Page 43 of Savage Protector

Chapter Eighteen

Isabella

One week later

With my back to the headboard and my legs thrust out in front of me I stared at the tiny tick marks I made on the wall. Each one represented another day of hell. I wasn’t sure if they served as a cruel reminder of the torture I had endured or if I should be proud I survived this long.

When the two men grabbed me at the hotel I had no time to do anything. I don’t know how they found me there, but it made me sick to think I saw them coming. I’d brushed off that feeling in order to spend more time with Houston and now had to pay for that mistake.

At the time I’d assumed they were hired by my father and I was being returned to him and my gilded prison.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The house they’d taken me to could have been anywhere. I’d lost consciousness the moment they threw me in the van and covered my face with a cloth. By the time I’d come to I was already in this room. In this bed.

As I looked down at the various bruises and cuts that marred my arms, legs and stomach a lone tear tracked down my swollen cheek. Everything hurt. My head, my body and especially my heart.

I ran on my wedding day not fully understanding the consequences. I only knew I couldn’t accept the fact my father arranged for me to marry one of his disgusting business associates as part of some deal. What I didn’t know at the time could fill a book. I wasn’t part of a simple arranged marriage meant to bring two families together in a show of solidarity. Far from it.

I was nothing but property, an acquisition in some deal worth millions of dollars.

I knew this now because every time the man who still intended to become my husband came into the room, he reminded me — with his cruel words and his fisted hands. The bastard planned to get me back on plan with pounds of flesh and his insidious drugs.

For a few days I fought. Until I could no longer take the pain. Then I begged for relief.

My only escape is my mind, but I fear it won’t last much longer. The good memories with Houston were so brief they’d begun to fade. So far those precious days with him had kept me somewhat sane. But he had no idea where I was or who I was and I had no hope of escape. No one was looking for me.

I wanted to roll over and bury my face in the pillow and I can’t. Every move brings a fresh wave of unbearable pain. Everything hurt.

On the second day of my capture, he removed the cuffs and chains and told me to fight because it made his dick harder.

I fought —to get it over with.

Now all I can do is sit here and wait for the next time. I told him I wanted to die, but he said death was too good for a woman like me. I have to learn my place. Only then can I be of service.

The door to the room rattled, causing me to moan. With the taste of blood still in my mouth, I wasn't ready. I pulled my legs up to my chin and hugged them as my captor entered the room. His visits were becoming more frequent and I feared they would soon change.

Without uttering a word, he unbuttoned his shirt and laid it across the back of the chair. He removed his belt and folded it in half, grabbing the ends in his hand.

I recognized the desire in his eyes and I wanted to fight against it. "Please don't do this," I begged. How could I not?

"I see you still aren't taking your training seriously. I'll have to do something about that."

The smile on his face triggered the urge to throw up. I turned away briefly and swallowed the bile.

"I can't take anymore. Please."

"You'll take whatever I give you until I'm satisfied you've learned your lesson. Then when you beg for my dick like a good little slut, we can discuss our future."

I twisted back to him. "What do you want me to learn? I don't understand what you want me to do."

"Exactly my point." He placed a knee on the bed and grabbed my arm, pulling me close with his bruising hold. "I haven't even heard an apology for the embarrassment you caused with your stunt on our wedding day."

"You want me to be sorry I didn't marry you? You hate me. Why does it matter?"

He moved so fast I barely noticed until his fist struck my cheek and pain exploded across my face.

“Shut up you little cunt. You were never going to be anything more than a whore. You were sold to me like a whore and when the time comes I'm going to use you like one. Then when you start accepting your place and learn to please me, I will teach you to be the best goddamned whore money can buy. And once you’ve proven what a good whore you are, then you can beg me for more. Now turn over and get into position you little bitch."

With my head throbbing and unshed tears of fear and despair burning in my eyes, I turned over and got on my hands and knees for his belt. I didn't have any fight left in me tonight. Maybe he was right and I needed to accept my fate. With my family out of the picture and Houston's memory fading fast, what happened next was completely up to me.

Besides, I couldn’t hold out much longer. If begging for his dick meant the beatings would stop, what did I care? I didn’t think it could get any worse than this.

I looked again at the marks on the wall. I think I was wrong about them. I don’t believe they’re a way to keep track of time anymore. Instead, I see them as an inevitable conclusion whether I fight the outcome or not. They are merely the countdown to my death.

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