Rosalind
My eye is swelling, and every breath is pain. I thought my father was going to kill me when he punched me again and I went down. He raised his foot and changed his mind.
For now.
He laughs and leans on the desk. I don’t know if we’re in the same place or a different one. It’s a different room, and I was blacked out for…I don’t know how long. When I came to, my vision shifted and blurred, like I was on an out of focus ocean. I think… I think he drugged me again because it’s that feeling in me, the disorientation after the drug wears off. Of course, he’s also been using me as his own personal punching bag, so who knows.
You better get it together Roz.
This is a big room with sofas and books. The desk is, I think, one of those old-fashioned ones for writing letters. It’s like woman had a hand in decorating this place. There’s also something faintly familiar, but that could be concussion. He hit my head against that other desk really hard, and my head pounds.
Concussion and the drugs.
“Please, no?” he says mimicking me. “You don’t want to see your dear husband? He’s waiting and he doesn’t mind a mess of a slut. That saves him some trouble. I’ll call it a belated wedding gift. He’ll probably add to it, but what can you do, Thorne? I’m sure when he’s fucking you and fucking you up, you’ll like it.”
I glare up at him. In one hand, he has a gun, in the other, a neat pile of clothes.
“You let that fuck Wilder dress you like the cunt you are, I see.”
“Stop it.”
He just laughs. “I don’t think so. This is a nice good bye for now, don’t you think?”
I swallow, and my mouth and jaw hurt. His words sink in. Goodbye? Oh, God, he’s really handing me over to this Vitale and I don’t know what’s worse: the fact I’m with him, or that he’s not taking me to the compound.
Unless… What if this is it?
The bracelet’s still on, and a wild, insane hope swoops through me that we’re at his compound and Nikolai is on his way. If that’s the case, I need to stall.
“Don’t make me do this.”
He tosses the clothes at me. “Get changed bitch. Your husband will be here soon enough, and I’ll get paid. I’m going to kill him, too, take what is his. It’ll go to you and your firstborn, but I’m thinking to just take him and his family and bastard son out now. If you’re still useable, I’ll sell you again, breed you with someone else. Then, when you’re done with that, I have plans for you. Or, my men do. They’ll play with you between husbands.”
He kicks me, hard. I cough and roll, trying to form a ball. He just laughs. “Right now, my men are all throughout this house, waiting because your cunt of a lover wants you, too. What is it with that little pussy of yours? Got a bit of the Steph magic? Or is it just you’re such a whore you’ll let him do anything?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and stay still. “He…he…won’t come.”
He kicks me again. “Shut up, bitch. Maybe not. He doesn’t care. Soon, I’m off to my stronghold and he won’t matter. From there, I’ll make sure he’s dead, or your husband will.” My heart plummets, and he cackles laughter. “You want to know why I messed you up? Made it look bad? Gonna tell fucking Vitale that Wilder did it. Maybe kill two birds. He’ll go for him, kill Wilder. Save me the trouble.”
“Are you scared?” I push the words out and he kicks me again. “Too scared to face Nikolai yourself?”
“No, bitch, just busy. You’re going to enjoy all the men, aren’t you, whore? That why you came to me? His little dick not good enough?”
I clench my fingers around the white clothes, unfolding myself and pushing up, staggering to stand. When I do, I look at him, at the clothes, and shudder, tossing them down.
He glares at me with violent hate. When I’m standing and not swaying, I force myself to look him in the eye. “You sell me and let that man rape me? His friends? Then what? You’ll take me back? Give me to your men, let them use me?”
“You’re not worth more than that,” he sneers. “You became worthless the moment you let Wilder fucking get his filthy hands on you.”
“I’m your daughter.”
He laughs. “Yes, you look too much like me to suspect you’re the spawn of one of your cunt of a mother’s affairs. Bitch couldn’t keep that pussy to herself. Should have sold that, too.”
Something snaps and I launch at him, trying to hit him, scratch him, and when I touch flesh, I dig in as hard as I can.
“Get the fuck off me, you cunt.” He pulls me away and throws me back.
I hit a heavy chair that scrapes back, skittering on the floor. Dull pain from where I land ricochets through me. I try and stand, but I can’t, and his shadow looms over me. I thought I was scared before, but it’s nothing compared to what the pure murder in his face sets off.
“I should kill you.” He backhands me hard. “I should cut you into pieces and send them to Wilder, like I did with his precious aunt, before I killed his uncle. The man was an idiot, but Wilder-he’s an idiot, too. Fucking tenacious and hard to kill. He knows how to get power, enough that I couldn’t go in and kill him when I got my chance, but he’s going to die.”
He crouches down as grabs my hair with one hand, shoving the cold barrel of the gun against my cheek. “I’d cut you up, if I thought he’d care. He won’t. I’ve plans for him, for his empire. And you? Worthless.”
I try and breathe, but each breath is a struggle. They come in grating, uneven gasps, like heaves, like I’ve an open wound in my chest. It pleases him. My fear. My pain. The sounds I make. That pleasure gleams in his eyes, shows in the slight smile on his face. I need to keep him talking. I’m not surviving this if Nikolai doesn’t come.
He won’t, I realize. He’s not coming because this isn’t the compound. Didn’t my father just say something like that? If so, then I need to try and get him to take me there. I can barely think straight through the pain, the pounding in my head, the fear.
I have to try.
“Be a good girl, Thorne, or I’ll fucking shoot you and find a way to do this without you.”
His words are iced water in my face. “I-I’ll be good. Daddy.”
I hate that word, hate it so much. I cling to it because this perverse monster likes it. I think he gets off on the power it gives him. I don’t know or care. It’s a tool in my pitiful arsenal and I’ll use every one I have.
“Please, Daddy. I’m sorry.”
He releases my hair and stands, but the gun stays trained on me. “You make me so mad, Thorne, like the cunt who birthed you. If I’d brought you up…”