by K. V. Rose
He doesn’t look away for a moment, until finally his gaze flicks to the doors to the entertainment room, then back to me. He nods, as if to himself, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Smart.” He takes a sip from his drink, sets it back down on the counter. “Take the second door on the right.” He shrugs. “Stand outside of it if you’d like, I’ll meet you in the hall.” He looks to the doors again. “There are guards here. They’d hear you scream.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but I don’t move. Not for several long seconds.
Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I hop down from the bar stool, finish my drink in one hasty gulp, set the glass down, and head toward the double doors that lead out of this room.
Someone will come for me. I repeat the mantra in my head as the armed guards eye me up and down, but no one stops me as I thread through the throng of people congregated around the doors, all of them in various states of dress and drunkenness.
I pull open the heavy oak door, step out into the hall, and as the door closes behind me, the noise from the party dies down and I can think.
One.
Two.
Three.
I don’t move for three seconds, my eyes on the cream-colored walls of the hall, the gilded baseboards, the pale stone floor.
Three seconds, and I debate going back into that room and waiting for Max.
I think about finding my way to the door we walked in this house from and walking out.
Someone will come for me.
It’s so loud in my spinning head, past the drunkenness of my other, reckless thoughts of escape.
I make up my mind.
Following Zeke’s directions, I find the bathroom, peeking inside to confirm it’s what he said it was.
But I don’t go in.
I let the door thud back closed, walk a few more steps, and stand outside of another door. It’s bigger than the bathroom door. Dark wood, a golden knob.
I debate opening it, but just as I go to reach for it, I hear something beyond it.
Something that sounds like moaning.
A name.
A name.
“Max!” Coming from a feminine voice I vaguely recognize.
Evora.
My stomach churns, and I ball my hands into fists, thinking of opening the door, bursting inside and…what?
What the fuck would I do?
I hear it again, his name on her lips.
I think of him, with me. The way I gasped his name. The way he felt, angry and volatile, punishing and dominating.
Is he like that with her, right now? Does he use her the same way?
There’s a pain in my jaw from clenching my teeth and I back away, trying to breathe. To think. I grip the door to the bathroom and stumble inside, away from those sounds I never want to hear, ever again in my life.
I close the door, leaning against it, try to take in my surroundings.
Try to push the thought that Max was fucking Evora while he was supposed to be with me from my mind. He was supposed to be with me.
The bathroom is shockingly small, a single stall. With the enormity of this home, I expected something bigger, but I don’t think about that. Instead, I force myself away from the door, stand in front of the sink, my hands on the cool marble of the counter. I glance at my own reflection, and even with the makeup Mamie applied, I can see the faint remnants of the bruise on my throat.
I see, too, the red veins among the whites of my eyes, the circles beneath my lower lash line. The hollowness of my shoulders, on display with the red strapless dress.
I see the ways I’ve fallen apart since coming to Max. Even though my life with my father wasn’t a picnic, I didn’t have to see him often after I had my surgery. He lost interest in me, and I held my own, after a while, with his guards. I let them use me as I used them, but I wasn’t exactly a slave.
Now, though, that’s all that I am.
I glance at the door, wondering if I should lock it. Wondering if Zeke will even find me in here. Wondering if he knew what I’d hear outside of that door.
There’s a toilet at my back, and I think of sinking down on it. Catching my breath. Maybe running from here, away from Max and Zeke and the guards.
I could leave again. I could find my own way out.
Making up my mind, I move away from the sink, toward the door. But then it opens quickly, and I take several, hasty steps backward.
I recognize Zeke, notice how much taller he is standing than he seemed when we were seated.
But I don’t get to say a word to him before he reaches for me, his hand over mine.
“We don’t have much time,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at the empty hall at his back. He pulls me out of the bathroom, and I feel a sense of relief, tension leaving my shaky limbs as we’re in the hall again.
At least he’s not going to kill me in the bathroom.
“Where are we going?” I ask in a hushed whisper as he leads me past the room Max is fucking Evora in, away from the entertainment room. The hall seems to stretch on forever, and all the while we walk, Zeke holds my hand tight, darts his gaze around us, checking for someone who might stop us.
My mouth feels dry as we keep walking, apprehension settling in again.
“I’m getting you out of here,” Zeke finally answers, glancing over at me as he pulls me along. I’m almost stumbling to keep up and his grip suddenly doesn’t feel comforting. It feels bruising. Possessive.
I try to pull my hand from him, but we reach the end of the hall, double doors that look as if they may lead to a stairwell in front of us.
He doesn’t let go of me as he pushes through the doors, and we’re in just that. A stairwell, like that of a hotel, plain beige stairs leading up and down.
Once more, I try to pull away from him as he starts to lead me down the stairs.
I think of Ben. Of falling.
Zeke turns to look at me, impatience etched into his features. And before I can say anything at all, he sighs, then clamps his hand over my mouth and pulls me against his body, holding me tightly to him, his own back against the wall at the top of the stairs.
What the fuck?
Fear seizes me and I open my mouth to scream, but his hand presses tighter over me, rendering me mute.
My heart palpitates in my chest, the little hairs on my arm standing on end as I stare at the top of the stairs, just inches from my feet.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” he promises me, his mouth against my ear, his breath warm. “And I won’t hurt you if you listen, okay?” His words are soft, but they don’t stop my knees from trembling.
Maybe he’s still the good guy. Maybe he’s still going to save me.
I close my eyes, nod my head slowly, trying to fight back the sob bubbling up my throat.
And as much as I try to hold onto the thought that this is the right thing to do, I feel a sick truth creeping into my mind. He’s not taking me to my father. I don’t know where he’s taking me, but it’s not there.
“I’m going to put something on your tongue,” he continues. “You’re going to swallow it.”
Panic seizes through me.
He’s going to drug me.
He’s going to fucking drug me.
I don’t want to be drugged again.
Not for Zeke. For Max. For anyone.
My nostrils flare as I try to get more oxygen into my lungs, the hand over my mouth so tight I can’t part my lips.
“I won’t hurt you, Addison, but you need to do as I say, okay?”
Max. All I can think of is Max. He left me. He told me to stay by his side. He told me not to leave him. But then he left me to fuck her.
Did he do this?
Is this the part where I get sold? Is this my new owner?
I want to run, but I can’t with Zeke’s arm wrapped around my chest, one settled too tightly on my hip.
I want to scream, but I can barely breathe.
“Nod your head,
Addison.” The way he says my name, it sounds like a slur on his tongue.
I nod my head.
The hand on my hip leaves me, Zeke shifts behind me. I open my eyes, avoiding the stairs. Instead, I stare at the dark wall across from me, the swirls from the timber, the polished surface that I can nearly see my reflection in.
I count to three again in my head, trying to think above the way my mind feels dull with the alcohol in my veins.
Then I move.
I shift in Zeke’s arms, trying to jerk out of his grip as I open my mouth to scream again. But his hand is like a vice against my lips, and when I try to fight, his other hand comes up to the one against my mouth, and he quickly transfers a pill from one hand to the other.
“Stop fighting, or I’ll push you down every last one of these fucking stairs.” It sounds like a threat Max would utter, but it’s not cold.
Instead, it sounds as if…he’d enjoy it.
I freeze, and I can’t help it, memories from the last time Ben pushed me flooding through my brain. Free falling, darkness. Waking up bruised. Agony.
I start to whimper, my breaths coming faster and faster through my nose, my heart skipping beats in my chest.
“Shh, baby,” Zeke whispers. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you, I promise you. I’m getting you out of here.”
Promises mean nothing from men who want to drug you.
And if he’s going to drug me, and if Max didn’t orchestrate this and my father didn’t do this…I’ll be out of this house before anyone knows where I am. I’ll be put in the trunk of a car, on a plane. I’ll be taken out of the country. No one will find me.
That was my fate all along, but not like this.
Not like this.
Someone will come for me.
But no one is coming now.
No one is coming.
No one can save me but me.
The realization is like a slap in the face.
Zeke is solid muscle behind me, and he’s far taller than me, too.
Still.
If he puts me under, I might not wake up again.
“I’m going to move my hand, and I’m going to place this pill in your pretty little mouth.” One hand goes to my throat, caressing me gently. “And all you have to do, pretty girl, is swallow.” There’s a smirk in that word, and I feel my rage breaking past my fear.
I nod my head.
And when he moves his hand from my mouth to angle his fingers to place the white, fat pill on my tongue, I bite his finger.
Hard.
Like I would an apple. A carrot. Something that deserves to be torn to pieces.
He groans, dropping the pill to the floor beneath our feet on instinct, and I make to jerk away from him.
He reaches for my hair and my neck is arched backward, the pain burning my scalp. Blindly, I throw an elbow behind me, striking him in the chest. He only laughs, ripping hair from my head as he pulls me toward him, closer to the top of the stairs.
I twist in his grip and see his lips curve into a devilish smile. He reaches for my throat. I see a glimpse of blood on his fingers even though I don’t register the iron taste on my mouth.
Still, I grab at his fingers, dig my nails into his skin before he can wrap his hand around my neck.
“Fucking bitch,” he hisses, jerking his hand from my grip. But he’s still fisting my hair, still pulling painfully. His back is still against the wall, and I can’t push him like this, with the leverage he has. He could throw me down before I did that.
But if I don’t get out of here, separate from him, I won’t last very long.
I might’ve thought I wouldn’t mind dying before.
But right now, my survival instinct kicks in.
I lunge toward him instead of away, springing at him with all that I have, and together, we fall down the stairwell, Zeke’s surprise and my body weight knocking him backward.
It’s not enough steps to totally maim him, but his body cushions my blow on the next landing, knocking the breath from him for a brief moment.
He curses as his spine hits the cement floor and my hands are planted on his chest. But his hands grab my arms as I try to scramble to my feet. He yanks me down toward him, slowly sitting up as he does, his back against the wall, a scowl on his face. I’m on my knees and I try to rip myself away from his grasp, my heart thudding loudly in my ears.
He only laughs, and I know I’m in a worse position than I was.
Tears sting the back of my eyes as I hit him, slapping him in the face, digging my nails into his skin, adrenaline, fury, and fear propelling my arms forward with every blow.
He grips me so tight I’m worried he might break the bones in my arm, but I don’t stop hitting him as he turns his face to dodge my blows.
“I’m trying to help you, Addison,” he says through gritted teeth, then he moves, forcing me to my back on the floor, my head slamming against the cement so hard I see stars.
He pins my arms down by my sides as he kneels over me, his face red from my hands and nails, but he’s still smiling.
“I see why Max likes you,” he says, chestnut eyes gleaming. “You’re a feisty bitch and he really loves a fight, huh?”
I swallow, trying to wet my mouth, trying to draw breath to scream. But he must see what I’m going to do, because he grabs my wrists in one hand, clamps his other over my mouth, nearly putting all of his weight against my face.
The pain is an ache against my jaw that has tears blurring my vision, even though the last thing I want to do is let him see me cry.
“This could’ve been easy, Addison,” he purrs, leaning down so his nose nearly touches mine. There’s a roaring so loud in my ears that I can barely hear him.
I feel like I’m going to vomit. I feel like my jaw is going to break under the force of him leaning against me.
“I didn’t know you wanted to be Max’s bitch.” His nose touches mine and he moves his head to the side, rubbing his against me. “The man I work for won’t be very happy to hear that. But he’ll like that you’re brave. Because he loves a fight too.”
He presses his brow to mine, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath as my nostrils flare, trying to draw in air. “The thing is, though, brave girls don’t last long here, Addison. They end up as corpses.”
I’m shaking beneath him, my body betraying me by trembling. The tears slide down my face, and he leans back, taking them in. But as he does, some of the pain against my face eases.
“I’m going to move my hand,” he says quietly, taking in the tears on my cheek, “but if you scream, I promise you, Addison, you won’t leave this house alive.”
Chills run down my body and the trembling intensifies, even as I try to lock up my limbs. To stay perfectly still.
I can’t.
I can’t even nod. I can barely breathe. I can do nothing but wait.
He moves his hand.
I pull air into my mouth, flexing my jaw, trying to alleviate the pain that seems to rattle even my teeth.
His fingers around my wrists tighten, and he trails the hand that was on my mouth down my side, to the edge of my dress, his eyes following his finger.
No. No.
I suck in a breath, bite my lip so I don’t scream, because I believe him. He’ll kill me. But what he might do instead could be worse.
“W-who do you really work for?” I ask him, hating the way my voice shakes. “Who are you?”
His hand clamps down on my bare thigh. “Are you still a virgin, Addison?” he asks, ignoring me.
I close my eyes. I can’t watch him take me in. My thigh shakes beneath his grip. I can’t speak.
His hand slides under my dress, his fingers brushing my inner thigh. “If you don’t answer me, I’ll have to find out myself.” He runs his hand over my underwear, and I whimper, unable to keep the sound in, even as I bite my lip so hard, I finally taste blood. Mine. His. I don’t know anymore.
“Shh,” he says softly as he keeps touching me. “You can
nod yes or no, sweet girl.”
Where is Max?
Where is Max?
It’s the only thought in my head, and even if it’s not the right one, even if Max is worse, I don’t care. I want him to take me away from here. I want Zeke to get his hands off of me.
I want to go home. I’d take my father’s bruising fists and violent words over this any day. He stopped raping me a year ago, and I can live with the other kind of violence.
I can live with that, but I just want my body to be my own right now. Just this once.
I tell God I’m sorry for wanting a different family. A different life.
I didn’t mean it.
I want it back.
I need it back.
Zeke’s fingers trail against the edge of my underwear. “No hair,” he says with a little laugh. “Has Max fucked you already, Addison?”
My eyes fly open, connecting with his.
“He wasn’t supposed to do that.”
My skin crawls. My heart skips a beat as Zeke’s hand goes still, too close to where I don’t want him.
“I need you to answer me,” he says, and there’s no smile on his face now. Just cold, hard anger. “Because I want to fuck your cunt dry, and I need to know what kind of consequences—”
There’s a thudding sound at the top of the stairs. Doors closing.
I flinch, and Zeke lets go of my wrists, startled too.
My hands go to my mouth, my breaths coming out in fast pants as I twist my head to look up, at the landing we came in from.
“Fuck off,” Zeke snarls. He turns to me, knocks my hands away from my face and covers my mouth, his eyes boring into mine.
Hope springs in my chest anyway, despite his angry command.
Because it’s Max at the top of the stairs, and it’s his cold voice that says, “Let her go, or I’m going to fucking kill you.”
When I see the “harmless runner,” Zeke, at the bottom of the stairs with his hands around Addison’s throat, I feel twitchy. His body is over hers as she kicks and screams beneath him, her cries growing hoarser with the amount of pressure he’s putting on her windpipe. There are tears down her cheeks, and I see blood on her lips.
Her red dress is hiked up to her waist, exposing her black, silk panties.