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“Clothes off now, slut,” he commands. I don’t move. If he wants to rape me, then he will have to do everything himself. I won’t willingly give anything to him or do anything he says. I need to keep myself safe for as long as possible. Give Harold as much time as I can to hopefully come save me.
I stare at him defiantly. “No.”
He slaps me across my face, and the burn is like nothing I have felt before. I raise my hand to cup my cheek and try to soothe the sting, but as I do, he kicks me in the stomach, knocking me onto my back. Richard looms over me, pushing down his pants to reveal himself. His cock is already erect, but it’s nothing to write home about. Not after having Alexander’s magnificent member. This one is small, and I can’t help but let the laugh escape that is bubbling up in my throat. I roll to my side to try and ease the pain in my stomach, but the laughing soon turns to coughing due .
My head is yanked up and positioned right in front of his face. “What on earth could you possibly find funny about this situation? I’m about to fuck you good, lass, and when I’m finally finished, I’ll let my men come and enjoy what scraps of you are left.” His eyes bore into mine, leaving no doubt he is telling the truth. I just need to keep him talking. The longer he talks, the more time I buy Harold to conduct his search for me.
“Aren’t you married? Why would you hurt your wife this way by sleeping with other women?” I ask, not caring about the answer.
“We have a marriage of convenience—she is well connected, and I have the wealth and power she craves. We aren’t monogamous. Now take your dress off. I won’t ask you again.”
“Why do you hate Alexander so much?” I ask. Since he answered my last question, I figure he will answer this one too. I see no change in his facial expression—I may as well have not even spoken.
“Because he thinks he is better than the rest of us, and yet I know he isn’t. Then again, that doesn’t matter anymore now that he is dead.” His free hand starts pulling at my dress, tugging it up around my thighs. “One move and I’ll tie you up. Do you understand me?” he threatens.
I nod. “I understand.”
“For the last time, take your fucking dress off, NOW!” He yells the last word, leaving no doubt in my mind he has well and truly snapped.
I shakily get to my feet and turn my back to him. If I can take back some control of the situation, maybe I can get him to believe that I’ll be with him, without needing to rape me. “My zipper,” I tell him.
I feel his fingers on the zipper and the material becomes looser around my body. I spin back around to face him, and shrug out of my dress. I let it slide down to pool at my feet.
His eyes rake over me hungrily as he reaches out to touch the black lace lingerie embellished with crystals that I am wearing.
“You won’t be needing these either.” He reaches behind me and quickly unfastens my bra, pulling it forward down my arms and free from my hands, then drops it on the ground with my discarded dress. His hands slide over my breasts, kneading them and tugging gently at my nipples. I don’t react at all. Instead, I just stare blankly off to the side, not wanting to see him at all. My mind is with Alexander, sending my love out into the universe to wherever he is.
Without warning, a punch to my stomach has me hunching over and trying to drag in a breath. Before even a second passes, I’m being dragged again; a door opens in front of me and I’m thrown across the room. I try and suck in another breath as I blink, struggling to adjust my eyes to see the room around me, which is nearly impossible due to the darkness surrounding me.
I feel a bite of pain to my back, and I scream out and rear up, just as another bite stings my skin. A low glow comes from the ceiling, and I can make out Richard standing above me, and see what’s in his hand. A whip. He lashes out at me again, hitting me in the stomach. As I writhe on the floor, my screams getting louder with every lash of the whip, another one rains down on me, then another, and another in quick succession and I feel consciousness beginning to slip away.
Richard must sense it as he grasps me by my ear, pulling me to my feet. I lean into him, not having the strength to stand on my own. His fist delivers a blow to my stomach, then connects with my face. I lean heavily against him and he falls backward with my weight. When I land on top of him, I fumble around for one of the high heels I am still wearing. I manage to get it off and bring it up, jamming the stiletto heel against his throat. I push as hard as I can, but a blow to my head knocks me off him to the floor. Another kick to the stomach has me gasping and the last thing I see is his boot coming down on my head.
The cold concrete floor underneath me is the first thing I register as I open my eyes, followed by a small amount of light. I don’t move, instead, thinking about what has happened since I was taken by Richard Lexington III from the sex trafficking auction earlier tonight. I have been raped, beaten, and whipped like an animal. I’ve been tied to a contraption and tortured. My skin bleeds from cuts all over my body. My mind goes back to earlier, reliving what I have already experienced.
Noticing I’m awake, he comes at me again. He’s holding a switch blade in his left hand, repetitively flicking it up and then closing it with his right. As he approaches, his eyes are alight with desire and filled with the need to inflict more pain.
My hands are bound together in front of me with an incredibly coarse rope. I’ve tried to untie the knots and free myself, but it’s no use. The knot that binds me is impossible to release. My hands will only be free if he decides to untie them. My legs however have been left untied and I plan to use them to my advantage. If I can kick him in the right spot, directly on the kneecap, perhaps he’ll drop the switchblade and I can grab it and stab him with it. Then I can try to run away from here and hopefully find someone to help me.
Then again, if I get somewhere safe, I can just stay out of the sight and wait for Harold to come find me. Surely, he is tracking my bracelet by now. He has to be.
Unless, of course, he is still sitting beside my beloved Alexander. What if, by some miracle, he survived? What if the bullet didn’t actually hit anything vital and he is okay? If so, he could be lucid and awake right now. He would tell Harold to go find me and bring me home, no matter the consequences. Wouldn’t he?
It was real with him; I know it was. I couldn’t have been the only one to have felt that way. He asked me to marry him, after all. He asked me to spend the rest of our lives together, to share his world with him. He told me that we were forever. I believed him.
He may have offered me up as bait when he told Richard I was for sale, but that was all a ruse to bring Lexington and his horrific sex trafficking operation down. And together we did. Almost. The authorities swept in just as Alexander was shot and I was taken. And now I am here, being cruelly tortured by Richard. Who, as it happens, isn’t just a bastard, but also a sadistic son of a bitch.
He takes great joy in inflicting pain. I saw it in his eyes the first time I screamed in pain. He smiled, his eyes lit up, and his cock grew. That’s when I decided I wasn’t going to scream anymore.
So, now I’m not. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. It may hurt like hell every time he cuts into my flesh with his blade, or when the bite of the metal-tipped whip tears away my flesh. But I won’t make another sound.
He bends down, crouching right in front of me, lazily flicking his blade in and out. I maintain eye contact with him. I’m not going to show him any more fear. In the position that he is in, he would notice me trying to maneuver my leg to kick him, so I can’t do that yet.
Maybe if he sees that what he is doing to me isn’t achieving what he wants, he may stop, possibly give me a chance to recover slightly. Give Harold some time to come and find me, and hopefully when he does, I will still be alive and breathing.
“I’m ready to play again, lass,” he states, running the blade from my ankle up to my thigh. It scratches my skin but doesn’t draw any blood.
I don’t flinch from his touch, maintaining as much control as I can possibly manage. “What game do you want to play, Richard?” I ask, proud with how strong my voice sounds.
