“Home?” He chuckles. “But this is your home.”
“It’s n-not. My mom—she’ll be looking for me and Nicole.”
He throws the housecoat at me, and it hits me in the face. As if the mention of anyone looking for me has hit a nerve. “No one will be looking for you. I own you now. And if you ever try to leave me, everyone you know will die. Now. Put. It. On.”
Sobbing, I slip my arms through the fleecy sleeves, ignoring the blood and bruises. I just want to be covered. After securing the belt into a tight knot, he grabs my arm and pulls me off the bed. As my feet hit the floor, I let out a sharp, pained breath. Not that he cares as he proceeds to drag me toward the door.
My teeth clamp together as I try my best to concentrate on walking through the agony. Blake takes me out of the bedroom and back into the room with the long table. It’s empty now, no soul in sight. How long was I passed out?
His arm then falls over my shoulder, and he kisses me on the side of my head as if we’re together. The weight of him almost has my knees buckling as he takes me back into the room with all the tables and men.
There are less than before, and the women are still here. I find my sister easily. Sporting a black eye and cut lip, she stares at me under Blake, eyes vacant. Hurt stings my heart. I can’t look at her, unable to face her betrayal.
“Blake.” A thin and small man approaches us. Greasy hair plasters his forehead, his tongue running over his lips as he eyes me. “You finished with her yet?”
Terror catches me. Any moment, I expect Blake to push me at the man. Share me. Instead, his arm around me stiffens as a cold smile stretches over his lips. “No.”
“Come on.” The man steps forward, and I notice we’ve caught the attention of most of the room now. I spot Nicolas leaning against the wall furthest away, arms folded and watching. “Why do you get the young pussy and not your boys?”
Blake pushes me behind him. “Listen up!” His voice booms out, addressing the room. “I know most of your dicks are hanging off because of the dirty pussy in here.” I catch the women exchange terrified glances. “I’ll get you all new pussy, but this bitch right here is mine. Anyone touch her, and you will be sent to the Hill—”
A scream tears past my lips as a hand grabs the back of my neck. The surface of the table hits my face, and I’m stunned with the agony.
As hands grab mounds of the housecoat, trying to tear it from my body, a loud bang suddenly cuts through the room. A weight falls against my back, something hot and wet dripping down my neck and onto the table. Blood.
“Bullseye!” Blake laughs crazily, pulling the skinny man off of me. I let out a terrified scream as I look down and see that his eyes are still open, desire dying out. I fall to the ground, kicking my feet to put space between myself and the dead man.
“Milton,” Blake says, eyes fixed at the entrance.
Standing by the door and dressed in all black with a gun in hand, stands a man I believe might be the devil himself. Dark, cold eyes connect with mine before going back to Blake. “Hope he wasn’t a friend.”
“Been trying to find a reason to kill that fucker for months,” Blake chuckles, and I can’t believe he’s laughing when there’s a dead man on his floor. “You still looking for a job?”
“Yeah,” Milton replies. “What you got?”
I’m dragged to my feet, a hand grabbing the back of my neck. Blake’s lips slams against mine. It’s a brutal force, and my lips feel bruised after he’s finished. Then, he tosses me at the man—Milton. Arms catch me and hold me there. “Kill anyone who touches her. The bitch is mine.”
Chapter Eight
I’m starting to believe this place is nothing but a maze of closed doors that hide mysteries I’m better off not knowing.
As Milton continues leading me through this place, I’ve been trying to keep track of the tunnels we venture down, and how many turns we take.
Though, easier said than done, given that every damn one appears the same. Nothing stands out that might set them apart, and I think it’s on purpose, to confuse those unfamiliar with the layout. It’s a harrowing reminder that there’s no way I will find a way out if Milton gives me any reason to run.
After passing another row of black doors, we finally stop outside one like the rest. After unlocking it, he lingers behind me, a silent order for me to enter first.
Ambling inside, my lips instantly part as I take in the room we’ve just entered. The red glare is gone. Standard lighting shows we’re now in a large space painted black. Leather couches sit opposite a long open fire embedded into the wall. However, the flames are the only thing warm about this place. There’s not much else in here—a sleek black table and ceiling-high shelves with books and other inanimate objects. Nothing to Gabriella’s taste; she would complain about the masculinity and gothic design. “Would you like a drink?” Milton asks, his presence still behind me.
“Just get on with it.” The quiver in my voice makes me cringe, betraying my nerves. How much longer can I keep this up?
“Patience.” Brushing past me, he crosses the room and goes through a different entry. When I hear what sounds like a cupboard bang, I whirl around and grab the handle, twisting and pulling. As I knew it would be, it’s locked, but it was worth a try—
“Going somewhere?” I spin around. He’s back, holding a glass of red wine. His tie is missing, the top button of his shirt
