Page 87 of The Delta's Rogue
Broken. Lifeless. A lump of clay for them to mold.
Ipretendedto pretend with Sebastian that first night at the club when we searched for Lennox. I don’t know how much more I can take, how much longer I can last until I’m once again no longer pretending.
I hug myself tighter and try to sleep, but slumber evades me. Instead, I’m haunted by memories. Memories of a pair of gray eyes and a head of messy, sandy-brown hair, and memories of everything they’ve made me do in my training since the day I knelt before Amara in submission.
I’ve practiced kneeling for hours on end, as well as holding other poses for them. I’ve practiced walking with a chain attached to my collar while Brenna guides me by using it like a leash.
They’ve forced me to dance while clothed and unclothed. They’ve taught me the proper noises and expressions to make, filming and photographing me so I can learnfrom my mistakes.
I’ve learned how to wrap my lips around a dildo, to relax my throat to take my “Dom” in deeper while he fucks my mouth. They made me take that same dildo and insert it into my pussy, coaching me to pleasure myself with it and ride it, to put on a show for my “Dom” or anyone he may ask me to entertain.
All the while, Amara has watched me with unrestrained excitement and pride. She watches all the girls, but she takes extra satisfaction from my pain, from my degradation.
The worst part for me isn’t doing those things they force me to do. It’s not the actions themselves that are breaking me. Those, while horrifying, are only a drop in the bucket.
No. What’s truly breaking me is that I can no longer differentiate between the memories of my time with Sebastian and the ones from this monstrous place. I can’t remember what he taught me and what they did. It all warps together, overlapping and swirling.
Moments I could have sworn were memories from my nights with Sebastian now feature Amara front and center, praising me and rewarding me and soothing me. Moments I thought were recent have Sebastian holding me and encouraging me while forcing me to perform for him and endure this endless torture.
Somewhere deep in my soul, I knowmySebastian would never treat me that way. He was always so careful with me, checking in with me throughout every session, and so tender with me afterwards, cuddling me and comforting me and murmuring sweet nothings in my ear.
But the longer I weather this savagery, the more warped and distorted my memories become, and it’s only a matter of time before I forget the truth. Before I forget the soft, caring, protective side of Sebastian and only associate him with torture and pain and cruelty.
Goddess, I hope Brenna’s plan works. I hope we can reach my people in time and they can get me out.
I hopeSebastiánwill want a broken shell of the girl he once knew.
The familiar itch of electricity zinging through my bloodstream holds me in place as the door to my room opens.
They’ve granted me more luxuries over the weeks. The chains disappeared after the first full week of my submission. I’m fed meager meals twice a day—enough to keep me alive and give me energy, but never enough to fill my stomach.
Despite the amount of “freedom” I’m given, they continue to use my blood against me when necessary, and the silver cuffs and collar remain on my body. It’s a reminder that I’m still their prisoner, even with the allowances and the luxuries they grant me. I’m still trapped within the walls of their prison, an innocent captive in a den of heathens.
I tense against the unwelcome manipulation of my body. No matter how many times I experience it, I never adjust to the feeling. I burrow into my pillow and tug my blankets tighter around me as the door closes and the magical hold releases, ignoring the noise of the wheeled cart Brenna pushes.
I’ve no appetite today. Not after being led around like a dog for hours in six-inch platform heels and strappy, leather lingerie.
I don’t want to eat. All I want is for her to turn around and leave me alone. I want to hide in my bed, forget about everything I’ve gone through, and chase sleep until it’s time for Brenna to wake me in the morning.
But luck, it seems, is not on my side.
“I have exciting news!”
My eyes fly open. Ice forms in my veins at the sound of Amara’s sickeningly sweet voice. Her face fills my field of vision, and she rubs my upper back as she talks down to me.
“Come, sweet girl.” She urges me to scoot off the bed. “I’ve brought you a gift.”
I bite back any response I have for her. Nothing I say will help my situation. I must remain docile and compliant.
Para mi. Para Brenna. For me and Brenna, and every female they’ve ever harmed.
Amara’s dress rustles across the floor as I slide myself off the bed and follow her to the dressing area, where a rack full of new lingerie and dresses—and lingerie disguised as dresses—sits waiting for us, Brenna standing at its side.
Trailing my fingers on the hanging garments, I walk from one end of the rack to the other, pretending to examine each outfit. In reality, I’m staring blankly while focusing on placing one foot in front of the other without tripping on the hem of my too-long red robe.
“This is a very exciting occasion, and I’m allowing you to choose a new outfit to celebrate.”
I glance at Amara, who is waiting for me to reply.
