Page 120 of Cruel Riches

23

Alexis

Wincing,I rolled over on my bunk and rubbed my shins. They were covered in bruises, along with my knees and wrists. My insides ached and throbbed too; rubbed raw from the hour or so that Nate was behind me, savagely fucking me and tearing orgasm after orgasm out of me.

By my estimate, it had been at least twelve hours since it all happened, and the shame showed no signs of lessening. Every time I remembered how loudly I screamed and begged for more, I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear forever.

When I was younger, I always told myself that I was somehow built differently than other people who got into shitty situations. If I was ever drugged, I’d just breathe deeply and resist the effects. If I was ever tortured, I’d steel my jaw and take it all without giving in.

Of course, that sort of thinking was total bullshit; just a coping mechanism for life that millions of other people employed as well. We all told ourselves we were different and special, but when it came down to it, most of us were the same. Not strong enough to resist chemicals flooding our system, no matter how much we tried to fight it off. Not strong enough to resist giving in to torture.

The worst part of it was that I couldn’t really say that I didn’t consent. I was drugged, so it was a murky area, but I still asked for it. Nate made damn sure of that. Even if someone else told me that my consent was coerced due to the intoxication, I would have to disagree. Deep down, I knew the truth.

I wanted it, and that was why I begged for it. The drugs were just a way for Nate to tease that dark truth out of me.

In the end—despite the sweeping shame I felt now—I was grateful for one thing. While last night involved physical torture as well as mental torture, at least it was a hell of a lot better than other types of torture, like the beatings, electricity, and knives Nate had used on me in the past. Toe-curling pleasure would always be preferable to being carved up and permanently scarred.

With a sigh, I scrunched my eyes shut and buried my head in the pillow, wishing I could get back to sleep so I could stop the endless carousel of humiliated thoughts in my mind. It was too hard, though. I’d already slept for a long time, and my body didn’t need any more rest at the moment.

The hatch finally opened with a loud metallic groan, and Nate’s footsteps echoed in the passageway. I sat up, heart hammering. I never knew what was coming from him anymore—it could be food and water, or it could be torture.

A quiet sigh of relief escaped my lips when he appeared in the doorway to the main room of the bunker. There was no torture kit in his arms, and he wasn’t holding any drinks that could be drugged with more of that Eros stuff. Instead, he held a paper plate with two dry pieces of toast in one hand and a stack of books and papers in the other.

“Breakfast,” he said curtly, throwing the paper plate to the floor.

“Thanks,” I muttered, getting off the bunk.

“Laurel stopped by.”

My eyes snapped upward. “Is she still here?”

“No. I told her you were at therapy, and I had no idea when you’d be back.”

“Oh.” I lowered my gaze and took a bite of the toast. It tasted like cardboard.

“She brought this stuff over for you,” Nate went on, gesturing to the stack of books and papers. “Printed copies of the notes she emailed you, in case you hadn’t been checking emails, and relevant textbooks. She still thinks you’re going back at some point, and she’s worried you’ll fall behind if you don’t study.”

“That’s nice of her,” I murmured before taking another small bite.

Nate pressed his lips into a thin line as he watched me eat. Then he lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug and turned away. “I might as well burn this shit. You’ll never need it again.”

I swallowed thickly. “Wait.”

He turned back. “What?”

“Could I have it?”

His brows furrowed. “These books?”

“Yes.”

He laughed drily and shook his head. “You know you’re not actually going back to Blackthorne, right?”

“I know. But it’s so boring down here. It would give me something to do.”

I expected him to refuse, because the soul-crushing boredom was part of my torture, but he nodded instead. “Fine. Take it.”

He dropped the stuff on the floor before turning around again and disappearing down the passage. I fell on the books like I was drowning in the ocean and they were a life raft. I couldn’t even remember the last time I read something that wasn’t the back of an old can.

---