Page 36 of Tormented Heir

The door opens, and Skinny Boy, my first guard, sticks his head in the room. His gaze takes me in, and he lets loose a low whistle as they manhandle me.

“It’s a pity none of us get to play with her. Dorian is being greedy.”

The man undressing me grunts. “He’ll have your head on a platter if you try.”

“It’s kind of sick, though,” Skinny Boy says. “Aren’t they related?”

“Not by blood,” the man nearest to me says. “She’s Hana’s stepdaughter. Anyway, he’s not going to fuck her. Have fun with her, maybe, but her pussy will stay intact.”

Faintness washes over me, and my legs buckle, but the man holds me up.

They pull the underwear on as I try not to react to the fact that they’re seeing me naked and exposed. So far, they’ve let me go to the toilet, and that’s it. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink, and I’m so thirsty it hurts.

They finish making me look how they want and then push me onto the bed.

Then they put new restraints on my arms and force me onto my stomach. I kick and scream around the gag, terrified they’re going to do something horrific to me, but they merely fasten my wrists to the headboard.

My heart pounds as I tense, waiting. My skin tingles, waiting for a touch, but there’s nothing but footsteps and the door closing. My God, they’ve gone. A sob escapes me. My upper body is spread out like a starfish, which hurts, but soon the fear and panic recede, exhaustion lapping at my shores instead. I close my eyes and cry softly into the pillow.

My head throbs, and the padded restraints are making my arms sore because of the angle they’re holding them at.

The gag is soaked with my saliva, and I wonder if I should try to suck some out of it, except the thought makes me heave.

How did this happen to me? I should have left my stepmother’s home as soon as I realized she was a Prosecco addicted, hate-filled woman who loathed me. I was only protecting my baby stepbrother, and for that I have wound up in this precarious situation. I should have forced Dad to get his nose out of the bottle and take my concerns seriously.

These men are going to use and abuse me.

How much does Hana owe them? It can’t be a lot because surely, I’m not worth that much money to them. Also, if Dorian is family, why hasn’t he forgiven her debt?

It must be bad. She said something about not wanting people to find out. What did that mean? The more I think about my predicament, the worse it seems. They want me intact, for what? To sell?

Hana will be greeting my father soon. How will she keep on covering this up? Will she say I was taken or lie and say I left? Has she called the police, but pretended not to know anything?

I hate her, I seethe with it. Anger is good. Anger means I still have fight left in me.

When they try to touch me, I won’t let it happen without a fight.

There’s a draft blowing in from somewhere, and it makes me shiver.

Maybe I can run when I escape and take Cade with me. Would Barnie and Sian let us stay with them, if I can figure out how to get the two of us to England?

I let a memory of Cade trying to play Jenga wash over me. His pudgy fingers slotting the bricks on top of others at bad angles, so they’d topple. At first, I thought he was just too young to play the game, until I realized that he liked to see the pile fall, and he placed the bricks badly on purpose. His smile each time it happened was so funny.

“Uh-oh, not again,” he’d say.

I had pulled him to me and kissed his soft head of hair. Hana looked at us as if we were aliens sitting at her dining table, and she had no idea what to do with us.

Screams and shouts from outside bleed into the happy memory, tearing holes in it until it disappears.

The partying is louder than ever. The bangs and heavy footsteps jar me each time I hear something new. Is it Dorian coming for me?

I’ve only seen him once, when he came into the room to appraise me. He’d stared for a long time, then one side of his harsh mouth kicked up into a smile. He’s an ugly, hard-faced man, and if he touches me, I’ll find a way to hurt him.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

I jerk in the restraints. Was that gunfire? Are they letting off party poppers or have they progressed to shooting at one another?

My bladder is full, and fear almost has me peeing myself. Maybe I should? If I pee myself, they won’t want to touch me, or, at least, not until after they make me wash up. It might give me a chance to get away.

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