by Shandi Boyes
What the fuck happened to me?
When I pivot back around to face my room, desperately needing answers, I hear Eight say, “You need to tell him who she is.”
Mikhail has him pinned to the far wall of my suite. He’s right up in his face, but it doesn’t have me missing his reply. “That’s not up to you to decide. If Nikolai wants him to know, he will tell him. Until then, keep your fucking mouth shut.”
After working my jaw side to side, I slur out, “Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on!”
With the environment hostile, Kendall slips through the cracked open door, bumping into Nikolai and a redheaded woman on her way out.
Nineteen
Sales Docket Number 12574
“Eat!”
With his annoyance higher than my starvation, Achim yanks on the chain latched to the metal collar around my neck. His tug is rough enough to pull me off the mattress my backside has barely lifted from for the longest time—I don’t know if it’s weeks or months anymore. I don’t know anything—but it doesn’t arouse a response from me. Not even a squeak parts my lips.
That annoys Achim more than anything.
“Do you want me to strap you to the bed again? To have them feed you through a nasal tube?” He wrenches my head back by fisting my hair in a cruel hold. It’s shinier than it has ever been, nourished by the care I was given my first few weeks back here.
Achim wants to build me up so he can break me all over again. He wants me to fight him like I did Vladimir in the videos he watched.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
I won’t even look at him. That’s how much I hate him.
He can go to hell. They all can. They can use me and abuse me. They can beat me until I am black and blue, but they’ll never see the life in my eyes. I am not K to them, nor am I Kristina. I am a number on a sales docket. An asset.
And yet, I’m still too good for them.
“Answer me, goddammit!” Achim screams in my face, unaware not even the repulsion of his spit landing on my cheek will cause me to blink. I stay completely still. Motionless and mute. Dead, yet somehow still alive.
My lips die to crack into a smile when Achim suspends his second hit midair, but I won’t allow them to twitch. That would give him too much satisfaction. This, however, doesn’t. He’s growing bored of the game remarkably quick. There’s no joy in abusing someone who refuses to respond. His ego can’t be fed from my silent cries. His dick won’t harden because of my whimpers. He’ll need to get his kicks elsewhere because he will never get them from me ever again.
I used to give in because I felt bad that my punishment would be handed to someone else, but my time in the United States taught me differently. I protected Ana. I went to hell and back for her, yet, she couldn’t even share her food with me. She left me defenseless as I do her when Achim releases my hair from his grip before he stomps to Ana’s side of our room.
Her whimpers almost break me.
Her cries almost fill my eyes with tears.
But I cling to the memories that I was once free. It might have only been for a couple of hours, but time doesn’t matter when you’re brave enough to tiptoe out of the dark.
Twenty
Trey
“No can do. You heard Dok. You’re on desk duty until further notice.”
Grumbling that Dok can suck my dick, I make my way to the passenger side of Eight’s car. I spent the majority of the summer in a hospital suite, yet Eight’s pride and joy looks more haggard than me. The lower half of his schmick ride is covered with mud, and the paint on the roof looks like she’s been battling the elements for longer than three months.
I think Eight is chuckling at my derogative comment but am proven wrong when he mentions my pretzel-like maneuver to get into my seat being the most action I’ve had in weeks. My knees are around my ears, and my crotch is an inch from my face.
“Don’t fucking remind me how dire it’s been. Stroking one out while wearing a heart monitor isn’t an easy feat.” He chuckles again when I mutter, “Still worked it, though.” After pushing back my seat as far as it will go, I tug on my seat belt. “What happened to you sneaking in some whores into my room for me? I thought you were my man, Eight, but you left me hanging.”
With his eyes front and center, he fires up the motor of his car. “Nikolai—”
“Doesn’t understand what I’m going through. He’s got Justine’s pussy on speed dial.” I shake my head, still shocked Nikolai is shacked up with a girl. I thought my brothers were messing with me when they filled me in on everything I had missed. Nikolai fell dick first in love. Vladimir was killed in an unexpected raid, and I spent the entire time holed up in a hospital bed because I couldn’t keep my Shelby on the road after a few drinks. “Lucky we’re going back to Clarks now, isn’t it?”
Eight hums out an agreement, but he keeps his eyes on the road, only removing them when he pulls into the closest drive-thru at my request. The hospital food was rank, and I’m more than eager to replace it with something greasy, so Sonic is a good choice.
The quickest flicker of a pair of baby blue eyes flashes before my eyes when Eight asks, “What do you want to eat? Beef, chicken, or wings?” With my mouth refusing to cooperate, Eight socks me in the arm before ordering one of each item on the menu. “But hold on the drinks. We’ll just take two bottles of water,” he says down the ordering box.
After pulling up to the window, he hands the cashier a bundle of cash before accepting the two bottles of water she’s holding out for him.
“You good?” he asks me, peering at me strangely.
I don’t feel close to good, but I jerk up my chin, nonetheless. “Just hungry, that’s all.”
“Aight. It’s coming. Hold your horses.”
The way he watches me when he hands me bag after bag of greasy food makes my stomach churn more than the hospital’s version of scrambled eggs. “If you’re hoping this will get your dick sucked, you’re shit out of luck, Eight. I’m all for my whore sucking your cock while I fuck her in the ass, but that’s only because your cock isn’t anywhere near mine. I’m not into you like that.”
He laughs, but it isn’t his real laugh. He seems more frustrated than amused.
With Eight’s switch-up in personality freaking me the fuck out, I exit his car before him when it comes to a stop at the front of Clarks. The smell of cocaine, gun powder, and chlorine is all too familiar, but me heading for the sleeping quarters at the side of the compound isn’t. My room is on the other side of Clarks, far from the dormitory-like confines we house brothers from other chapters in when they’re stateside.
“You stopped for food?” Mikhail asks when I dump a handful of bags onto the coffee table between us. When I jerk up my chin, he growls out, “Looks like you got enough to feed an army. What is that? One of each item on the menu?” His eyes aren’t on me. He’s glaring at Eight, who’s making his way into the main living area with the bags I left in his car.
“Trey was hungry,” Eight defends, shrugging. “Figured everyone else would be, too.”
My mouth freezes halfway to the burger I’ve just unwrapped when Mikhail forcefully places Eight into his seat. It wasn’t a hey-let-me-help-you-with-your-load shove. It was a, you-are-pissing-me-the-fuck-off nudge.
“What’s the go with you two? You’ve been weird since I woke.”
“It’s nothing,” Mikhail assures me after hitting Eight with a stern finger point. “We just have opposing opinions on a matter.”
“Then get un-opposing opinions,” I mutter through a chunk of beef patty. “With Nikolai’s head in a lust cloud, we need to stay focused for him. Things get complicated when women are involved.” I know that better than anyone.
When Mikhail gives Eight a look as if to say, I told you so, he holds out his hands in front of himself. “Aight. I’ll back the fuck up.” He slouches low into his chair before lifting his eyes to Mikhail. “But when this backfires in your face, don’t say I didn’t
tell you so.”
I spend the next two hours sitting across from my brothers who stare at me like the cap I wear to hide the scars on my head is invisible. Something has changed, I just have no fucking clue what it is. The whores still prance around in their skimpy clothes waiting with desperation for me to wave them over, white lines of coke still take up a majority of the coffee table, and excluding a handful of men I’m assuming were lost during the raid, the faces peering at me are familiar. Yet, it still feels like something is missing.
It’s probably my mojo. Excluding my years in hell, I could have been inducted to the Hall of Fame for fucking on many occasions. It’s a part of who I am. It is what I’m about. If my cock isn’t filling the cunt of a whore, it’s being rammed down the throat or ass of another.
It has been in none of those places the past three months.
Confident that’s what I’m missing, I scoot to the edge of my chair before psting at Eight to get his attention. After stabbing out his cigarette into an ashtray on the coffee table, he joins me in sitting on the edge of his chair.
“What’s the blonde’s name? It’s slipping my mind.” I nudge my head to the jacuzzi full of women staring at me like their mouths salivate just at the idea of sucking my cock.
“Which one?” Eight asks after following the direction of my gaze. “Most of them are blonde.”
“The one with the big ass and tits.” I nearly say, and big blue eyes, but I hold back. I don’t know why. “Sitting next to the African woman.”
“Oh, that’s Saige.” His eyes snap to mine so quick, they make my head dizzy. “Why?”
Smirking a smug grin, I rub my hands together. “Because I’m going to invite her for a nightcap in my room.”
“No.” Eight rockets out of his chair so fast, he knocks over his drink. “That isn’t a good idea. You two have history.”
“History she liked by the hankering in her eyes.”
Eight splays his hand across my chest, stopping me from scooting past him to make my way to the jacuzzi. When I arch a brow, wordlessly announcing he better have a good excuse for putting his hands on me, he blubbers out, “You don’t take girls to your room.”
He’s right, but my head is too mixed up to admit that right now. “A change-up never hurt anyone, August. Sometimes that’s what life is about. The occasional tiptoe out of the dark.”
When he gets up in my business again, Mikhail tells him to stand down before I get the chance to remind him a car accident didn’t lose me the use of my fists. I like Eight, but he’s getting on my last nerve tonight. He’s been weird since the day I woke up four weeks ago.
“Time to cut back on the drugs, E. They’re fucking with your head.”
I swear he grumbles, “Not as much as Mikhail is messing with yours,” when I scoot past him, but I can’t be sure. My heart is thumping out too much of a funky tune from me shortening Eight’s nickname to one letter for me to hear anything. I can barely hear anything over the thud of my pulse in my ears.
I wiggle my index finger in my ear to free it from my heart’s echo before stopping in front of Saige. “Wanna get out of here?” Ignoring the clench of my jaw from my words coming out with a lisp, I nudge my head to the corridor my room is located down to ensure she knows what I’m referencing. I am not taking her for a steak.
My cock gives out a half-hearted twitch when she eagerly nods. She’s got everything I usually go for. Curvy hips, plenty of ass and tits, and my favorable blue-eyed, blonde-hair combination, but she still seems a little assertive. Overbearing even.
“Nuh-uh,” I growl out on a groan when my assistance to help her out of the jacuzzi sees her legs wrapping around my waist and her lips arrowing toward mine. “If you want to kiss, you can save them for my cock.”
I push her away from me via a hand to her face before spinning on my heels and stomping toward my room, acting ignorant to the limp my car accident caused.
Saige follows like a motherfucking lap dog. Her eagerness would usually please me. Today, it’s just pissing me off.
“Go wash off the jacuzzi water,” I demand, nudging my head to the bathroom attached to my room. “The chlorine on your skin is burning my nose hairs.”
Her nasally voice screeches my eardrums when she says, “There’s no towel.”
“You don’t need a towel, do ya?”
I nearly roll my eyes like a punk-ass when she smiles. “I guess not. They’re only needed for people wanting to dry off. I don’t want to be dry. I like being wet.”
When she switches on the shower faucet, my hand rockets up to cradle my skull. It’s not throbbing through one of the many migraines I’ve faced the past four weeks, it is struggling through a flashback. I’m standing in the middle of my room, but I swear droplets of rain are gliding down my cheeks.
When you think about an unexpected downpour, it usually arrives with a calming, natural smell. That isn’t the case this time around. My room reeks of pig shit… and perhaps a touch of mint.
I’m drawn from the oddity by Saige stopping to stand in front of me. She’s drenching wet and butt-naked. “Are you okay? Do you want me to get Dok?” The genuine concern in her tone frustrates me more than I can explain. She doesn’t know me, so she has no right to act as if she cares about me.
“I’m fine. Get on the bed.”
Her pussy and ass are shoved into my peripheral vision when she climbs onto my mattress, not the least bit confronted by my snapped tone. “How do you want me? Like this…” She shakes her ass, hopeful it will see some action tonight. “… or like this.” She rolls over and spreads her legs wide, fully exposing herself. Even though she’s just showered, I’m confident the sheen between her pussy lips isn’t water. Her cunt is salivating for me.
I can’t say my cock is having the same reaction for her. He’s down for the count. Passed the fuck out as I would have been if I had accepted Mikhail’s many offers for a line of coke earlier tonight. Usually, I’d take up his offer in an instant. I wasn’t interested tonight. Don’t ask me why. I’m beginning to wonder if it was more than a couple of days of memories I lost.
After clamping Saige’s knees together like the sight of her puffy cunt makes me sick, I tell her to tilt her head to the side and stay still. “I don’t even want to see you breathing.”
“Okay,” Saige breathes out slowly before straining her eyes to peer at me standing over her, lost on where to go next.
“Don’t look at me. Face your eyes to the wall.”
I wait for her to do as told before dumping my cap, shirt, and jeans onto the floor. Once my boxer shorts join them, I tug at my dick, begging for it to get with the program. He’s not even at half his strength, not that Saige seems to mine. She licks her lips while staring at the piercings down the shaft like they were put there for her pleasure.
“I said to look at the wall.” I slap her thigh hard enough for her to yelp before crawling up her body, praying like fuck my cock will sniff out the needs of her greedy cunt and stand to attention.
When the heaviness of my dick rests on the aching bud between her legs, Saige moans, and something inside me snaps. “I said to shut the fuck up! God, what is it with you women not knowing how to keep your mouth fucking shut? It isn’t hard to follow directions, is it!”
I flop onto my back before throwing an arm over my eyes. The throbbing of my brain against my temples is brutal, but it’s the silence it fails to arrive with that’s driving me mad.
Instead of taking the hint that I’m not interested, Saige positions herself onto her knees before she gathers up my cock in her hands. Yes, I said hands. Even in my pissy mood, I’m not ashamed to admit she’ll need more than two hands to handle me.
When her lips hover an inch above the crest of my cock, I growl out a set of words I never thought I’d say, “If an inch of my cock gets in your mouth, I’ll fucking kill you where you kneel.”
With menace being the highest of all the emotions in my voice, Saige’s backside sinks back until it’s
resting on the balls of her feet, and my cock slips from her grasp. “Then what do you want me to do—”
“Get out.” When she remains frozen on my mattress, unblinking and mute as I wanted her to be only moments ago, I scream again, “Get out!”
After scurrying off the bed, I grab Saige’s wet bikini bottoms from the floor of my bathroom, her grubby nightie from the foot of my bed, and her arm before forcefully marching her to the door. Once she and her belongings are deposited in the corridor, I slam the door shut, grip the sprouts of blond hair peeking out the top of my head, and scream like I’ve never screamed before.
It’s a silent, gut-wrenching scream that sends my heart’s racing beats to my ears as quickly as my brain thumps my temples. When it does little to ease my agitation, I shift my focus to my room. This place was once my sanctuary, the only place I ran to when I was lost.
Now it feels empty, cold, and silent.
So very fucking silent.
After upending my bed, a drawer full of clothes, smashing my television into the wall, and taking a knife to my mattress, I shift my focus to my headboard and bedside tables.
They’re destroyed in a nanosecond, leaving me nothing left to ruin.
While running a hand over scars that will never be hidden, I crouch down to suck in some big breaths. I’m spiraling so hard if I don’t take a moment to breathe, I’ll destroy more than replaceable furniture.
I wasn’t like this at the hospital. I felt cooped up and caged, but normal.
Well, as normal as a man raised in this lifestyle can be.