Page 22 of Marked

“Leave her be. Please. Leave them be,” Mom whimpers beside me.

“Isn’t that right?” The tip of a knife presses against my cheek. “You’re a sweet thing once you’ve had a good beating, and a good fucking. Isn’t that right?”

Every time I move, I feel the memory of his idea of settling me down.

“Please, just leave us alone,” I say, as softly as I can to keep him from getting pissed again.

He presses the knife harder into my cheek. Blood slides down my cheek, dripping off my chin.

“That’s not going to happen, sweetheart. I’m not done playing.” He pulls the knife away, and wipes my blood onto what’s left of my shirt. It’s torn and tattered in so many places, it might as well not be on anymore.

“Well now she’s fucking bleeding,” the second man scoffs, shining his light on my face. “I don’t want her blood all over me.” He moves the beam to my sister. “I’ll take this one. You’re right about her eyes.”

“Good call,” the first man says and shoves a rag into my mouth, dragging the other rag over it to gag me. I scream into it anyway.

He moves to my mother and does the same. The rag soaks up her cries.

I lunge toward my sister, but without my hands, I can’t get to my feet properly. I fall over in my scrambles. It’s useless. I can’t stop him.

The second man grabs the back of her hair, dragging her up to her feet once her chains have been undone.

She screams.

She cries.

She begs.

“Please! No! No! Please!” Her voice echoes against the walls of our hell.

I scream into my gag.

The door slams.

The light is all gone.

My mother whimpers.

A scream wakes me, hurtling me upright in bed.

“Harley?” Zack’s here, he’s pulling at my hands that are clawing at the bedding, trying to untangle myself.

It was me.

I’m screaming.

“Harley. It’s all right.” He gets the blankets out of my grasp and throws them off me, pulling me right into his lap as he leans back against the headboard of my bed.

Zack’s here.

In my bed.

I blink, pushing the sleep and horror from my eyes so I can focus on his face.

His beautiful, stern, worried face.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my fingertips. “It’s been so long since that’s happened.”

He wipes my hair from my face. It’s stuck in place by the thin layer of sweat.

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