Page 108 of Their Dark Rose

If I do, they’ll tie me down a second time. Make the one-eyed Thorn rape me. They’ll have porn up for him to finally get it up, and his blood and spit will cover me while he pumps his slimy dick in me.

I’ll lose.

“No, please, no,” I beg through the cloth for the hands that are on me to let me go.

Angry tears roll down my cheeks. I outstretch my arm, desperate to reach Thorn. I need to cause as much damage as possible.

I will not be raped.

“Princess, it’s us.” The hand on my shoulder slides up to behind my head, undoing the knot of the gag.

I can finally scream. I have a chance to escape this.

“Heeeelp!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Somebody help m—“

A hand clasps on my mouth. “Briar, baby,” the fake Falk whispers. “I’m begging you, it’s us.”

“The cocksuckers gave her something,” a rugged voice that imitates Finn hisses.

“I’ll break their motherfucking bones.” Of course, my mind would conjure a violent groan like this to imaginary Falk. “Piece by piece.”

“Not yet, brother.”

I wrangle in the hold of should-be Mallie and her accomplice, but they’re stronger.

“We have plans for them, remember?”

Grunt. Falk would grunt like that. I cry harder.

“We have you, little rose.” The hands around my midriff pull me further, breaking contact to draw the itchy cover over my legs. “We have you.”

Huge-ass scissors appear out of nowhere before my eyes. The man who works them cuts the rope off my hand and advances to my ankles. His tattooed hand—with thorns that are so much like Finn’s—caresses the lacerated patches of skin.

Pretending that he cares, trying his best to fool me.

The worst part isn’t his familiar hand, though.

Strands of silky hair tickle my waist, and I curse inwardly. I hate how much it feels like Finn’s. How much I crave it to be him.

Lies. Horrible, heartbreaking lies.

I bare my teeth and bite through Mallie’s friend’s palm that’s slammed over my mouth. I only manage to graze the skin, but I don’t relent.

To relent means to accept defeat.

Defeat means me and my loved ones will die.

“Flower.” The imaginary Mason rounds the bed.

He’s wearing the black suit he left the house with this morning, but his hair is a mess. That’s how I know he’s something my doped-out mind created. Mason’s short hair is never this disheveled.

“I’m here. We are here.“ Imaginary Mason glares down at Thorn’s convulsing body. He spits on his face and tosses him to the floor.

I scream into the palm shutting me up when he crouches to the floor and out of my sight. My lungs burn with how hard I scream. If I’m going to die in this crappy, stinky room, I might as well see one of the three men I love. Make-believe or not, I need it.

“Let me go to Mason,” I murmur. I sound much fiercer in my head, but for now, that’s all I’ve got.

“You don’t get to die this fast, you hear me, you miserable sack of shit?” Imaginary Mason grits.

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