by Mason, V. F.
His thrusts speed up, becoming more frantic, while our kisses desperately try to deepen our connection even more. Our desire floods over us rapidly, ready to consume us both.
Breathing heavily, I take my mouth away and slide my lips to his shoulder, biting hard as my nails claw at his back. He hisses, driving into me so hard the air sticks in my throat.
One. Two. Three times.
I cry out, the peak sending me over the edge as my core spams around him. He thrusts into me a few more times before he throws his head back, roars, and spills inside me.
His body falls on mine, and I hug him tight, breathing in our scents floating in the air. Even though our sticky, sweaty bodies are plastered against each other, I do not wish to move. I want to hold on to this moment a while longer.
Before everything else comes crashing back on me.
“Now truly, welcome to my life, mi amor.” Lucian’s gruff voice breaks the silence, and I laugh, a tear sliding down my cheeks at this, but I hide my face in the spot between his neck and shoulder, not wanting him to see my internal turmoil.
And then the wetness between my thighs registers, and I finally understand why this time felt more intimate than before… more intense.
He didn’t use a condom.
While this realization terrifies me at the implication of what it might bring, I let him pick me up as he pulls away the dirty sheets and drags me to the shower, where he washes us.
Besides, I already married a monster and surrendered to him.
Tomorrow.
I’ll focus on all this stuff that should matter tomorrow, and tonight I will just live in the moment where the familiar nightmares don’t plague my mind.
Because a monster cannot hurt me while I’m in the embrace of another monster.
Lucian
The villain has conquered the princess.
But can he slay the dragon casting fire everywhere?
My wife murmurs something in her sleep, burrowing her face in my chest as she hooks her slender leg over my waist. Her nails dig into my skin as she probably once again faces her nightmare.
I woke up from her restless whimpers an hour ago, and she hasn’t been able to calm down since.
Wrapping my arm tighter around her and pressing her to me even harder, I slide my fingers over her features wondering how this perfect creature stayed untouched until I came along.
But then I growl, because mine.
No one will ever fucking touch my woman because from the tips of her lilac hair to her paint-smeared toes, she belongs to me, and finally I have paperwork and her submission to prove it.
As the breeze slips inside from the open balcony door and thunder shakes the sky, lightning flashing in the darkness lit only by the moonlight, my mind goes back to the upcoming wedding celebration I’ve decided to hold here in a few days, which she’s yet to find out about.
Putting my woman in danger and gathering all these people in my mansion hardly makes me happy or eases the beast roaring inside me to hide Esmeralda in my cave far away so that nothing will touch her.
However, the nightmare cannot end unless the victim faces it head-on—the monster will always win—and for that to happen, they need to meet.
Besides, these people won’t miss it for the world. Their agendas for accepting the invitation, or rather, using all means necessary to get one, are vastly different though.
One of them will come to study my wife and think of how he can use her to his advantage in his twisted plan, while watching me carefully.
After all, I’m the enemy who stands in his way, and Esmeralda is my Achilles’s heel.
The other fucker will come to gaze at his prey who he hopes to see in deep sorrow so he can justify killing her ruthlessly later, but not before enjoying her suffering.
None of them though will get what they covet, and in this, their patience and control will be tested.
The stronger one wins, always.
The stupid one loses, always.
But what’s strong and what’s stupid lies entirely in the eye of the beholder.
Chapter Eleven
“Survive.
Survive until I can beat them.
This mantra kept me together through the most devastating years of my life.
For some of the vicious monsters belong to the most prestigious families.
Their depravity runs deeper than those of the average ones.
Because the law is always on their side.”
Lucian
Location Unknown, United States
Lucian, 13 years old
I fall on the ground, the dust rising and settling over my sweat-covered skin. Blood drips from my mouth, and the loud chanting of the crowd fills my ears.
“Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.”
Breathing heavily, I open my hands in front of me and get on my knees. The ground underneath me vibrates violently, and without looking back, I roll to the side seconds before the heavy bull passes me by, barely missing goring me with his horns.
His hooves become a blur in the distance as he races around the perimeter, the oval arena allowing him a wide range of moves, and the crowd cheers more, even whistling as they sit on the benches above it, protected from the wild beast they unleashed on me.
“He’s over there!” they shout to the bull, pointing their diamond-covered fingers in my direction as if the animal can understand them. “Right there!”
The lights attached to the ceiling brighten up the entire area, disrupting my vision. Dizziness overtakes me, urging me to lie on my back longer, but that’s a luxury I can’t afford.
Because any sign of weakness leads to disinterest, and any disinterest leads to more punishment and death.
I don’t want to die.
Not yet anyway.
Servers pass by the rows giving away drinks and snacks. The men and women who came to watch tonight invested a lot in this establishment, and they expect the best treatment.
After all, the show was planned for their amusement so they could pick their favorite toys. Their deprived desires entail breaking those who have the most strength because the cries and pain gets them off like nothing else.
My burned and bruised skin, along with several cracked bones and deep scars inflicted by sharp knives, can attest to that.
My heart gallops inside my chest. My whole body aches, sending pain traveling through my system in intense waves that shake me over and over again, but I block all emotions away, concentrating on only one thing.
Surviving.
Gathering all the strength I possess, I get up and then race in the other direction as the bull turns around, stops, paws his hooves a few times, and thunders after me.
The crowd goes ballistic, cheering him on and whistling loudly, as they stand up from their seats and lean on the railing.
Blocking the outside world away, I zero my focus on the rope dangling from the ceiling right in the middle of the arena. It sways from side to side as the bull grazes the end with his back while coming after me.
That’s the final destination for this fucking show, and my only chance of winning this game is if I can manage to get on that—they’ll lift it up and declare me the winner.
Otherwise, the bull will kill me, and the next boy who comes to participate will have my body in the way to limit his movements.
We are a disposable trash to them but not to me.
We are humans, although I’m not sure anyone even cares if we exist.
But I care.
For I won’t rest until they all pay for this, so under no circumstances can I lose.
My bare, bruised feet burn as I dash to the right, the bull hot on my heels, and then turn around right as he comes at me. I grab his horn, and he jerks his head while still galloping forward and dragging me right along with him.
And this is when I let go, falling on my back with a loud cry. And then I quickly roll several times toward the rope, bringing myself closer to the goal, as he reaches a dead end. He spi
ns around and stomps his hooves again, his nose flaring, his gaze on me, and for a second I feel compassion toward this creature.
He and I are the same, trapped in this arena doing our best to survive because cruel people captured us both.
This contact lasts for just a second, and I nod a little to the animal as I look at the rope and flee toward it with the bull chasing me, everything moving so rapidly I barely have time to breathe.
Even the crowd grows quiet, watching us in fascination, and I widen my strides, having only seconds to survive this ordeal and jump high on the rope, wrapping my hands tightly right as the bull bumps his horn into my calf.
I bite my lips, stilling the agonized scream that would fill all these despicable people with happiness.
The bull stomps, and I glide upward.
Up. Up. Up.
Until he finally cannot reach me. The blood from my leg drips on the sand, creating red splashes on it, as the crowd erupts in applause.
One of the walls in the arena slides open, and someone calls the bull who strolls toward it, breathing heavily, and disappears as a disgusting voice says through the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, Javier. Thirteen years old. Shall we start the bidding?”
Familiar nausea hits me, threatening to push out my lunch and make me spill it on the ground. The auction means tonight he will sell me to the highest bidder, and I will have to entertain them.
And judging how I lasted almost ten minutes in the arena, the fucker will be extra sadistic, using all kinds of tools to inflict the most pain.
Whoever he is though is up for disappointment. I never give them the satisfaction of begging or tears. I will myself to a quiet place in my psyche where I stay until all the torture is over.
Until the next time.
The rope slowly goes down, and I hop to the ground, wincing at the wound on my leg that will need a bandage and some medication.
Although James and his goons do not give a shit about us, they do keep us relatively healthy, because otherwise, they won’t make any money.
Depraved fuckers are interested in the product only when they think they can tarnish it, or they’ll have no fun.
Or so James says whenever he beats me until I turn blue, because he still hasn’t managed to get my obedience and complete surrender.
Although not for the lack of trying. The last six years have been worse than hell on earth since I’ve already lived in hell.
After Francis captured us in his basement, he proceeded to prepare us for James’s clients as requested.
Every day was worse than the previous because the torture would grow, adding to the already festering wounds.
Metal chains choked us as Francis counted how long we could last without air, cigarettes burning us and leaving imprints on our skin marking us like cattle, hosing us with cold water and then dragging us out onto the cold snow as two men held us down, not letting us leave.
Starvation for days and then feeding us so much we got sick, not letting us relieve ourselves.
Almost drowning us in the deep tub, keeping our heads under the water until we struggled and then raising us up to give us enough time to gulp air, and then they’d do it all over again.
Dispersing rats on us that sank their sharp teeth in our flesh, biting us hard, and then Francis walked around us while we screamed in terror.
However, all of this we could withstand no matter the pain or Andreas’s resolve slowly slipping as he always begged for mercy to either be kicked away or hit with a whip by Francis.
Rape, though, almost killed me.
But I couldn’t and wouldn’t give up.
Once Francis was satisfied with the results, he sent us and three more children who lived through the ordeals to James at his hidden mansion and arena where he’s kept us ever since.
The days are all the same, merging together like a never-ending circle of abuse with no hope in sight.
The show. The torture. Sleep. Tending to our wounds. Repeat.
And only one question plagued my mind every single night.
How long does a person need to survive in order to beat someone?
James’s voice pulls me from the hideous memories, and I see him walk toward me wearing his usual gray suit and a wide smile that never reaches his ice-cold eyes. “Starting price one hundred thousand dollars.” He grips my neck and revulsion rushes through me. I jerk in his hold, but he cuts his nails into my skin, gluing me to the spot. “The lady with number ten.” I glance in her direction as her diamond watch glistens in the light when she lifts her number, winking at me, and I snarl at her, wanting nothing but to spit in her face.
She wiggles her nose in distaste, but by the cruel glint in her eyes, I know she plans to make me pay for it later.
If she buys me, that is, as another man raises number forty. “One hundred fifty thousand.”
The woman glares at him, shouting, “Two hundred thousand.” Someone else screams a large sum of money while I zone out, noticing that the blood stopped pouring from my leg but a deep ache remains. He probably didn’t touch the bone like the last time, but it might fester if the doc doesn’t put something on it.
James almost beams at how the crowd argues over me, probably already calculating what he can do with this money. As he says, for all my resistance, they sure pay well for me.
Fuckers.
Suddenly the crowd goes quiet, shocked a little, and even James stands speechless, gaping at the man who holds number twenty. The man wears a black suit while a diamond earring hangs from his ear. His dark hair falls down to his shoulders. His bright eyes pierce through me as if he studies me under a microscope.
He arrived later than usual, right before my show.
My brows furrow, and I try to understand what’s going on when James croaks, “One million dollars once.” I still as fear envelops me, because when a man is willing to pay such a high price in order to get what he wants… he wants very horrible things that will result in my agony. “One million dollars twice. One million dollars three times. Sold to number twenty! And the auction for today has come to an end,” James announces and then pushes me to the side so I lose balance and fall down, right on my injured leg.
Although the crowd laughs, I notice how anger flashes for a second in the buyer’s face before it’s covered in indifference, but that’s impossible.
These people are demons, and compassion will never be one of their virtues.
They all get up slowly, some leaving after not finding anyone to their liking, and the others ready to sample their purchase.
“He’ll be ready for you shortly,” James addresses the man and then barks, “Francis!” The man rushes in, grabs me by the elbow, and almost rips my arm out as he takes me out of the arena to the doctor.
I close my eyes, welcoming the momentary deafening silence that settles on me as I hop on the gurney and extend my leg.
The doc says nothing. He never does, just quickly patches me up until the next time, and I wonder how much money you have to get paid in order to work for a fucker like James and turn a blind eye to all the pain children experience here.
Must really be a lot, although it’s not about money, is it?
It’s about the absolute power James emits that attracts his workers and clients alike since he invites them to the perverted world he has created here.
The doc cleans my wound, presses on it, and then pours antiseptic that burns like a bitch.
Hissing, I grab my thigh, holding my leg in place while he applies more ointment and then patches it up. The bandage is in place but it’s loose enough should the client want to look at the wound too.
“He’s done,” he tells Francis who huffs and then wiggles his finger at me.
“Follow me. Shower, put on clean clothes, and then Elvin will take you to room number five.”
I’ll have some time to check on Andreas who never participates in shows as he’s too weak, but it turns out his looks always have buyers waiting. Otherwise, James wouldn’
t have kept him for long.
We see each other every night at the cages where they keep us hidden. My friend has changed so much, maybe due to the similar bruises marring his skin.
He no longer trembles or shivers at every sound, yet his behavior is way more compliant than mine.
According to him, bravery never earned anyone any good. And even though I disagree, we never stay on the topic for long to argue about it.
He speaks about our situation as a necessity, a training in preparation, whatever that means, but also he loves to dream with me.
About the powerful empires we will build one day. I think that’s the only thing keeping me going in this place.
“Get the fuck out, Javier!” Francis snaps, kicking me to the shower stalls, and I grit my teeth.
Yeah, every day it’s all the same.
And no matter how much I want to grab the nearby knife lying on the corner and stab them all, watching them bleed to death, I cannot do it.
As they are more powerful than I am.
Power is everything.
But how does one get it?
* * *
“Get inside,” Elvin orders, opening the door, and I enter the spacious room, which has a large bed, chair, bench, and wide selection for whatever torture their demon desires. “James told you to act nice.”
A half smile curves my mouth, and he shakes his head at me. While Elvin never raised his hand to me, I’d kill him too if I had the chance.
You support these fuckers, you’re dead in my book.
The man stands by the window, sipping his whiskey, his back to me. He’s already removed his jacket.
Noticing our reflection, he spins around, and Elvin shakes the key for the cuffs wrapped tightly around my wrists, and then he throws it at the man who catches it easily. “Enjoy.” With this, Elvin walks out and shuts the door, leaving me alone with this new fucker.
Sometimes the same clients rotate every now and then, as bad as it sounds, it’s easier when I know what to expect.