Page 11 of Hell Breaks Loose

It’s to condition me, train me, tear down my defenses and my sense of self, and replace them with Marco’s will, allowed by his grace, instilling obedience. Showing me that he owns me, teaching me how he wants his pet to behave.

Not that they really needed to do any of this.

After they beat Tell to within an inch of his life, told me that Evan and Gavin were likely dead due to the catastrophic damage from the dam breaking…

I just shut down.

I had to.

I barely remember the hours in the car on our way to wherever it is Marco took me, likely his new base of operations. I’m fairly certain it’s south of the city, a good layover between LA and Sanctum.

The first few days, I fought back, just out of anger, some of it out of natural instinct. Or maybe it was pride.

I soon learned that Marco’s rules for how much his men could harm me only extended so far. And that there are so many other ways to do so without causing wounds to my body.

Mostly, it’s those psychological games that keep me stressed, guessing.

When will I get food next?

When will I get led into a false sense of security again?

When will Grico backhand me across the face, completely unexpectedly? Always without a reason. The man is a buffoon and a bully. An ape in a suit would have more discernment and common sense.

Probably more respect, too.

The second week got even worse. They let me out of the basement.

Showed me the estate, the mansion. Waltzed me around through the halls.

Showing off.

Taunting me with comforts.

Gave me a taste of sunlight.

I was made up, dressed and cleaned. Forced to sit through a fancy dinner across the table from Marco. And told not to make a sound. Not to look him in the eye. Or his guest.

Of course, I couldn’t keep my damned mouth shut.

“Mr. Vice, this veal is exquisite.” The assistant governor hums with delight, clearly trying to ingratiate himself to my captor. “And the company is positively stunning.”

“Company, captive audience. Prisoner. Tomato, to-mah-to,” I sniff, sipping the ridiculously expensive wine. My tongue barely even tastes it. “Are you here by choice, vice-governor?”

The politician from California chuckles awkwardly, shrugging the comment off as a bad joke.

“I apologize for my stepdaughter, Dale. She has an unusual sense of humor. Self-deprecating, self-sabotaging, even. It’s a trait she inherited from her mother. And it’s a wonder she ever survived grade school with that mouth.”

Marco smiles menacingly at me. It’s subtle.

But I know it promises a freezing cold night in the ice baths downstairs.

Or another night in total darkness.

Bring it on, fuck face.

“He’s right. I can’t help myself. You see, being his stepdaughter and his future wife… I just get so excited that I can’t control what comes out of my mouth. Or maybe I’m just confused by that disgusting change of roles.” Fuck. I’m really in for it now.

When will I learn to shut my fucking mouth…

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