket. It’s the only day of the week I have to myself. Monday through Friday, I’m stuck at school, gaining my education during the day. Friday and Saturday nights, I’m usually busy working for my monster—like yesterday. I went to school and then prepared myself for the party, which leaves today free and clear. Something I only usually get on Sundays. But I’ll take it.
"Seems you had a late night."
I freeze by my bedroom door, fear sinking its ugly claws deep into me. My eyes widen at the figure hovering by my bed. Tall. Dark. Deviously handsome and deceptive in his three-piece suit, not looking a day over forty. His mere presence has my hairs standing on end and my fight or flight kicking in. I want to run and hide, but I know it’ll do me no good. He’ll track me down in a matter of hours and make me wish I was never born.
He never shows up here. Not in my room. We have a code and a special meeting place down by the docks in a ruined building. He sends me a discreet text with the numbers 4-2-1, and I do the opposite 1-2-4, indicating I need to speak to him.
It’s how we’ve always worked for the past three years.
If he’s here, risking it all to be in my bedroom, then I fucked up, and he knows everything about what I did.
“Right here, Little Snake," my monster sneers, thrusting the knife into my hands. "You see here?"
I shakily nod, my chest caving in when he points to the space between the poor man's ribs. The very man tied to a chair in front of me, begging for his life. My fingers shake when my monster thrusts my arm forward, forcing the blade to penetrate through the buttery skin of the man, wailing for me to stop.
"Please. Please! I'll tell you anything you want to hear!" he shouts through the gag, drooling and nearly throwing up when my monster forces the blade to stay put.
I'm going to puke. This can't be my life right now. This man on the chair… he didn't even do anything to me.
"Keep it still," my monster hisses in my ear before straightening. Despite his warning, I shake like a leaf. Nausea blooms in my stomach, forcing its way up my throat until I'm puking on the ground. Spit hangs from my mouth as I hunch over, knowing what's coming next. "Out of your system, Little Snake? Can we continue to gather information from this fucking pissant?"
I swallow more vomit and nod, hoping when I stand, I look more confident than I feel. I have to. I can't die in this dingy basement with this man.
"Oh, good," he says way too calmly for my liking before straightening his suit and moving forward. "Hands here. Now, yank it out." With his help, I yank the knife out from between the man's ribs, cringing the entire time.
I don't want to be here. Why am I forced to do this shit?
