by Fawn Bailey
"Y-yes," I managed to get out. "Alright."
"No," he corrected me, his fingers tightening around my cheeks. "Answer me properly."
I resisted his touch and he grinned at me.
"You don't know how?" he asked next, and I shook my head helplessly. He really was a madman. "Do you know what you're supposed to call me?"
"Kain," I whispered, and he shook his head furiously.
"NO!" he exclaimed. "Not here, dolly. You don't call me Kain here. You're my dolly. My little puppet. What does that make me?"
I looked into his eyes. They were so dark I could barely make out the pupils. He was a dangerous man at the tender age of nineteen, and I was afraid of him.
"M-Master," I muttered, and he let go of me, clapping his hands victoriously.
"That's right, dolly!" he grinned. "Good fucking girl. Say it again."
I stared him down, hoping I was conveying just how much I hated him.
"Master."
"Such a nice word, isn't it?" he taunted me. "I'd love to hear it one more time. Can you use it in a sentence?"
"Fuck you, Master," I muttered, and he gave me a death glare.
"You will," he promised me. "Not until you beg, of course. Now say it properly. NOW."
"Yes, Master," I said, my voice soft and hurt.
He smoothed my hair down, and it felt so nice I found myself leaning into his touch, craving the cruel kindness he was showing me.
"You like that, dolly?" he asked, leaning in closer. "I like it too. See, you can be such a good little dolly. And I'll be a good master. Just know..."
His fingers were rougher now, scratching me, hurting me.
"I am going to take your innocence," he growled in my ear, and my back arched as his breath moved lower, past my neck and down onto my shoulder blades, making me shiver. "I'm going to be the first one inside you, I'm going to clip your fucking wings before you learn how to fly."
I hated that my body responded to his cruelty. Hated how it arched and pressed against him with desperation I didn't know I possessed. I mewled for him, and he chuckled against my skin, his hand moving to the front of my neck and tracing a line down to my tits with his fingernail.
"I bet your pussy's dripping at the thought," he whispered, and my muscles tightened. "Oh, I see what your body's doing to you, dolly. You can try to hide it as much as you want. Master knows you've soaked your thighs."
"No," I cried out, and he pressed a hand to my ass, his fingers dangerously close to the spot where I was leaking.
I whimpered in response to his invasive touch, and he laughed again.
"No?" he repeated. "So if I touch you between your whore legs... you won't be wet at all?"
"No," I managed weakly, and he grabbed my hair, pulling so harshly my head fell back, my eyes filling with tears when he made me look up at him.
"If you lied to me, dolly," he said darkly. "I'm going to hurt you."
I made a little deal with myself in my mind. He was obviously insane, so I would do what I had to please him. But I would never, ever, stop trying to get away from him. I would, however, admit that he was right.
But the second I tried to open my mouth and admit I had lied, perhaps soften my punishment a little, he held his palm over my lips.
"No," he said sweetly. "Too late now, dolly."
He slipped his hand over my pussy and I cried out when he held me like that, at my most vulnerable. My cunt was cupped behind his fingers and I knew his intentions were to hurt me, to show me pain like he'd felt his entire life. In his sick, twisted mind, he'd convinced himself everything that happened to him was somehow my fault, and now he was going to make me pay.
"Wet," he snarled. "Just like I knew you would be. Are you a little liar, dolly?"
"N-no," I whispered.
"I think you are," he went on. "I think you are a very bad little liar."
He pushed a finger inside me and I screeched, resisting him with everything I had in me which made him laugh.
"Afraid I'm going to rip it?" he asked darkly. "Your pretty little pussy, dolly, are you afraid I'm going to rip it open?"
"No," I managed, and he pushed a second finger inside, making me whimper. "Don't! Please, stop!"
"No," he growled back. "I'm never going to stop. I'm going to take this... All of this. You better deal with that right now."
I started to cry and he took his fingers out, making me watch as he licked them clean. He was a fucking monster. He was a horrible, horrible person, and I was stuck as his prisoner. There was no one to save me, and no one to help me out of this mess. I was on my own.
For the next hour, he kept teasing me with that fucking whip until I was a trembling, whimpering mess. He ran it along my spine, down my tits and all over my pussy, spanking and hitting me whenever he so pleased. By the time he was done, I was a mess already, with dried tears running down my face and biting my bottom lip nervously, trying to do anything and everything to stop what he was doing in its tracks.
"You won't be able to resist much longer," he told me sweetly. "You know that, don't you dolly?"
"No," I whispered.
"No what?" he demanded, pushing my chin up with the tail of the whip.
"No, Master," I got out, staring contemptuously into his eyes.
"Beg me to fuck you," he said easily, and I shut my eyes as tightly as I possibly could. "BEG!"
"Please, Master," I said uselessly. "Please."
"Please what?" he roared, his hand going to the bulge in his suit trousers.
He was getting hard... This abuse, this utter mistreatment of me got him hard as a rock. I thought I couldn't hate him anymore, but he proved me wrong at that moment.
"Please, Master," I repeated. "Fuck me."
He roared with laughter and I blushed deeply as he stripped down. He didn't stop until he was naked, and I stared at him as he stood in front of me, drinking in the body of my captor.
He wasn't only handsome - it was his body, his ripped muscles that really caught my eye. He was enormous, broad-shouldered despite his young age, his body toned and lean. His cock looked as monstrous as the rest of him, thick, throbbing and wet with something at the tip. I tried to close my eyes, but even when I did, the image didn't go away. I knew he was going to hurt me.
But what shocked me were the number of scars all over him, raised and gory and vicious looking.
"What happened to you?" I whispered, and he was pressing his body against mine in seconds, making me feel his arousal against my leg.
"You don't get to ask that," he snarled. "Now let me in."
He pushed his cock at my entrance and I mewled when he did it.
"Don't," I begged him.
"No?" he asked gently, rubbing his tip all over my pussy. "You don't want this, dolly? I can stop any second..."
My body was responding to him even though I was desperate to stop it.
"I can tell you want it," he whispered in my ear. "As much as you try to fight it, I'll always know, little dolly."
I whimpered as he forced himself into me. He stayed still and then suddenly pushed in. I cried out when I felt him pop me open, just like that. My innocence, my childhood, everything was taken away with a single thrust of his powerful hips.
But what I hated more was how badly I wanted it, and how open I responded to his thrusts. My body was submitting even though my mind tried desperately to resist it. But I craved the feeling of it - of him inside me, my pussy clinging to him for dear life, gripping his cock as if my life depended on it.
"That's right, dolly," he said, his voice overcome with something I didn't completely understand. "Let me have you, this is how it was meant to be all along..."
I cried out and he pressed his palm firmly against my mouth.
"I like you better quiet," he whispered in my ear. "You make such pretty noises when I do this..."
He kept fucking me and I felt a tear slipping down my cheek when I realized how much I was enjoying it. I thought about biting down on his pal
m, but I was too afraid. Too fucking stubborn to admit how good this felt, being fucked by my family's murderer... I would never be pure again.
I felt his tongue against my skin, licking the salty trace of the tear.
"I love it when you cry," he groaned and grabbed ahold of my hips.
If I thought it hurt before, I was in for a whole new world of pain. And as he fucked me, I allowed myself to go to a place where he was my boyfriend, and we were fooling around behind papa's back. He was just a guy, and I was just a girl, and none of the terrible things had actually happened. Papa or mamochka would walk in on us any second now, and that would be the biggest of my problems.
I made myself believe it, made myself take it until I was moaning along with his thrusts. He never let go of my mouth, holding down on it until he'd ripped three traitorous orgasms out of my body. I hated him for it.
"Now it's my turn," he said in my ear. "And I don't use protection, dolly. Even better if I knock you up."
There was no use in crying or trying to get away. It was going to happen, either way, so I let it. I let him.
And that was the day I stopped speaking. I had to honor my family in some way, and since I had nothing left, it was the only thing I could do.
He'd broken me, and it was only the first night.
Chapter 3
Max
I thought I wouldn't survive the first beating. By the time the second one came around, I'd wished I hadn't.
I was a mess of blood, broken bones and bruises. They hadn't gone easy on me. Several men had beaten me before they'd even put me in the car. I thought I was a dead man walking.
I drifted in and out of consciousness as we drove towards a destination I didn't know. The drive seemed to take ages, the bumpy roads hurting my wounds and making me groan in the trunk of the car they'd stashed me in.
Once we arrived, I'd pissed myself twice, and the reek of urine made me deeply ashamed. But the worst shame came from knowing how fucking afraid I was. I knew I was going to die. It was just a matter of time.
The trunk opened and I was blinded by bright light. Someone tossed me out of the car and onto the gravel, and I groaned when the small stones dug into my skin, scratching it savagely and drawing even more blood.
"Welcome to your new life, son of a bitch," someone told me, spitting at my shaking body. "It ain't gonna be easy."
I was shaking, delirious and sick from it all. I retched all over the gravel and someone laughed at me before I was forced to my feet by two men and dragged away from the road we were on.
My eyes were still adjusting to the light but even so, I had no fucking clue where the hell I was. My bad leg was throbbing with pain, the injury from my childhood loudly protesting what they were doing to me.
"Please," I begged in a rough, scratchy voice. "What are you doing? My father will pay you."
Someone laughed out loud and the man from before sneered in my face.
"Do we look like we want Daddy dearest's money?" he snarled, and I closed my eyes when he spat at me. "Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit. You're starting a new life now. No more spoiled rich boy. Time to grow the hell up."
I was dragged to what looked like a bunker in the middle of nowhere. Unceremoniously, someone tossed me into the dark abyss and I barely managed to catch myself on the ladder, my blood chilling at the thought that these men didn't really give a shit whether I lived or died. But it didn't make me despair, instead sending a jolt of electricity through my body, survival instincts kicking in and demanding I fight back. Demanding I make it back alive. I promised myself I would, and I would come to the bottom of this.
My mind went back to Ophelia, beautiful, smart, sassy Ophelia who was now an orphan. She'd made this choice, she'd condemned me to this fate, yet I couldn't bring myself to hate her. She'd always preferred Ryker and we all knew it. It wasn't her fault that she chose him. It was my fucking fault for never being good enough, just like my father said.
The men forced me to walk down a long underground hallway, and as we kept walking, my leg got worse and worse. I collapsed several times, but it didn't dissuade them from making me walk farther into the belly of the beast. As we neared our destination, I started to hear voices, brawling, laughing, cheering. My heart sank when we walked into a large room with a high ceiling. In the middle of it, there was a fighting ring, a similar one I'd seen in boxing. All around it there were deranged looking filthy men, holding up money, drinking beer, with trashy women clinging to them with their eyes vacant. It was like a scene from a horror film.
Finally, my eyes settled on the scene inside the boxing ring. There were two men in it, one small and the other one enormous. The first one couldn't have been more than eighteen years old, but the other guy must've been older. He was enormous, not just in girth but in height as well. He roared with anger and launched himself at the smaller boy, but the kid was fast, stealthy. He moved out of his path, dodged every attack, and struck when the brute wasn't expecting it. I saw blood spilling, realizing each one of them had a small knife to fight with.
The men who had brought me in watched them fighting one another while cheering loudly, and I groaned with pain every time one of them nudged me. There was no use in trying to outrun them. I had no fucking clue where I was, and they outnumbered me by far. I was fucking trapped.
They made me watch the fight until the little kid won, slicing through the brute's chest. The boy collapsed on his back while the patrons cheered and drank more.
Then, someone grabbed the collar of my stained, ruined shirt, and walked me towards the boxing ring.
"Your turn," he grunted in my ear, and someone shoved a knife in my hand and thrust me into the ring.
The boy jumped up, steady on his feet as if he hadn't just defeated the brutal giant. His eyes were wary, and I could see a hint of fear behind them, mirroring my own. I must have looked a state, but so did he.
We stared at one another for several long moments while the crowd cheered, and then the boy's jaw set. He came at me with his arms outstretched and his knife poised to cut.
The first blow knocked me to the ground while the men cheered. He sliced through my cheek, placing the first scar of many on my body. I touched my fingers to the spot that was now leaking warm, sticky blood and roared with anger.
Despite my fucked up leg I was filled with anger, with rage for being thrust into the ring, left to fucking die while Ryker's life had been spared. The unfairness of it all made me stronger, and I launched myself at the boy, tackling him to the ground and grabbing ahold of his shirt, slamming his head into the concrete.
He whimpered and I hated myself for what I was doing, but I'd already realized what was supposed to happen here. It was a battle to the death and if the boy didn't die, I would.
He was fast, quick on his feet and efficient. When I wasn't looking, he slipped out from under me and sliced scar upon scar into my body. My leg was protesting with a blinding pain but I couldn't let myself lose. The unfairness of it all made me so fucking angry it was like I'd just been given a shot of adrenaline.
I threw myself at the younger guy, throwing punches, slicing, kicking, punching. I didn't stop. I just kept hitting, and a lone tear slipped down my cheek as I tore a hole into the boy's stomach. He was bleeding profusely, and his soft brown eyes turned to mine, silently begging me to stop.
For a moment I did, my fist poised above him while the crowd booed. I couldn't do this. I wasn't a fucking monster. I couldn't hurt an innocent child.
But the realization had already dawned on the kid, and he closed his eyes peacefully, giving me the smallest of nods. I saw it as forgiveness, but as I twisted the knife in his belly for the very last time, I knew I was going to hell for what I'd done to an innocent boy. The circumstances didn't matter. I was a murderer.
Once I was done, I collapsed on my back, my breaths labored and heavy. The crowd cheered. It stank of beer, piss, and sweat, with an underlying layer of blood. They left me in the ring for hours, nobody giv
ing a shit whether I made it out alive or not. Finally, after I'd been lying there for what felt like an eternity, someone forced me to get up.
I looked into the eyes of an old man with a scraggly grey beard and beady little green eyes.
"You're going to be a winner," he told me. "Everyone's already placed bets for the next battle tomorrow. But now it's time for your reward."
He helped me get to my feet and half-carried, half-dragged me down a concrete hallway with low ceilings. He thrust me into a cell with iron bars blocking the entrance and shut it behind me, and I collapsed on the ground. Moments later, the man reappeared with a small slice of bread and some water. I scarfed it down.
"Are you ready for your real reward?" he asked conspiratorially, laughing with a dry sound that must've meant he was hurt as well. "Here she comes."
He opened the bars and thrust a girl into the small cell.
There was no privacy in the room, nowhere to hide, and the girl was shivering, her naked body covered in dirt and goosebumps.
"She's yours for the night," the old man said. "Be ready for the fight tomorrow. It won't always be as easy as tonight."
With those words, he sat down in front of the cell, bringing out a sandwich laden with toppings and showing off a smile of broken teeth as he watched us through the bars. He was there for the show... and the girl was there as the entertainment.
I took a good look at her. She was thin and bony, dirty and unkempt. She was young, too, but not as young as the boy. She had dark, long hair, just like Ophelia did. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, and then reached for her.
She was terrified. Her body was shaking like a leaf as I pulled her into my arms. I looked for comfort in her embrace but couldn't find any. So I decided to use her instead.
She begged me not to. She begged me to let her go while the old man watched, eating his sandwich. She begged for a long time, but I didn't listen. I was already a changed man. There was no more room in the world for Max Marino, the wimpy older twin of the most notorious Italian mob family in the city. I needed to become a new person if I was going to survive the environment they'd thrust me into. And I had a feeling if I didn't take advantage of the rewards that had been offered to me, I would lose my damn mind.