Page 45 of Underworld

I struggle a little longer but have to stop. The pain in my abdomen is making me breathless. I face the door and refuse to close my eyes in case my new keeper walks in. After what feels like hours, I feel my eyes getting heavier, but I know I can't fall asleep! I can't …

When I hear the rattle of the door handle. I startle awake. I watch as the door opens and let out a gasp. No. No! Anyone but him! His sinister smile greets me. "Hello, Pet."

I try to keep the fear at bay. "Doyle." This man was one of my father's best friends. He was one of the males who touched and assaulted me as a child. Fucking hell. He’s the one who bought me? The fear inside me is building, but I try to keep my mask of indifference in place. The moment he knows I’m afraid is the minute he wins.

He closes and locks the door behind him. "I’m going to have so much fun with you, Pet. Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you? The fantasies I have had . . .” He shivers with excitement, and I watch as he adjusts his pants. I can’t help but notice that he’s turned on.

I can’t stop my grimace as memories assault me. Images of him smiling and leering at me as a child. I whisper, “Please don’t do this, Doyle.”

His breathing speeds up, and his eyes flare with excitement. “Yes, my Little Pet. Beg for me.” He stands in front of me and releases some of the bindings holding me to the chair. My hands are still bound, though. He grips my hair tightly, almost ripping it out in the process. I can’t stop the squeak of pain that passes through my lips, and I see his nostrils flare. He groans. “Yes, Little Pet. I want to hear your cries. Your screams.”

He drags me out of the chair, and I have to move my legs quickly to avoid falling to the ground. I hear water dripping, and I try to look up enough to see where we are headed. Unfortunately, I can’t see much due to his hold on my head. The closer we get, I notice that the floor is wet.

I hold in a gasp when I realize that my face is hovering over a large metal basin with water spilling over the edge.

“Did you know that when you hold a person underwater, they will try to hold their breath for as long as possible?” he taunts.

Keeping my voice steady, I answer, “Yes. The instinct to not inhale the water is too strong for a person to fight. They will fight the person holding them under for as long as possible.”

He hums in appreciation. “Yes. The instinct to not inhale is so strong that a person will not try to breathe until they are about to pass out.”

“Yes.”

I can hear the grin in his voice as he says, “Let’s see how long you last, Pet.” Then, before I can take a deep breath, he shoves my head underwater. At first, I don’t fight because I know that’s what he wants. But the longer he holds me under, the harder it is to fight the instinct to push against his hold. Finally, I’m about to start fighting when he yanks my head out by my hair. suck in a much-needed breath of air. “Not bad, Pet. But I think I can make you fight.” Then he shoves me under again.

I can't stop myself this time. I shove against the basin, trying to free myself. I know this is using up vital oxygen, but I can't stop. My only thought is getting oxygen. I need oxygen. Darkness closes in around me, and I can’t fight anymore. I open my mouth and scream out my frustration. I’m taking in a breath underwater as he pulls my head out. I cough out the water, vomiting in the process.

“Oh, Pet, you lasted longer than any of my other toys. You are going to be so much fun. So much fun to break.” Using my hair again, he drags me across the floor and into a cell in the corner. I didn’t even notice it was there. He tosses me inside so quickly that I can’t stop my head from slamming against the floor. The darkness drags me into its cold embrace once more.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. It’s been days. Or maybe weeks. I’m not entirely sure. Time is irrelevant when you are tortured to the point you pass out. Also, fuck Hollywood. They gave me the wrong impression of torture for women. Or maybe I just watched the wrong movies to give me a better idea of what I was dealing with. In the movies I watched, the women walked away with only a few scratches, and their makeup still looked immaculate.

I look like a wet dog that has been abandoned for years. Well, from what I could glimpse in the water before my head was shoved under. My hair was tangled to the point I had to tie it up with a piece of fabric I ripped off my shirt. Although who am I trying to impress? A wave of sadness washes over me. I miss my men so much it hurts. I’m a sad excuse of a Persephone right now, but I know my men will come for me.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jane

Doyle walks into the room like he always does. With a smile and a hard-on. He surprisingly hasn’t raped me yet. Which, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy about, but also I wish he would just get it over with. The waiting for it to happen is killing me. Although, he does rub one out after each session. Doesn’t take him much. While I’m lying on the floor, gasping for air with a few more bruises to add to my ever-growing collection, he whips out his disgusting cock and pumps like three times. I try to hold back my gag because he always comes all over me; this time will be no different.

My clothes are soaked in dirt and come. God, I need to get this shit off me. Doyle leans down in front of me with a grin and taunts, “How are we today, Pet? You ready for some fun?”

I don’t answer. It seems to piss him off when I don’t answer, and considering my body won’t listen to my brain, it’s all I have.

His grin dims a bit as he growls. “Fine, Pet.” Gripping my hair tightly, he drags me over to my usual torture spot.

Fuck, I’m so tired. I’m starting to wish he would just let me die. Which is a horrid thought considering I want to be found, but I’m finding it hard to care anymore. He’s holding my head above the water basin when suddenly I hear a popping sound. My foggy mind tries to remember what that sound is, but to be honest, I’m way too exhausted to figure it out. Doyle’s fingers loosen his hold on my hair; then I hear a loud thump. Hum . . . weird. Still staring down at the water, I realize it’s turning red. Why’s the water turning red? Wasn’t the water clear earlier . . . or was it dirty? I can’t remember. Wait . . . where did Doyle go?

It takes a lot of work, but eventually, I force my aching body to turn so I can figure out where my torturer went. My eyes meet his toes, then his legs. Continuing upward, I realize that he’s lying on the floor. That’s not normal. Did he fall asleep while torturing me? That would be an odd thing to do, right? My eyes finally reach his face, but he doesn’t have much of a face now. Just chunks of flesh and blood. Lots of blood. That’s a disturbing amount of blood. I should probably be freaking out, right? Somehow, I don’t have it in me to care.

“Jane?”

I stiffen when I hear my name. I haven’t heard that voice in what feels like forever. That deep and playful voice. “Jax?” I whisper. My voice is scratchy from screaming and lack of use. I’m too afraid to look. Too scared that this is only a dream, and when I turn around, he’ll have disappeared.

“Hey, Sweets,” he chokes out.

My eyes jerk up to find Jax in the doorway with a gun resting at his side. His hazel eyes are locked on mine. Suddenly, Silas is behind him, his eyes wild as he takes in the room. His eyes lock on mine, and he calls out, “Jane!”

My knees give out, and I collapse to the floor. They came. “You came.” My voice is quiet, but I know they heard me.

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