Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
He turns us to leave the cell I’ve been in, but as he squeezes me through the doorway, my stomach lurches, and my bladder releases warm liquid over his stomach and arms.
“Are you fucking pissing on me?” he shouts, dropping me on the cold concrete floor. I land with a harsh thud on my hip, which causes me to cry out in agony. I grab at the side of my body, attempting to ease the pain shooting through me, to no avail.
His hands swipe at his shirt and slacks, but they’re drenched in my urine.
“You little bitch!” His foot makes contact with my stomach with a resounding thud. My lungs lose all air. My hands fly to my abdomen in an attempt to protect myself, but I know it’s futile.
“Stop playing with the toys,” the captor’s voice comes from behind me. My vision is blurry, but I can make out the man who has just knocked the breath from my lungs.
He leans in, his face close to mine in a sneer so cold it turns my blood to ice. “I’ll make you pay, little toy. That silky hair is like the wings of a bird, and I’ll pull and tug until you have nothing left. And then, you’ll fly no more,” he grits out angrily.
Before he turns to leave, he spits on my face, saliva splattering on my cheek.
“Enough!” my captor orders him. “She’s worth more alive and looked after.”
Then I’m being tugged to my feet, dragged and thrown into a room which resembles a horror movie bathroom. Blood pools on the floor, the walls have the word help painted in the crimson liquid, and my stomach turns when I think about what happened.
“Clean yourself. Clothes will be set out for you when you’re done.”
The older man turns, leaving me in the room with no privacy as the door is no longer on its hinges.
I open the tap, cupping my hands and splashing the frigid water on my face. The toilet sitting to my right is stained with black marks, which makes my stomach roll.
I shove my panties down, hovering over the seat. Once I’m done, I wipe myself with the hard paper used for cleaning kitchen counters. The scrape of it against my sensitive flesh only makes the torture worse. My skin is normally sensitive to abrasions, and I can only imagine it’s bright red from the burn over my core.
As I head out of the bathroom, I look around, praying I find a doorway, an exit, but as I feel along the dark wall, I find nothing.
I’m a prisoner, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sighing, I give up after my third attempt at trailing my fingers over cold, smooth concrete.
Making my way back toward the room, I find a white, cotton dress on the bed, noting the mattress is no longer on the metal frame. He must’ve moved it since he decided to soak me, along with the thin mattress, in water. I pick up the dress; the feel of the fabric is soft between my fingers. It’s pretty, but far too big for me. I slip it on, thankful for the chance to cover my modesty. Not that it will help. I’m sure the men have already seen me naked while I was passed out.
I sit on the bed frame and wait. My tormentor, whom I earlier relieved myself on, arrives once more with a look that tells me not to try anything. He stalks closer, and I notice he’s dressed immaculately. The suit he’s wearing hugs every muscle of his lean frame. He’s tall, probably over six feet. There’s dips and valleys in the shirt, and I realize he must be extremely toned to look that good in a suit. My eyes drop to the front of his pants, finding a hard bulge against his zipper. It’s so close it catches my eye.
“You look pretty all cleaned up,” he smirks, causing my gaze to lift back to his.
His mouth tilts into a smile, which causes me to catch my breath. He’s handsome. Devilishly so. His square jaw is smooth. The dimples dipping on either cheek are deep, making him look far younger than I think he is. He turns to the sink in the room again, ignoring me as he fills the bucket, and I wonder if he’s going to drench me again.
“Why do you do this?” I question, suddenly anxious to see if he has any human emotions left from working down here. I don’t know where my confidence comes from, but I want to stifle it back down when he turns to regard me with a penetrating blue glare. The color of his irises is almost see-through, reminding me of sunshine streaming through a window on a bright morning. Sadness washes over me when I realize I may not see the sunshine again. There’s tension in the air, reminding me of when my father would tell me I shouldn’t do things or he’d admonish me for wanting to go out with a boy.