The act that followed his failing though—when his Mistress tried to force him into another vile game for her entertainment—that one he relished.
“You sick bitch!” he had roared at his Mistress as he surged against the three guards who blocked his way. Fear trembled in the back of his mind, but reckless rage kept it there. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
When alarm crossed his Mistress’ face, his lips twitched upward as satisfaction flooded his system. Good, she’s scared, he thought bitterly. She should be! Then his muscles tightened and he redoubled his efforts.
He lunged with all his strength, his gaze locked on his target, determined to reach the red-headed bitch and end her for good. His bigger, heavier body drove the guards back several steps before more joined in. He swung at them, but the chains on his wrists hindered his movement. Again, he gathered his diminishing strength and strove to reach the cause of all his pain and fury. He surged against the human barrier, but too many bodies now stood between them. He hadn’t moved fast enough. Hysterical-strength kicked in, and the women guarding his Mistress grew stronger.
A sharp yank on the chain attached to the collar around his neck wrenched him off his feet. He landed on his back, knocking the breath from his lungs and cracking his head on the hard floor. Dazed, he blinked, and then saw the next blow coming. The end of his own lead chain slammed across his heaving chest with a loud thud. Ribs vibrating with pain, he grunted and rolled into a ball as the next strike fell, knowing he had lost the fight. Knowing his Mistress’ treatment of him would now grow much, much worse.
And it did.
Instead of preventing his Mistress from ever forcing something so terrible on him or anyone else again, the guards had stopped him, beat him severely, and dragged him down here. For hours, he’d lain almost lifeless where they dropped him, licking his wounds and berating himself. He didn’t know how long ago that was now. Days, weeks, months—they all blended into one. Regret for his inability to end his Mistress’ reign of terror left him feeling hollow and weighted down by the enormity of his failure. Though, if he’d succeeded, they would’ve killed him, disappointment still pierced his heart like a flaming arrow.
But that first act, the unthinkable thing his Mistress forced him to do—the one that led to his futile assault and lonely imprisonment—that event haunted him.
“Leave it alone,” he growled into the abyss of his cell, his heart heavy in his chest. “You can’t change anything now.”
But he couldn’t leave the memory alone.
Her soft brown eyes filled with terror and tears.
Her trembling body, cringing against him.
Quiet whimpers wrenching at his heart.
Her misplaced trust in him.
Jake’s hands curled into fists and he shook his head, the recollection tearing at his insides, killing him slowly.
I was supposed to protect her.
A sob bubbled into his throat, but he swallowed it down and rushed to his feet as self-loathing roared in his ears. His chains rattled along the rock as he paced, five steps one way, five steps back. A path should’ve worn through the stone by now from all my pacing, he thought.
He stopped at the door imprisoning him. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, and in his helpless anguish, he hammered on the steel with his fists.
“Let me out!” he bellowed in a cracked voice, welcoming the pain in his knuckles, his hands, his wrists. “God damn you. Let me out!”
His cries and the dull pounding of his fists ricocheted through the long corridor outside, the echoes mocking him with their freedom. The cries of the other slave stilled as inarticulate roars of fury ripped through Jake’s aching throat, every muscle in his body quivering as he released the rage inside him.
You’re being stupid! a voice in his head shouted. Stop it!
His throbbing fists ceased pummeling the immovable metal, and his hands splayed out over its cold surface.
His forehead fell against steel with a muffled thud.
Waves of shudders crashed through him.
Despair, like a living thing, coiled tightly around his heart, and a sob finally escaped him.
Squeezing his eyes closed, he concentrated on breathing.
I will not give them any more.
No more blood. No more sweat. No more tears.
Pushing away from the cell door, he wiped his hand over his face, brushed at his damp lashes, and sat back down.
Maybe Bret had it right all these years, he thought. No more trust either.
He shook in the aftermath of emotion. Or perhaps he should blame the drug. He was more than a day overdue for his booster of the nasty stuff, so the fear and submission it caused were minimal now. In nearly two years, he’d never gone so long without an injection. He wondered if they figured his obedience didn’t matter because he was chained, locked up, and half-starved.
His fingers rubbed at his chest again. Still sore from the beating they had given him after his ill-fated, rage-induced attack, he felt weak and tired, and he didn’t care anymore.
Again, resentment burned in his chest.
“Run!” Bret had screamed that day, and—after all they’d been through together and all Jake had done for him over the years—Bret had left him behind to be captured and enslaved.
You know that’s not fair, a part of Jake murmured, the familiar war waging inside him. Despite their agreement not to attempt to rescue each other, the fact that Bret didn’t even try made Jake unreasonably angry.
“He couldn’t have saved you from this,” Jake mumbled into the gloom, “and you would hate yourself worse if he had gotten captured or killed by trying. Let it go.”
“Jake?”
The sound of the soft voice filtering through the steel door made him jump. Only a few minutes had passed since he howled his
