Page 18 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

19 years old…

“Fucking Christ.” The deep, gruff voice pulls me out of my exhausted sleep. Solid hands bodily lift me away from where I finally passed out on the floor between the carpet in the living room and the cheap vinyl tile of the kitchen. It felt like it took me hours of squirming my way off of the fucking bed in the bedroom to this place, all with the intention of finding something, anything, to cut these ropes away. The lack of circulation, though, and the remains of whatever alcohol I’d drunk and weed I’d smoked from the night before had only made it harder. I’m not all that surprised to find that I never made it.

The man that spoke and woke me saws at the bindings on my wrists and I bite down on my lower lip as feeling returns to my limbs with all of the subtlety of a freight train. Pain sears through my mind, the aching agony of being bound for so long arching up my arms and legs. Shakily, I pull my arms around to my front and lift them.

Dark bruises mar my flesh. Not surprising. Thank fuck Avalon wasn’t the one to find me this way. I’ve done my damnedest to warn her off whenever I know one of them is coming. Usually, Thomas’ clients aren’t so careless, but this last night was … hard. Even for me. My head aches just as much as the rest of my body, and from the dull daylight pouring in through the windows, it’s clear it’s getting close to sunset outside. Which means I’ve been tied up for almost a full twenty-four hours.

“Jesus fuck,” the man repeats the muttered curse as he finishes cutting through the ropes on my thighs and ankles. I’m still naked and caked with cum and other fluids. I should feel embarrassed. Hell, I should feel something other than bone-aching relief. After so many years of this shit, though, I’ve come to realize that my body doesn’t belong to me. I can barely even remember a time when it did.

“Thanks…” The word comes out as a croak and I cough as the sound scrapes through my esophagus. Shit, even talking feels like someone is sharpening knives on my vocal cords.

“What the hell did they even do to—no, never mind, I don’t want to fucking know.” Of course he doesn’t. Even if he did, he wouldn’t care. Or so I thought until his next statement. “Disgusting fuckers.” He says the words so low that I almost don’t hear them, but I do and for some reason, they warm my icy insides. At least I’m not the only one who thinks my situation is utter garbage.

I glance up at the man, wavering where I sit as the room spins. Nausea curdles in my stomach.When was the last time I ate? Before last night? Probably…I shake my head and try my best to refocus on the newcomer.

He’s tall and broad shouldered with dark roots at the scalp of his head moving down to slightly lighter ends that curl back towards his face. There’s a harsh look to his features and shadows beneath his eyes. “Who…” I try only to stop and cough again with a wince.

“Don’t talk,” he says through gritted teeth.

“But—”

“No.” He curls his arms under my legs and behind my back, picking me up from the floor as he strides through the ranch house. He doesn’t take me far, just to the living room, where he bends and places me on the couch before glancing around. Spotting a blanket over the end, he reaches for it and tosses it into my lap. With a sigh, I wrap it around my body, covering the bruises from the night before. Despite that, his gaze lingers over my newly covered thighs—the worst of the wounds, I know. After a beat, he turns and leaves the room.

I lean forward, curious, but when I hear the tap turn on in the kitchen, I figure out his intention, and a moment later, he returns holding a glass of water. I hold my hands up but he shakes his head and places the rim to my lips.

“Drink,” he commands.

I shoot him a dark look, but open my mouth and accept the liquid as if it’s the fucking ambrosia of the Gods. A moan escapes my throat and I close my eyes, drinking deeper as the cool water slides over my raw throat. I drain the glass and he leaves again to refill it.

The second time he comes back, he’s got something else in his hand. He hands me the glass instead of holding it to my lips and I swallow the new one without question. Once I’m done, he takes it back and hands me the second thing. I arch my brow at the banana.

“You don’t have much else to eat,” he answers my unspoken question. “You need more than that, but it’ll have to do.”

Considering that I don’t even remember the last time I ate, he’s got a point. I sigh and start peeling it, biting into the fruit and consuming it quickly. The faster I get this over with, the faster he’ll likely be on his way. It’s not unusual for Thomas to send someone to check on me after certain clients of his. This guy must be new, though, or at the very least not completely used to the way Thomas plays with his toys.

“I’m done,” I say, my voice coming out much smoother with less of a burning sensation at the back of my throat this time. Hopefully it’ll heal soon. I don’t want to have to explain anything to Ava when she stops by again. Maybe I’ll say something about smoking too much weed.

The man nods and then stares down at me. I frown. “I’m fine, now,” I tell him, gesturing towards the door. “You can go. You can tell Thomas you did your duty.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Neither does he move. My hands tighten on the blanket around me. Was I wrong? Have I done something to piss Thomas off this time? What? I think back to the night before, but most of it is a blurry nightmare of hands and teeth, rope burns, and hard …thingspenetrating me.

I swallow reflexively. “Is there anything else?” I demand.

“Thomas didn’t send me here,” the man finally says.

I blink. “What—”

“Well,” he says, stopping me, “I mean, I suppose, he did, but I’m not here on his behalf. I’m here because…” The stranger sucks in a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t normally do these types of jobs,” he says. “But you’re—you’ve been sold.”

I look down at my covered body and then back up at him. “Yeah?”

“No—shit, that’s not what I—this is fucked.” He curses again under his breath and then turns away from me. “You should get dressed; you’re not staying here anymore.”

I wrap the blanket tighter around myself. “Excuse me?”

He grits his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he says, and for some reason, I think he means it. I just don’t understandwhyhe’s saying it. Sorry doesn’t change my circumstances.

“I think you need to explain why you’re here if you’re not here because Thomas sent you to check up on me,” I state.

---