Abuse. Rape. Things that no human being should ever have to suffer through-especially in the name of jealousy or pettiness.
“You sabotaged me, Sydney,” I call out, causing her to stop in her tracks. “I won’t forget that.”
Keeping her back turned, she swivels her head to the side, and her hand drifts up and down the doorjamb airily, as if she’s toying with the thought as her fingers are with the wood.
Finally, she glances over her shoulder at me, a grin on her thin lips.
“You’re going to be a lot of fun, diamond.” She winks at me and then leaves, sashaying down the hall before she disappears into a room at the end.
I glare at her the entire way, and I know damn well she can feel the heat of it burning into her back.
The cunt is probably getting off on it, and the vindictive side of me will be happy to fuck her in the worst of ways any chance I can get.
Raucous laughter booms from downstairs, nearly vibrating the floor beneath my knees. Francesca and Rocco are the only two who actually live here, but he likes to invite his rapist friends over every day to shoot copious amounts of drugs in their veins and have their way with the girls when permitted.
Though, I suppose Rio and Rick have been practically living here now that they can’t be seen in public. I’ve been praying Rick makes it easy on me and leaves the house anyway, but the bozo is too fucking lazy and high off his rocker now that he has an endless stream of drugs coming in. He’s got the money to get his junk hand-delivered.
Regardless, they’re all fucking obnoxious, incapable of keeping their mouths shut and not making disgusting remarks anytime we’re in their vicinity.
Damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck that tight ass.
Do you see the way it bounces? Imagine how it would look railing her from behind.
Jesus, her tits are to fucking die for. I can’t wait to fuck them.
Each word twists my stomach further and further, wringing my insides like a wet rag until it’s coiled into a knotted rope. Sydney’s words are the only thing keeping my teeth glued together.
Francesca has high hopes for me, and I need to do everything in my power to stay in that light, even if it means cracking my molars from the force of keeping my mouth shut.
Sleep still clings to my eyes while Francesca paces before us. Yesterday was the Culling practice, and I spent the entire night waiting for our punishment, but it never came. So, when she barged in my room at the ass crack of dawn, I hadn’t even closed my eyes yet.
“Etiquette is important,” Francesca begins, walking back and forth down the line, her five-inch heels matching the pounding of my heart.
She’s always ready to walk down a runway, and I wonder if she puts so much effort into making the outside look pretty because her insides are a cemetery of bones and decay. She should’ve looked into becoming a mortician with the way she’s so good at dressing up a corpse.
She stops before me, and I keep my eyes casted down at her feet. The tip of her shoe is scuffed a little. Wonder how much that bothers her.
“Look at me.”
My eyes instantly find hers, with no hesitation.
“Kiss my foot,” she orders, tipping out her shoe with the mark. Part of me wonders if she could hear my thoughts and is punishing me for it. Nevertheless, I decide it’s probably the She-Devil above. Now She just loves to punish me.
My immediate reaction is pure fire. My mouth works to gather saliva, ready to spit on her shoe instead, but I manage to refrain. Barely.
Hesitation races down my spine, and it takes physical force to bend my spine forward and do as she says, placing my lips gently on her dirty shoe.
“Now lick it.”
My lips twitch, threatening to curl into a snarl, but I do as she says and quickly lick it, dirt and lord knows what else gathering on my tongue.
I imagine it tastes exactly how her soul looks.
I squeeze my eyes shut, working to regain control over the screaming in my head, before I rise up again, keeping my eyes downcast. If I look at her, she’ll see death in my eyes.
As if sensing this, she bends at the waist and curls her finger beneath my chin, the cold metal of her ring seeping into my skin as she lifts my head.
“I know it hurts but hesitate again and your teeth will be kissing the floor instead.”
Swallowing down vomit, I nod my head and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
She smiles prettily and straightens, satisfied.
“Each second you hesitate is another reason to punish you. Your master will expect obedience. Mindless little zombies, you will be.”
Sydney giggles, raises her arms, and moans like an actual zombie. My eyes widen, and none of us can contain the shock, staring at her like she’s insane.
Well, no shit, I guess. The bitch is insane.
Francesca snarls, storms to her, and slaps her across the face, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing in the room. Her head snaps to the side, strands of hair flying across her face from the force. Disturbingly enough, Sydney peers up at Francesca through her hair, another laugh releasing from her tongue.
Francesca bends at the waist. “You keep laughing, Sydney, and I’ll keep letting Rocco stretch your ass until my entire foot fits.”
I swallow, looking back down to the floor. She’s fucking certifiable, and I can’t help but feel a stab of sympathy.
Was Sydney an average girl before she was stolen away? Did she live a normal life, have a job, friends, and go out on weekends to find a fling?
Who was she before she died inside?
After an entire day of grueling training on how to serve our future masters, dinner is served in our rooms. None of us are allowed to eat together and I imagine it’s because they don’t want any of us becoming friends-joining forces and planning to escape together or some shit. The more alone we feel, the more hopeless.
We’re fed soup and crackers, a meager meal but something she claims won’t fatten us up. Apparently even sex traffickers are fatphobic and body shame the women. Never mind that they can’t get pussy unless they quite literally steal it.
I’ve just finished eating when it sounds like Francesca screeches from below, the enraged sound echoing throughout the house. I freeze, slowly setting my soup bowl on the nightstand when footsteps pound on the wood, though, it doesn’t sound like she has her heels on. Her angry stride travels up the stairs and down the hall, my heart beating faster with each step toward me.
My door slams open, and she storms into my room, the doorknob deepening the crater in the wall from the force.
I flinch and jump up from my bed, heart racing as she stomps towards me and sticks her face in mine.
“You were doing so well,” she spits.
My mouth parts and I shake my head, speechless as confusion and adrenaline war in my brain.
“Wha-“
“Don’t play stupid,” she hisses before backhanding me, fire lancing across my cheek and a gasp slipping free.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.