A splash of liquid filled my mouth, and his eyes stared deep into mine as his hand moved down my neck, coercing me to swallow. It was strangely erotic. Warmth spread slowly from his touch, like the sun melting ice crystals.
I stretched up toward him, trying to get more of the warmth, but he pulled back.
Those silver eyes swirled with fire.
“How’s she look?” Marco asked from the doorway, a plate in his hand.
The fire quickly died, and Domenico took the plate. “She’ll be fine. Get her a bath.”
Marco nodded and stepped away, leaving us alone again, but the heat from Domenico had faded away, replaced by the cold.
“Eat and drink. Now.”
I nodded and brushed away a tear when he slammed the metal bars closed again and turned the lock.
I needed to find a way out.
I needed out.
I need out!
In all my life, I never envisioned I would ever be in the predicament that I found myself in—taking a sponge bath, in an open cell, in an open room, in front of ten men, half of whom were watching.
Still, it felt good to get the blood and grime off me. However, a bucket of warm water wasn’t enough, especially when returning to the same clothes I’d been wearing for days. The warmth leached away, the cold air cooling the water quickly. A shiver moved through me, and I pulled my clothes back on, trying not to give them a show. The days of showing off my body were over the moment they cornered me on that bridge.
My eyes locked onto the splatter of blood dried into a deep red and clashing against the yellow of my sweater.
A lackey, some young, thin guy about my age, opened the door to my cage to retrieve the bucket. I blinked, saw nobody in my periphery, and shot up.
I bolted, knocking the guy over and sprinting toward the door. My muscles hadn’t been used much for days, causing them to seize, but I pushed through, my goal in sight.
It was a spontaneous, desperate maneuver, and it was working.
Feet from fresh air, a hard body collided with mine. Strong arms wrapped around me, a hand holding on to the back of my head as we tumbled to the ground in a heap.
By the time we stopped rolling, I was flat on my back, the strong scent of spice invading my senses. The warmth of another person soothed me, if only for a moment, and I reveled in the heat.
For a fraction of a second I felt safe—then the rush of cold fear flooded through my system. The tail end of a scar caught my eye, and the warmth left. I was caged in the arms of the monster, the leader of death’s disciples. A minute tilt of his head and our eyes met. For a brief heartbeat something sparked inside me. His gaze moved to my lips before a flash of anger enveloped his features.
He mashed his teeth together as he pushed off the ground, and his grip hard on my arm as he tugged me up from the floor. His hand wrapped tightly around my neck as he pulled me close, his lips curled up into a snarl, his glare scaring even Death himself.
“Do you not remember the rules, princess?” he sneered.
My nails dug into his arm before swinging up and swiping at his face. A growl erupted from deep in his chest, unfazed by the light trails of blood slowly seeping from the fresh slices on his cheek.
“No food it is.” He pushed me away and into the waiting arms of multiple men. “Put her back.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Marco grumbled before throwing me in the cage, down to the floor and the dirty surroundings.
“N-no!” I cried out as I scrambled for the door before it latched. Cold eyes glared at me, his chest heaving. He was angry, furious, and I crumbled inside. My chest heaved as a sob rose with the clang of metal on metal. For days I’d kept the fear, the despair, down to a vibration below the surface, but the dam was broken.
“If this continues I can introduce you to my Russian friends, the Volkovs,” Domenico growled. “Their favorite thing is breaking a woman until she’s nothing but a cock sleeve.”
The smallest taste of freedom on my tongue, but I wasn’t fast enough or strong enough to get away. The lack of food kept me from having much energy, and the cell left little room to move.
I fell down on the bed, my tears dripping onto the gross mattress as I curled in on myself.
Everything about my situation was wrong. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I shouldn’t have been there, but I was.
Trapped in a nightmare with a devil king.
I couldn’t shake the fear after my near escape. The floodgates opened up, and I couldn’t seem to contain the bone-deep uncertainty that infested every thought.
I could still feel the warmth of his arms around me, the buzzing in my veins at his touch. And that was more frightening than my situation. Maybe I was touch deprived—that could be the only explanation why his tackle had felt like so much more.
One thing became clear—I had to keep my strength up. I was losing muscle mass every day, from both the lack of calories and the lack of movement. Perhaps that was their strategy—keep the girls weak so they couldn’t fight back.
But I wasn’t most girls, and I refused to let the fear and desolation take me.
It didn’t mean I wasn’t frightened, because I was, but I wasn’t going to let that infest every part of me. I still had a card I could play if it came to it, but I prayed I wouldn’t have to. Which fate was worse was still up for debate.
I grabbed hold of the bars that made up the ceiling of my cage and pulled my knees up, letting my body hang for a second, stretching out stiff muscles. Once my shoulders released the tension they were holding, I pulled my knees up to my chest, then with my arms hoisted my body up to the bars.
Slowly I released back down, then repeated nine more times. Then I moved to squats and sidekicks. Yoga stretches and poses—anything to help keep my body limber.
They were all exercises I was familiar with, as I did them nearly every day. They were how I kept fit for the pole—and for the need to run, if it arose.
Every movement was a spectacle for my unwanted audience, but I shut them out and focused on my breathing. It wasn’t for them—it was for me.
It was all I had to keep me busy, but I often couldn’t get through very much before fatigue settled in.
“Why am I here?” I asked, knowing I would receive no answer. It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t likely to be the last.
Men came and went through the space, some sitting at a nearby table playing cards while talking trash. A quick flick of their gaze, a lingering flash of hungry eyes, and more than one man came by the cage to leer at me while grabbing his crotch. There were conspiratorial glances and wayward conversations in hushed tones.
Even with all the movement around me, all the people, I was just a spectacle. I suddenly understood how animals at the zoo felt.
Every breath I took, every movement I made, someone was watching. I avoided going to the bathroom as much as possible because it drew in the truly depraved.
And that brought the panther out from his perch.
That was what Domenico reminded me of. Lithe, strong, and watchful, ready to strike—and strike he did.
The sound of water splashing hit me before the strong smell of urine invaded my nose. A menacing laugh sounded from a slug of a man who took pleasure in my discomfort. He had his dick out and was pissing on the floor next to my bed. He was young, maybe my age or a few years younger, with unkempt dark hair, crooked teeth, and dark eyes.