Damaged: The Complete Set Including DIRTY and FILTHY: A Dark Romance (The Damage Romance Box Set)

by Michelle Horst

  Steven moves in front of the light, making it disappear. For a second I sit shocked before all my senses rush back to me. Henry’s fingers dig into my shins and he yanks me towards him. I fall over backwards and my head slams into the hard steel floor, making another hollow banging sound that vibrates through the floor and into my body. I start to panic as a suffocating feeling weighs heavily down on me.

  “Fuck you!” I spit at them, and I start to kick with every bit of strength I have in my legs. I manage to kick Henry in the chest, and he falls back on his ass.

  I use my moment of victory to scramble to my hands and knees. I crawl away and every movement I make echoes in the tiny space.

  Steven comes at me and I rush to get to my feet so I can run, or at the very least defend myself. My flight instincts have finally kicked in. Better late than never!

  The bright light makes it hard to see. They pounce on me and the fright rips a petrified scream from me. So many hands grab at me!

  I yank and hit, but it feels like I’m getting nowhere. All I hear is hard breathing, definitely my own and theirs right by me – closing in.

  For an awful moment my arms are yanked painfully back, and then my jacket’s ripped from my body. My ass hits the floor hard as I’m shoved down.

  I keep hitting, kicking and growling like a possessed person. Dread has taken over every part of me. In this terror induced state there’s only one thought – survival. I have to survive this somehow.

  I always thought fear was cold. I always described it as cold. I was so wrong, so very wrong.

  Fear makes your mind terrifyingly crystal clear. It’s so you can take in every little thing that’s happening around you. Your body runs purely on adrenaline with not a drop of blood pumping through your veins.

  I hear the material of their clothes crunch as they move around me.

  I feel the air shift as Henry pulls back his arm. I swear my skin stretches thin over my face as I wait for the blow to come.

  The not knowing makes it so much worse.

  Fear makes pain worse.

  Fear makes time stand still.

  Fear turns people into monsters and every sound into a warning of what may come.

  A fist slams hard into my cheek and my neck whips back from the force. I scream and it sounds desperate to my own ears. Pain engulfs the whole left side of my face, making it pulse with a heartbeat of its own.

  Then Henry’s horrid voice ripples through the dark. “Get the shirt off!” The growl comes in raspy breaths.

  I try to crawl away but they are so much faster than me. Steven moves behind me and bile burns up my throat. I wish I could vomit all over them. Maybe then they’ll stop.

  But I don’t vomit and my body convulses the second Steven takes hold of me.

  I can’t just let them beat me!

  Shit, what if they rape me?

  Oh, God! I won’t survive it. Just the thought of one of these fuckers bringing his dick near me, is enough to make me turn into a wild beast.

  I try to swing my elbow into Steven. The movement throws me off balance and I fall to the side, swinging at nothing but the stuffy air.

  Steven grabs hold of my shirt and then he yanks it up against my neck. For a blinding moment it tightens horribly around my neck, cutting off my air supply. He yanks again and the force snaps my head back. The material bites at my skin and then it’s gone. Clammy air sticks to my torso and I feel horribly exposed.

  “No! Fuck you! No!” I scream until my throat burns.

  “Grab her arms,” Henry growls. I see the coal of the cigarette burn red and it lights up Henry’s face. Fuck, he looks evil – like the devil himself.

  “Let me go!” I shriek. I start to thrash and kick, trying to worm myself out of this impossible situation.

  Henry places a knee over my thighs and his left hand comes down hard over my breasts. He forces me back to the floor and then he kills the cigarette against my side. The burn is intense but nothing compared to the fear of not knowing what they are going to do next.

  He flicks the cigarette away and then his fist comes at me. The blow makes my eyes bulge with pain and the world starts to spin. A coppery taste explodes in my mouth, making my throat burn with bile.

  The next blow feels like he’s trying to rip a hole through my face. The third punch makes the bright light fade, and pain takes over until it feels like even my teeth are aching.

  I give up fighting and my body goes slack. Blood floods my mouth, dribbling out the side and down my aching jaw. The last memory I have is a sharp pain in my chest as his foot connects with my ribs.

  The dark is killing me slowly. The blinding light scares me even more. I know it’s been four days. It doesn’t sound like much, but they make a recording once a day for Uncle Tom. I don’t think Uncle Tom is going to help me this time. I haven’t spoken to him in years. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s alive.

  Every day, Mr. Attridge adds five minutes to the beating. Yesterday, the twenty-five minutes felt like twenty-five years. I thought it would never end.

  I’m dreading today! Every sound makes me jump with fear.

  Every day, they remove an item of clothing. On day two, it was my sneakers, day three my socks, day four my jeans. They keep taking my clothes away, leaving me with less and less of myself.

  I shiver constantly and I don’t know if it’s from the cold or fear. I only have two items of clothing left.

  Day one I was still in shock. I didn’t eat when the old man brought food. Day two I forced myself to move. I pushed through the pain after they were done kicking and hitting me, and I ate. It was a struggle to keep it down.

  Day three was worse, and yesterday I couldn’t keep the food in at all. I think I have a broken rib or two. My right hip hurts the most, as if someone is constantly shoving a fist into my side.

  The tiny space reeks of vomit and blood. It smells like death.

  The old man never looks at me. He just puts down the food and water and then he leaves in a hurry. I was playing with the idea of trying to overpower him, but I can’t even stand on my own two feet for long, never mind fight a man.

  I hear the chain rattle outside and I press harder into the corner, so hard my body screams with pain. I know it doesn’t help, but it’s instinct. A low growl builds deep in my throat and I sound like an animal, nothing more than a beaten dog.

  When Steven comes in alone, I frown. He hasn’t taken part in any of the actual beatings. He only holds me down.

  I watch him set up the camera on a tripod and then he presses record and the blinding light falls on me.

  “So now you’re going to beat me? You finally grew a pair of balls, asshole?” I snap at him, angry that I’ve let the monster touch me.

  “No, Henry does the beating,” he says calmly. Way too calm for my liking.

  He fiddles with his belt and my mouth drops open. I shake my head and struggle to my feet. “I’m not letting you fuck me.”

  “Come on, babe. It will be like old times.”

  He unbuttons his jeans and then drags the zip down exposing his boxers.

  A fresh wave of adrenaline surges through me and I make a run for the door. I don’t even make it halfway when I’m taken down. My body slams hard into the floor, face down, and I scream from the pain tearing through me.

  Before I can push myself up, Steven grabs hold of my thighs, dragging me back. I claw at the ground like a feral animal, trying to get some sort of grip so I can pull myself away from him.

  Steven crawls over me, pressing me harder into the steel with his full weight.

  “Get off me!” I try to elbow him, but he yanks my right hand away, pinning it to the filthy ground. He uses his knees to spread my legs wider and I try to kick back. I try to use my whole body to throw him off so I can get up.

  “No!” For a desperate moment I resort to begging. “Please don’t.”

  I try to fight back, but lying on my stomach makes most of my attempts useless. My lungs are on fire fro
m my panicked breaths. Anger flares through me and I scream to let some of the hopelessness out.

  He doesn’t even bother removing my panties. I feel his dick press against my ass and a wave of disgust makes bile burn its way up my throat.

  His fingers shove the flimsy cotton to the side. “No!” I scream as I feel his dick ram against my entrance, but all my struggling and protesting only seems to excite him more. He keeps ramming against me as he struggles to get his dick in while holding me down. I try to clench my legs together but his knees jar my attempts.

  He enters me violently on a grunt and I can’t hold back the inconsolable and horrified screams.

  “No.” It’s the only word my brain can come up with in this moment of absolute depravity. Sharp burns tear through me.

  “Don’t worry, babe,” he grunts breathlessly. “I’ll be quick. You won’t remember this for long.” He keeps thrusting into me, each thrust a scorching stab. I feel exposed and debased. “Tomorrow, Henry gets to shoot your brains out,” he grunts again as his body jerks faster against me. He comes hard, his body shuddering against mine, as if my impending death is the biggest turn on for him. “You didn’t think you were going to live, did you?” I feel his clammy breath on my ear and then he whispers, “But first we all get to have a bit of fun with you. You’ll be begging Henry to put a bullet right between your eyes by the time we’ve fucked you raw.”

  He grabs a chunk of my hair and yanks me from the floor as he gets ups. I feel the stickiness of his cum dribble down the insides of my thighs, and somehow that makes it all so much worse. I feel filthy and empty, like a piece of discarded trash.

  He shoves me closer to the camera and then talks directly to the blinding light. “There’s nothing left of her, Tom. You should have given us the money when we asked.”

  He shoves me to the side and I fall hard to my knees. I don’t even bother getting up but instead curl into a fetal position.

  I don’t notice him leaving. I don’t notice anything but the wetness between my legs that makes me sick to the pit of my stomach.

  Emptiness stretches and grows inside of me, consuming every part that makes me human.

  My mind is quiet for the first time, as if it’s switched off.

  I’m not thinking of ways to escape.

  I’m not thinking of ways to hurt them back.

  I’m just not thinking.

  What’s the use of thinking? I’m already dead.

  They killed my will to live.

  Chapter Three

  Cara~

  “Girlie!” The whisper comes from the old man. He’s standing right outside the door. It’s too early for him to bring me food.

  Maybe it’s my last meal.

  A humorless chuckle bubbles over my lips. Hah! Like I’ll be able to keep anything down.

  “Get ready to run,” he whispers.

  The door creaks open and my head snaps up, but he’s already gone. I’m not sure I heard him right. Did he say run?

  The door stands wide open and sunlight streams in. I can’t move a muscle. I’m scared out of my mind.

  I hear gravel crunching under a heavy footfall. A dark figure appears in the doorway and I cower back.

  “Please,” I whimper. Yes, I’m begging for my worthless life.

  I don’t know how many times I’ve said that word in the last few hours. They’ve degraded me until all that’s left is a beggar, pleading for the crumbs of my life that’s scattered around me.

  The man stalks toward me and I whimper, recoiling back like the coward I am. When he kneels down next to me, I anticipate a blow, but instead he shrugs out of his jacket. I press harder into the walls. I can’t take being raped again. They should rather just kill me.

  Repulsion and hatred wells up inside me as flashes of the night tortures me. The true nightmare is the memories you have to face when you’re awake. Every time it feels like you’re able to take a breath, they just drag you down deeper, suffocating you more.

  “Move forward,” the man snaps icily. He doesn’t wait for me to move. When he takes hold of my shoulders, his hands are firm. I recoil from his touch, but he pulls me up onto unsteady legs and forces my arms into the sleeves. I hear the zip go up and then I feel his fingers close around mine, taking hold of my hand in a really tight grip.

  My first thought is to wonder what kind of rapist dresses his victim.

  My second thought is that he’s not going to rape me, but kill me, and I’m not sure how I feel about dying.

  There were times during the night that I wished they would just kill me. I’m not scared of dying, but rather where I’ll end up afterwards. I’m not sure where I’ll go and that makes fear bleed into my soul until I’m a shaking, sobbing mess.

  “Stay behind me at all times. Do not scream. Do not get in front of me.” His voice is hard. It takes a split second for the meaning of his words to sink into my terrified mind. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, and I don’t have time to ponder his words because he’s already moving and pulling at my arm.

  I give my first unsteady step forward and then I have my third clear thought – could he actually be helping me? Dare I hope that he’s here to save me?

  The second step hurts, and with every movement the stickiness and raw ache between my legs reminds me of the vile things they did to me.

  When we reach the door, my breaths are desperate gasps as I try to swallow down the pain and harrowing memories.

  “I’ll set the room on fire, Predator. You do your job,” the old man says to the man holding my hand.

  What the hell kind of name is Predator?

  He pulls me in behind him and my chest closes up when he lets go of my hand.

  Shit, this is it!

  Oh, my God. I’m not ready to die.

  My heart pounds in my ears and I’m well aware of the fact that each of those heartbeats might be my last.

  But then he reaches for me with his left hand and I grab for it desperately.

  I don’t care what his name is as long as he’s here to help me.

  ‘Please let him be here to help.’

  “I need my right hand free,” he whispers darkly. My eyes dart to his face and I’m filled with horror all over again. This man is easily the scariest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  Every line on his face is pronounced as he pulls a gun from behind his back. I didn’t even see it where it was tucked into the back of his pants. My throat and mouth dry right up and I can’t swallow the thick spit that’s coating the inside of my mouth. He nudges me a little, until I’m right behind him, and then I remember what he said - I have to stay behind him.

  I cling to his hand and arm with both my hands. We walk towards a simple looking house. Heat flares up behind me and I glance over my shoulder. The old man has set a shipping container alight.

  Then reality dawns on me. I was held in a shipping container. How easy it would’ve been to dispose of my body.

  Fuckers!

  “We’re going to walk in. We’re going to kill them and we’re going to leave. You do not touch anything. We don’t leave any traces that can lead back to us.” The man is so focused I can feel the intensity of the moment rippling off him in waves.

  “We?” The word pops from my mouth.

  “Glad to see you’re still thinking straight enough to hear what I’m saying,” he says gruffly. The corner of his mouth twitches. “No screaming and no fainting. Oh, and definitely no puking.”

  I take a step back from him, humiliated that he can smell the nauseating smell of vomit on me.

  He moves first and I only move so I can keep up with him. We don’t run. Everything inside of me is screaming at me to make a run for it, but I stay behind him like a pathetic puppet trailing after her master.

  He tightens his grip on my hand when we near the house and I see a muscle jumping in his jaw, which only makes me more nervous.

  As we climb the four stairs to the porch, my vision tunnels on the front door.

 
Why the fuck aren’t I running in the opposite direction?

  Why am I just letting him pull me along?

  I should be fighting, kicking and screaming!

  My mind races from absolute panic to that void filled with emptiness.

  I see him lift his arm but nothing can prepare me for the loud bang as he shoots a hole where the lock is. The front door shudders, squeaking at the hinges. And then it all happens in flashes.

  Flashes and loud bangs.

  Screams and blood.

  Men lunge for Predator, but he lets go of my hand, moving fast and with precision, as if he’s done this a million times.

  All I can do is stand rooted, my eyes wide with shock and my heart racing like a wild horse trapped in a burning barn.

  The world slows down around me yet everything races inside of me.

  Every shot he takes hits a target, red blossoms, exactly like you’d see in the movies. Only this isn’t a movie. These are real bodies dropping to the ground, real blood, real screams of terror and for a change I’m not the one screaming.

  “Stay there,” he growls. I stand frozen as I watch him shove open a heavy looking door to my right. I hear cursing. “Fuck!” someone yells and then there are more shots.

  Any normal person would run screaming from this nightmare, but I stand frozen as I watch them die. I imagined a lot of ways for them all to die, but not this, not such easy deaths. I wish they were burning, just like the container outside.

  Predator comes back into the living room. His face looks grim, his eyes constantly searching for a target.

  He looks like a predator. Now I understand his name.

  His eyes settle on me, and just a look from him makes my heart leap to my throat. He lifts the gun a few inches higher and it points directly at my head. The second it takes for his finger to squeeze the trigger, I look into his eyes. They are cold and calculating. There are no emotions, only a loud bang, louder than all the others and I can’t make myself duck for cover. I don’t even flinch as I feel a slight burn on my cheek, and then I hear something heavy drop behind me. I exhale a trembling breath as terror makes my blood race hot through my veins.