I look at it, at his little dick barely visible under his grotesque belly, how it practically disappears in the palm of his hand. I grin, blink, and shift my gaze back up to his.
“Is that all?” I ask. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it. “I’m not sure I’ll even feel that.”
His hand stops moving. He releases his dick to grab a fistful of my hair and tug my head back painfully. “I’ll pay extra to cut out your tongue once your mouth is used up.”
“Be careful. Your dick is going flaccid.”
He pushes my face into the pillow, smothering me. I fight as oxygen is cut off. I feel him climb onto the bed, feel the rough fabric of his pants brush the insides of my legs.
Just when I think I’ll pass out, he releases my head and I gasp for breath. His hands are on my ass spreading me open.
“No!”
“Pretty little pussy you have here. Prettier than your mouth.”
“Please!” I beg. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. I know it will mean nothing to them. No, not nothing. It’ll probably turn these men on. “Get the fuck off me, you asshole!” I shout instead, struggling against my bonds, trying to get away from him even though it’s impossible.
I fight hard. I scream. I can’t just take it. I won’t.
When did I start to sob, though?
He tugs at my bonds, does something to stretch my legs so tight I can barely move an inch. I try again, though. Try to kick, to move. Anything.
“Better,” he says.
A finger brushes my opening and I freeze.
“Please,” my voice trembles.
He leans over me. “Not so tough now, are you?” he asks, breath hot and dank against my cheek.
I close my eyes and feel myself wilt. Because it’s done. Finished. I drop my head.
“I didn’t think so.”
The door opens. Is it the next man early to take his turn?
But then I hear a grunt and feel the monster at my back. I can’t think about anything else but the violation. I feel him against me, the bulk of him pressing heavy on my back, crushing me. I feel him, warm, wet, slimy, and slippery. All I can do is sob. All my strength, my fight has leaked out of me and all that’s left are my sobs.
I hear a thud then. I look over to see what made that sound. It’s the man. He’s on the floor. It takes me a moment to register that he’s gone from my back. To register that I can breathe again.
But other hands touch me then. The blanket tugged out from under me, tossed over me.
I scream as this next man takes his place.
I scream at the new assault to come.
“Fury.” The word is spoken so quietly I’m not sure if it’s real or just my mind playing tricks.
A hand cups the back of my head. I still. I can’t move. Can’t turn my head. Can’t open my eyes.
Fury.
No, not Fury. Just a pathetic little kitten.
“Scarlett.”
I stop breathing, more tears pouring.
It’s Cristiano’s voice.
But he’s dead. Am I dead?
No. There’s too much pain for that. The pain inside my heart the worst of it. Dead doesn’t hurt, does it? It’s an ending to pain, isn’t it?
“Scarlett,” he says louder.
I open my eyes but keep my gaze on the bed. I smell laundry detergent and that distinct metallic scent of blood. But there’s something else. Something familiar.
“I need you to be my Fury now,” he says, and I turn my head to look at him from the corner of my eye. Then tears come again. So many tears.
“You’re dead,” I manage, the words sticking in my throat.
He smiles, leans down to brush the hair from my face, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
“I’m not so easy to kill.”
The lights blink on then and I realize the only light in the room was from the candles set along the perimeter.
“We need to move,” someone says.
I turn to see Dante who makes a point of averting his gaze when the blanket slips away.
Cristiano gets up, pulls his shirt over his head and covers me with it.
“Keys?” he asks his brother.
Dante is going through the pockets of a jacket he’s got in his hand. “Try these.” He tosses them to Cristiano.
The third one on the ring works. Cristiano unlocks my ankles first, then my wrists. I sit up, looking at him. He adjusts the shirt he just tossed over me, pulling it over my head.
“I thought you were dead,” I say as I wrap my arms around him, clinging to him. “I thought—” my voice catches. He holds me tight, hugging me into his chest, one strong arm around me the other around the back of my head. He lets me cry just for a minute. Just for the briefest moment.