by Zoe Blake
‘You know it’s locked,’ her mind chided her.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered under her breath.
Deciding it was better to know, she rolled her eyes at her own thoughts and stood. As she moved towards it, she kept one arm across her breasts, realizing the futility of the action even while she maintained what little modesty she could. Testing the handle gingerly, she sighed when it barely shifted. Not just locked, but impassable. The thing might as well be another part of the concrete.
Looking down, she wrinkled her nose at what she saw. The tray on the floor held a plastic cup of what looked like water, and a simple sandwich. Unidentifiable meat between white bread. She wanted to leave it, to be like one of those people who did hunger strikes to stand for something, but her throat was so fucking dry. The result of whatever he’d drugged her with along with all of the screaming.
Don’t think about that right now.
Sliding to the floor beside it, she watched the food for a while, debating inside as to whether she should risk it, as if the disgusting little sandwich might suddenly start talking so she wasn’t just going around in circles by herself. It could all be drugged, poisoned, but as terrible as he had been, he seemed to want her alive. Deciding to test it, she committed to a single taste of each, but the first sip of water undid her. As her stomach growled, she emptied the cup and hurried to refill it from the corner before she ate the sandwich in slow bites, hunkered down across the room from the door.
Weak, weak, weak.
As the simple food settled, her head seemed clearer, the cobwebs fading away, but along with the clarity came the return of the panic. He had made videos. Was the man really sending them to her father? Was he sending them to other people, or posting them across the internet? Had she really come underneath him as he’d forced her over the couch?
The soreness between her legs and the sudden wash of shame verified the last part, but only time would answer the first. A sickening twist of her stomach almost brought the sandwich back up. She couldn’t imagine her father seeing those videos, either one, and the worst part of it all was that she knew the man wasn’t done. If he were done, she’d be out of the damn room—or she’d be dead.
That was not something she was interested in waiting for.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked towards the ceiling, making eye contact with one of the red dots that floated near the recessed lights that were far out of reach. When no response came, she felt a flash of anger. “Hey! Asshole! Why the fuck are you doing this to me?!”
The dull silence that echoed back at her was infuriating. She’d always gone out of her way to be kind, to know the names of the people who worked for her father. There was never a time she left out a please or a thank you, and she was proud of that. Hell, she called her father’s head of security Uncle Will. She wasn’t like her stuck up friends, so caught up in their wealth they didn’t even bother to try. Yet, here she was, naked, bruised, alone.
Rage prodded her and made her growl at the unfairness of it all.
“I don’t even know who you are!” Rebecca stood and screamed at a different camera. “I haven’t done a fucking thing to you, so what’s your problem? Are you mad that we have money? Angry that my father is successful? What the fuck do you think my father did to you?”
Her voice was raw, the lingering ache in her throat from his rough chokeholds made her run out of steam faster than she wanted, but nothing happened. Tearing her fingers into her hair, she pulled at the roots like she could hold herself together if she could just keep her head from coming apart. Emotion roared through her as the situation settled over her. Kidnapped, assaulted, and being used as a pawn against her father.
“Talk to me, you son of a bitch!” Reaching down, she snagged the tray off the floor and threw it at one of the cameras—it missed—but the television flared to life showing a vibrant number five.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She walked over to the television and slammed her hands against the plastic case that protected it. The number ticked down to four, and then continued dropping. “Is this the deal, you’ll only talk to me when you have me pinned down or tied up? You and your delusional bullshit—”
The screen showed a one, turned red, and then flicked off, just before the heavy metal door opened.
Rebecca turned fast and forced herself to hold her ground. His dark outline in the doorframe made her stomach flip flop, but she swallowed down the sudden nausea. “I want answers.”
“No, Rapunzel, you don’t.” His voice was clear and threatening, but she stayed strong.
“What do you think my father did to you? Why are you doing this?”
“I don’t think anything, I know, and I’m sick of listening to you shouting. Shut the fuck up, or I’ll gag you.” He had one large, gloved hand on the door to hold it open, and she could see a plain looking cement hallway behind him. Nothing helpful.
“Then why not just fucking tell me? Just tell me why you’re doing this!”
“Don’t push me, princess.”
“Why not? Are you going to kill me?” She wasn’t sure where the question had come from, but it was somewhere deep inside her, somewhere underneath all of the helpful logic she’d been nursing since she’d woken up. When he laughed, a low and sinister sound, Rebecca took a step backwards.
“No.” His head tilted. “Not yet anyway. Now, are you going to be a good girl and keep your fucking mouth shut until I tell you to speak?”
“Go fuck yourself,” she spat, and then he stepped into the room. Backing away fast, she tried to circle him, to stay out of his reach, but her back collided with the wall when he suddenly lengthened his strides. With a quick jerk, he had a fistful of her long hair and he threw her to the floor. Landing on her side, she tried to scramble away, but he was on top of her too quickly. One hand caught her throat and squeezed as he dropped between her thighs, forcing her legs open.
“Want to repeat that?” The menacing question was punctuated with a tighter grip that threatened her airway and made her cough as she grabbed onto his wrist. “Hmm?”
“Pl—” She tried to beg but was cut off with a choking sound as his thumb dug harder into the tender column of her neck.
“I don’t think you understand your place in this situation. You are nothing more than a conveniently useful tool in my plans. The fact that I can fuck you while I torture your piece of shit father is just a bonus—but if you continue to piss me off I will start to really hurt you. Do you understand?” His low laugh returned from behind his mask, those tawny eyes taunting her with his clear enjoyment of her suffering. “Nod for me, whore.”
She nodded, and his crushing grip released. Her first breath was a cough, and he ran one gloved finger over her cheek.
“Now, you’re going to keep your fucking mouth shut and not irritate me anymore. Isn’t that right?”
With a painful swallow, she nodded again, and a shiver ran over her as his eyes wandered down her naked body. Whether he had meant it to be an unspoken threat or not, she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do against his strength. If he wanted to hurt her, he would. If he wanted to fuck her again, he would. If he wanted to kill her—
“That’s a good slut. I’ll be back later. We’re just waiting to see what Daddy thought of your performances.” He stroked down her neck, brushing her breast before he pushed himself up, one foot planted between her legs as he towered above her. “You should pray that you were convincing.”
Rebecca stayed still on her back as he stepped over her and moved towards the door. He scooped the tray from the floor and then yanked the heavy metal open, and she waited to hear it shut and lock before she sat up slowly. Her throat was a circlet of pain as she pulled her legs tight to her chest. Wiping roughly at the tears slipping over her cheeks, her long blonde hair forming a curtain around her, she tried to stop the shaking to no avail.
Above her, the cameras winked back on.
“I’m sorry, Dad…” she whispe
red into the emptiness, wondering if he would ever hear her apology, or if she had just made a terrible, mortal error.
Chapter Three
Time passed without measure except for the next two times the cameras turned off, and he slammed his fist against the door, telling her to step back.
Always masked, he would hold the door open just long enough to set a sandwich down on the concrete, no more trays. Both times she ran to the other side of the room, not interested in another clash, but he would only glance at her and then leave.
With nothing else to do, she started to watch the red dots, zoning out on them because they were the only warning she had for when he’d return. The corner was the best place, across from the door, opposite the toilet, unable to see the television if he turned it back on. It made her feel more secure, more stable. A small place as safe as she could make it that made the unending silence a little more bearable.
Then, the lights went out.
There was no stopping the scream, but she bit down on it and cut it short so she wouldn’t draw him back. Pitch black once again, nothing to see but the eight glowing red eyes peering down at her from the ceiling. Closing her eyes tight, she started to braid her hair in sections, anything to keep her hands busy in the empty space, but eventually not even that helped.
Was she supposed to be sleeping? Was this some twisted form of bedtime?
Her eyes roamed the ceiling, trying to ignore the imagined shapes in the dark. The shadows blacker than black. They were imaginary, right? Shivers passed through her as she stared, silently pleading, and then one by one the cameras started to wink out. No. She crawled forward, her breaths growing rapid as panic started to clutch her chest tight. “Wait!”
Five left.
“Hey!” Rebecca stood up and waved her arms in front of a dot, shouting, but it winked out, and she spun around.
Three left.
Two.
“PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME IN THE DARK!” The scream was pure terror, and then there was only one dot, her eyes locked on it, praying under her breath for it to stay on.
Zero.
She instantly felt dizzy, the perfect blackness making her mind warp. Was the ground tilting, or was that her? Was something crawling on her? In a panicked flurry she brushed at her arms and legs, winding her hair up and back, and then she stumbled towards a wall. She couldn’t tell which one it was, had no idea where she was in the room, but she followed it to a corner and sat down, pressing her ribs back against the concrete so she could feel somewhat grounded. “Please, please, please turn the lights on,” she begged into the dark, breaking his rule for silence, her voice cracking as she cried. “Please…”
No response. Not even to her speaking.
There was nothing.
So much nothing.
It stayed dark for hours, or at least it seemed to, her mind torturing her with imagined shadows. Each time her hair brushed her skin she jumped, whining into the empty space around her, shivering as her eyes started to play tricks. Flares of color that weren’t actually there, she knew they weren’t there. Nothing was there.
Eventually, she started to plead aloud. She begged in hoarse whispers for him to give her back just one camera light, anything real to focus on, apologized for speaking, apologized for shouting at him—but there was no answer.
No change. Just endless black.
After too much time in the dark, too much time where she was sure she would lose her mind, she heard the door unlock and beautiful, bright light flooded in. She wanted to run towards it, to bathe herself in the brightness, but then she saw the chain in his bare hands. Heard it shifting as link rubbed against link.
At some point she had stood up and taken a few steps towards him, hungry for the light in the hall, but now she was frozen. In the opposite corner of her safe spot, and he was simply staring at her from behind that damn mask. Her voice wobbled as he adjusted the chain in his grip. “Pl- please turn the lights back on?”
“What will you do for me if I do?” The words sent a chill down her spine.
“What do you want?” She took a tentative step back, and then he let the door shut. Darkness covered her again, only now it wasn’t just a random fear, an imagined shape in the black, now she knew the danger was real.
“I want you to come here.” The chain jingled in his hand as he started to walk towards her, and panic raced through her as she staggered backwards until she hit the wall. His heavy footsteps moved quickly, but she darted past him out into the open space. He growled, a hint of anger tainting his voice. “Come on, princess. Don’t you want the lights back on?”
“Yes,” she answered and then ran, his footfalls moving to where she’d been. A low laugh rumbled out from him when he didn’t find her.
“Come to me on your own and I won’t hurt you—much.” He started to pace the room, searching for her, but she stayed ahead. “However, if you make me catch you…”
Rebecca covered her mouth, trying to breathe as quietly as possible as she inched along the wall, taking careful steps. He was big and he made noise when he moved, and not just because of the chain he carried. Every bootfall, every breath seemed louder in the empty black.
“Last chance.” His voice was closer than she’d expected and she had to hold her mouth shut so she wouldn’t scream as fear wound like icy vines down her spine. A part of her urged her to give in, to beg him not to hurt her, to simply submit, but that was the foolish, weak part—and there was no way in hell she’d listen. His movements were too close and she sped up, but with the next step her foot landed on one of the rings in the floor. A painful punch to the arch of her foot made her stumble and draw in a gasp as she scrambled to right herself.
Even as she covered her mouth, she knew it was too late. He’d already heard.
His massive form slammed into her, the breath leaving her lungs in a yelp. “NO!” she screamed, but he caught her arms as she tried to shove him back.
Weak. Pathetic. Stupid.
In a moment, she was pinned between his hard body and the wall, and she screamed again, desperate to break away, but he ignored her struggles. “Do you like running from me, princess?” He nudged her hair out of the way as his lips ran down her neck. “Do you like it when I catch you? Is that why you shouted at me earlier?”
“No,” she whined and tried to break his grip, but he tightened his hold until the fine bones of her wrists creaked, and he pulled them high above her head.
“Oh, I think you do like it.” He adjusted until both her hands were captured in one of his, and the chain dropped loudly to the floor beside her. His touch was like a live wire over her skin, making her muscles jump as he traced a path down her neck, over the swell of her breast, and down her waist. “Does it make you wet knowing I can do anything I want with you right now?”
“NO!” she shouted at him, but he growled and forced a knee between her thighs, spreading her until he could press her legs wide.
“Really, princess? Let’s see.” He swiped at her slit, dragging damning moisture towards her clit just before he roughly shoved two fingers inside her. Struggling, she screamed through clenched teeth because she was wet. She knew it before he even started to laugh, his breath brushing over her cheek. “Desperate little whore, I know you better than you know yourself.”
You are a whore.
You should be terrified, not turned on.
There’s something broken in you, damaged, fucked up. Her own mind turned against her, a vicious little voice that was worse than the steady, sharp thrusts of his fingers.
Her pussy ached when he finally slid his fingers from her and then caught her chin, tracing her juices blindly over her lips. “Open up.”
With a violent twist, Rebecca tried to break free, but his hips pinned her back to the wall and he dug his nails into the skin of her wrist. The hard press of his cock behind his pants was impossible to ignore and she whined, hating him, hating her body for betraying her like this.
He slapped her, the sti
ng making her gasp before she clamped her jaw shut as he grabbed her chin again. “I said open up, slut. I want you to taste just how wet you are, I want you to lick it from my fingers, I want you to realize that this is all you’re good for.” When she tried to shake her head, he dug his fingers into her cheeks, prying her mouth open. “You’re going to obey me, princess, but if you bite me? I’ll do things to your body you can’t even imagine.”
A shudder passed through her at his words, wishing once again that she were braver. Brave enough to bite down, to spit in his face even though she couldn’t see it.
There was no mercy in him as he pushed his fingers in slowly, testing her, and she whined as he forced them to the back of her tongue, making her gag. “Suck.”
She tried to plead around the invasion, unintelligible sounds, but he didn’t care. He was going to do what he wanted—and if she obeyed maybe he wouldn’t hurt her. Sealing her lips around his fingers, she traced them with her tongue, tasting herself and sucking softly.
“You’re going to have to do better than that with my cock in your throat, might as well practice now.” He thrust his fingers deeper, gagging her again, and she tried to pull at his hold on her wrists without success. “Tsk, tsk. Don’t fight me. Just accept it.”
Soft cries started to leave her lips as she struggled not to choke, swallowing the saliva that pooled in her mouth. When he pushed them deep again, she felt the wetness spill past her chin, and she was suddenly thankful for the cloak of darkness.
Ripping his fingers from her mouth, he wiped them on her cheek slowly, smearing the wetness across her face as he rubbed a thumb across her lips. “Good. On your knees.”
“Please don’t do this.”
He sighed and released her hands, grabbing her by the hair to force her to the floor in front of him, her knees bruising on impact. There was no point of reference in the room, but somehow she could still feel him towering over her, she could feel his eyes on her. “This wasn’t what I had planned, but since daddy dearest isn’t responding I need to send him some encouragement. It might as well be you deep throating my cock like the little whore you are.”