Chapter 52

Chapter 52
I glared up. “I’m not an object to take your revenge out on. If you have issues with Lucien , take it up with him!”

Brute laughed, slapping meaty thighs. “Oh, treasure. You are the perfect revenge.” He removed his brown jacket, shrugging it to the floor. “I am curious, though. How many girls does he have now?”

I clamped my lips closed. Lucien conned me into believing I was his only slave—his only plaything.

Once again, jealousy gripped my heart.

Everything Lucien made me believe was a lie.

He didn’t care about me.

He didn’t have emotions, and he trafficked women.

He was worse than the men who kidnapped me—at least they wore their true colours. Lucien was a chameleon, so clever at hiding the truth.

Driver went to one of the racks and chose a
flogger.

Heartbeats raced as he swatted his hand, testing the sting.

He grabbed a couple of packets from a dusty bowl and threw one at Brute.
The man nodded. “Merci.” His eyes fell on me and darkness took over.

I wouldn’t be able to reason as no soul remained.

I knew with deadly certainty they would kill me after. I wished they’d kill me now, before they ruined me.

Driver went behind me and I swivelled my neck, hating him being there.

The air thickened and all three of us froze—caught in a tiny window where normalcy reigned—then my life ended for the third time.

Brute threw himself onto the mattress; his bulk crushed, expelling my breath. I yelped as Driver’s hands wrapped in my hair, tugging so I had no choice but to lie down against the rank mattress.

I always liked my long hair, but now I wished I was bald. My own body fettered me; I couldn’t get free. My scalp stung as he pulled harder. “Obey, slut.”

Brute wasted no time in clambering on top; his entire body made me retch.

Breath reeked of cigarettes and sourness, and he pulled my legs apart as if they were matchsticks.

He looked like a giant wildebeest, about to mount and rut to death.

My chest rose and fell; vision flickered with black spots as I hyperventilated. “Stop!”

The men laughed. “Keep begging, miel. We like it when you cry.”

Oh, God. Oh, God. This was really going to happen.

No humanity shone in his eyes. There wasn’t anyone to save me.

No Adrian. No Lucien.

Just me, two bastards, and an empty house.
I whimpered, squeezing my eyes closed as Brute unbuttoned my jeans and yanked them off.

He did the same to my knickers as I scratched at Driver’s wrists, trying to make him let go of my hair.

Driver growled, letting go with one hand to slap me.

The sound of palm hitting flesh ricocheted around the room.

He slapped me again, coaxing tears to stream.

Then he reached down, snaking a hand inside my t-shirt, pinching my breast so hard I saw jagged stars.

I wanted to remain mute, to not give them pleasure by begging.

But words sobbed. “Please. I just want to go home. You were supposed to help me!”
Driver chuckled, twisting my hair with an evil flourish. “Oh, we’ll help you alright.”

I made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

There was nothing but animalistic lust and enjoyment at my pain.

What had Lucien done to these men to make them so happy to destroy a woman? Why must I pay for his sins?

Driver placed a hand on my throat and pressed down, choking me.

Nevaeh, disappear. Find that place. Hurry!

Brute spat on his fingers, putting them between my legs. He frowned, muttering, “She’s fucking dry as a husk.”

My mind exploded with thoughts of Adrian. I was always dry for Adrian. But Lucien… Lucien made me wet.

He befriended my body, despite my hate.

I’d broken myself—I didn’t need men to torture me.

I've done it every night since I hit puberty.

I wilted in terror as Brute forced his saliva inside.

Fingers scraped and tore. My dryness granted pain… agony.

If someone offered me a gun or this, I’d take the gun.

How could I think I wanted to be dominated, commanded? The naïve fantasy of rape wasn’t fun.

It wasn’t sexy or hot.

This was true rape, and it would do more than just take my body. It would be what finally broke me into tinkling, unfixable pieces.

Brute’s fingers thrust harder; dirty fingernails scraped the inside of my core. I thrashed my head to the side, ignoring the ripping of hair.

The tear of foil echoed and my breathing accelerated; a low keening sounded in my chest.
Driver slapped my face. “Shut up. You’ll like it, slut. Then it’s my turn.”

I opened my eyes. Big mistake.

Brute had his cock out, rolling a slimy condom down the length.

The smell of latex filled the air, gagging me.

I tried to close my legs, to lock knees together.

Driver laughed, passing the flogger over my head to him. “Use this. Make her ready.”

Brute’s lips stretched into a cruel smile. “Ah, meil. You’re in for it now.” He raised his arm and struck.

The leather bit my naked thigh, welting immediately with angry blood.

I bit my lip, trying so hard to pretend I was dead.

Brute hit me again. And again. Each lick eroded
parts of me: my hopes, my stupid thoughts of escape, my love for Adrian, my hatred for Lucien—everything twisted into a cauldron of filthy emotions, sucking me deep into the dark.

The fight I prided myself on, disintegrated into pieces and I shrivelled. Each beat stripped me bare; I became lost. I no longer knew who neveah was—I didn’t want to know.

The flogger stopped and Brute wrenched my legs apart.

Spitting on his fingers, he rubbed my entrance roughly.

“Please—” I moaned. “Don’t.”

Brute laughed, positioning himself between my legs. “Was that a beg, Meil? You want me?”
Driver panted heavily in my ear, pulling my hair in excitement. “I think she’s asking you to fuck her. Better give her what she wants.”

Please, oblivion take me. I wouldn’t survive.

My mind rattled like fractured glass already.

Brute shifted, nudging me with his cock.

My body revolted, stomach snarled, and tears flurried down my cheeks. No, no, no.

Brute grunted, forcing his way inside.

My flesh rejected him, burning with violation.

Hips thrust, burying himself deep.

His head dropped as he shuddered, grinning at Driver. “She’s fucking tight. You’ll enjoy this one.”

Driver growled. “Hurry up.” He forced horrible fingers into my mouth, tasting of sourness and metal.

While Driver fucked my mouth with fingers, Brute thrust his hips, bucking with violence. Heavy breathing rained on my face, horrid, rancid.

I tried to shut everything off. I wanted to bite Driver’s fingers—I wanted to fight. I’d been reduced to a piece of meat.

My ears rang, and the room swam with delirium. Mirrors reflected Brute’s naked ass as he fucked me.

My eyes were haunted, and Driver loomed with a manic look on his face.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere in the house; Brute faltered in rhythm.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see if more men arrived—if I’d be subjected to endless purgatory.

I never wanted to open my eyes again.

Another bang, then empty air. Brute’s horrible cock disappeared and his weight flew off.

My hair jerked, then released as Driver screamed.

Grunts and shouts amplified around the room and I opened my eyes.

Three men in suits beat Brute where he huddled in a ball with jeans around his ankles and arms over his head.

Blow after blow they rained, and I flinched when one kicked Brute’s jaw so hard, his head snapped back, and teeth flew.

My hands curled, loving retribution, the pain Brute suffered.

Driver was strung to the mirrored wall on the rack with whips and handcuffs. More guards punched him; his head lolled on shoulders, blood glinting on his temple.

My heart leaped free from my flogged and hurting body as Lucien strode into the room.

He moved with angry grace, hands curled, mouth pursed. But his eyes—I’d never seen such rage contained.

“Putain de bâtards,” Lucien seethed, pulling a gun from his lower back, stalking toward where Brute lay whimpering on the floor.

“You fucking touch a girl of mine and think you could survive?”

Brute reached for him, eyes imploring mercy. “We only took what we used to get from your family. Nothing more.” Blood and spittle flew from his mangled mouth.

Lucien closed his eyes, body shuddering. When he glared at Brute, so many things raged in his face, I ached. “Consider this payment for the past and present.” He squeezed the trigger and Brute existed no more. The back of his head exploded with red mist and I scrambled away, huddling on the mattress.

Q turned to me with terrifying calmness. “Ah, heaven.” He inched closer, tucking the gun away. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

In that moment, in my fragile and broken state, my feelings for Lucien changed. He morphed from monster to savio
ur.

He did what Adrian hadn’t done in Greece: he found me, killed for me.
He rescued me from horror and protected me from the bastards who hurt.

Lucien was no longer the devil.
He was my master and I belonged to him.