Page 50 of Beloved Sacrifice

Marek pictured her—a slim teenage version of Rose, with her dark eyes and dark hair, terrified and abused. His hands curled into fists.

“When I woke up, he untied me. I bolted out of there and ran into Victoria. I was freaking out, I told her what had happened. Elroy came into the room and I hid behind her. She screamed at Elroy, but…she wasn’t mad about what he did, but about how he did it. She told Elroy he was traumatizing me. That I’d never be a good sub if I ended up with PTSD.

“I tried to run away a few more times. Once, I even made it to the airport, and when I was there I called my father—Mr. Hancock—and begged him for help. He said he’d call back and hung up. He called Elroy, who came and got me. I was so stunned that I just went with him. Not stunned…heartbroken. Up until then, I still thought my father cared about me. Elroy gave me a phone, told me to call my father, and he told me to obey Elroy and the Andersons, and do exactly what they said.”

Everyone of authority in her life had let her down.

“After a few days of sobbing and pleading, punctuated by beatings, I gave in. I accepted what they said, and I…presented myself to Elroy. On my knees, the way he told me to. In the end, I walked willingly into that room.”

“That wasn’t willing.” Marek’s voice was harder than he’d meant it to be. “Coercion and manipulation are a form of force.”

“I…I know you’re right. I mean intellectually, I know. That I could have kept fighting them, could have done something more. This went on for six months—when I was at their house, I’d go to bed, wait a few hours, then present myself to him in the spare room. It wasn’t sexual at first, but after a month or so, he started raping me too.”

Marek couldn’t stand it any longer. He scooped her up and lifted her onto his lap. He wanted to hold her, protect her.

She was tense, but didn’t protest or push away.

Think about what you just did.

He’d just touched her without permission, handled her as if she were an object rather than a person. Disgusted with himself, he eased her off his lap.

“Rose, I’m so sorry. I meant to comfort you.”

She didn’t react, either to his action or his words. He wasn’t sure what else he could, or should, do or say. There were several moments of silence. Finally, she blew out a long, slow breath and went on with her story, still in that grim, quiet voice.

“Just after I’d turned seventeen, I…we…found out it wasn’t just me.” Those words lingered in the air, cold and heavy. “I’d come home for the summer. I was dreading it, but hadn’t been able to arrange for somewhere else to go. Looking back, I think they made sure I didn’t get accepted at any of the summer programs or jobs I’d applied for. I was at the house alone with them for a week or so before the oldest brother came home.”

A small smile curved her lips. “Here is where I admit that I had a ridiculous crush on him. We’d been…fooling around for years—kid stuff. Kissing, sometimes with tongues, which seemed very scandalous.”

Marek chuckled softly in response to her wry words.

“Saying it was a crush isn’t right. I was stupidly in love with him. I imagined myself as this tragic heroine from literature, in love with one man but promised to marry another. It was all very dramatic.”

“In point of fact, that is very dramatic.”

“I guess so, but once I…once they started training me, I knew I’d never be with him.”

Her voice was weary with old sadness.

“You didn’t tell him?” Marek asked softly.

“Tell him that I was being raped, beaten, and trained by his father?” Her voice dripped scorn. “No. People act like it’s so easy to tell others, but it’s not. Abuse is complicated.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Rose.”

“You don’t need to hear this.” She pushed off the steps, keeping her arm wrapped around her ribs.

Marek braced the heels of his hands on the step on either side of his hips, pressing his fingers into the riser of the step below. He felt helpless, and Marek hated that feeling—it was one of the reasons he did what he did. He wanted to help, to fix.

He’d completely mishandled this situation. Mishandled her. He wasn’t entirely to blame. What had seemed like a simple kidnapping recovery mission had turned into something much more. Referring to any kidnapping as simple was perhaps a misnomer, but usually it was a relatively self-contained incident. This was not. Since the time she’d been little more than a child, Rose had been treated as less than. The kidnapping seemed to be just the most recent iteration of that.

“Rose, I’d like to hear the rest. I want to know your story.”

If he was going to save Rose, he had to understand her first.

“No one wants to hear this story.”

“Perhaps ‘want’ is the wrong word. I understand if you’d rather not.”

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