What even was last night and how the hell am I still breathing? I thought for sure that Roman was going to end me. I was about to become a chew toy for one of his big-ass dogs, or one of his fucked-up brothers. So why the fuck am I still here now? This doesn’t make sense. All I know is that coming face to face with Roman like that was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.
Disappointment floods me, and for just a brief second, I wish that he had killed me. I just want this over with. I can handle being held in this twisted little torture chamber and the weird as fuck dinner parties, but their games are where I draw the line. They’re fucked in the head and I’m simply not strong enough to go on like this. I’ve never felt this level of torment and fear pulsing through my veins before last night’s games. But something tells me that they’re only just getting started.
I’m not going to make it through this.
My bed creaks as I roll to face the dirty wall, desperate to block out the blinding sunshine. If I were smart, I’d be soaking up every moment of the light because once the darkness comes around again, I’m sure the brothers will be coming right along with it.
“Don’t,” comes the devilish growl of Marcus’ low tone through my cell, “turn away from me.”
A loud, fearful gasp tears through me and I scramble back on my bed, forcing myself closer to the wall as I flip over to find Marcus hovering in the furthest corner of my cell, shadows covering his face. He leans against the wall, his hands buried deep in his pocket with his foot propped up like he’s more than prepared to spend hours in this very spot.
My eyes widen as my back stiffens with fear, watching the way he takes me in with interest. Anger pours through me as I slowly adjust my position, pulling myself into a low crouch on the bed, more than ready to lash out if I have to.
Marcus doesn’t miss a damn thing. His eyes are sharp, and though he hasn’t taken his hard stare off mine, something tells me that he can read my every thought and intention as if it were written across my face.
My heart races with dread and I quickly realize that these three brothers are never going to tire of tormenting me. They’ll never tire of sneaking into my cell, and they’ll never tire of watching me fear for my life.
I’m their play toy. I’m their bullshit entertainment and there’s no way out.
They’re never going to give up the game, especially when my reaction to their bullshit torture makes it so damn worth it for them. If only I was capable of not reacting, of being so okay with their shit that it didn’t even phase me. Then perhaps they’d get bored of trying and leave me alone. I doubt they’ll ever let me go, so my choices are to be so boring that they forget I’m even here or to be ended quickly and quietly.
This is my life now. This isn’t just a game of fucking with my head, this is a game of survival and my sanity is the prize.
Maybe my life has always been a game of survival. I struggled long before my father ransacked my home and sold me to these animals. I’m not missing out on some big adventure in my old life, and no one is mourning my sudden absence. But at least I knew how to survive in that meager life I’d carved from nothing, keeping my head down and working my ass off. But here? How does anyone know how to live in a world like this? I’m barely breathing.
Marcus pushes off the wall and strides toward me like a lion stalking its prey until his shins are pressing against the edge of my mattress. He reaches out, and before I get the chance to flinch, his thumb and forefinger are gripping my chin and forcing my eyes up to his. “Much better,” he growls, his tone like a knife straight through my chest.
The anger works its way through my body, and completely forgetting that my new plan of attack is to act bored with their bullshit, my hand flies out and slaps his wrist away from my chin. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I snap, flying to my feet on top of the mattress and putting us eye to eye.
His head tilts in that strange fucked-up little way that makes him and his brothers seem even more deranged than usual, and he watches as I peel myself off the wall and step in even closer. I narrow my eyes in rage, flooded with the painful realization that I’ve always been a fucking prisoner. First to my father, then to an isolated life hiding in my one-bedroom apartment, and now to these three men.
“You don’t get to touch me,” I growl, adopting that same darkness that seems to swim in the depths of his eyes. “You don’t get to fucking touch me. Is that clear? You’re a pig, a fucking animal.”
His eyes flare, and for a moment, I fear that I’ve pushed him too far. “On the contrary,” he tells me, that deep brassy tone bouncing off the walls. “You’re mine to do whatever the fuck I please.”
I swallow hard and press my hand against his chest before shoving and forcing him back. I drop down off the mattress and stand before him, feeling like a fucking kitten standing up against the fearless lion and trying to roar. “Like hell I am,” I tell him. “You have two fucking seconds to get your ass out of here before I bust it wide open. I’m not spreading my legs for you or your fucked-up brothers, so you better get used to the idea now because you sure as fuck won’t like the consequences if you attempt to put your hands on me again.”
Marcus’ lips twitch and his eyes narrow in irritation before his hand snaps up and curls around my throat, his big fingers practically touching at the back of my neck, yet somehow still allowing me to breathe. My whole body is jostled around as he lifts me right off the fucking ground and presses my back against the cold stone wall.
He leans into me and I suck in a breath, smelling him all around me. His eyes linger on mine before slowly dropping down my body and scanning over my subtle curves, still in his dead mother’s black silk gown.
He gets closer and closer and the little hairs on my arms stand to attention as chills sweep over me. “That’s a mighty bark for such a little pup,” he mutters just before his tongue sweeps out and curves over his full bottom lip. “Tell me, what’s your bite like?”
I fight against his deathly hold, desperate to get away, or at the very least to put just a bit of distance between us, but it’s no use. I might as well be in chains; his hold is just that strong. “Fuck you,” I snarl, clenching my jaw as anger and frustration get the best of me.
His eyes come back to mine and the interest within them has my stomach swirling with unease. “Are you done?”
His bullshit tone suggests that I’m having some kind of tantrum and I gape at him in confusion. “Am I done?” I snap back at him, bringing my hands up and latching onto his tight vice-like grip around my throat. I dig my nails in as hard as I can, trying to pull him away, and for a slight moment, I could swear that the filthiest type of pleasure rocks through him. “As long as you assholes are keeping me locked up in your fucked-up little torture chamber, I’ll never be done.”
Finally catching on, he releases his hold on me and drops his hand, but he doesn’t dare move out of my way, keeping me trapped with his large, toned body. He doesn’t say a damn word, only tilts his head in that weird way and watches me like he’s imagining just how fun it’ll be to drain the life right out of me.
I swallow over the lump in my throat and sink back closer to the wall, desperate for space between us as his wickedly intoxicating scent is starting to fuck with my head. I mean, damnnnnnn. On top of looking like a devious little treat, why does he have to smell so freaking good?