Page 114 of Raphael (Belles & Mobsters 5)

My eyelids were heavy. My entire body ached. The smell of rot, salt, metal, and piss mixed in the air. I sat up on the bed and scooted back against the wall, wrapping my arms around me. It was cold and dark.

Blood-curdling screams traveled through the air. The ugly sounds sent fear down my spine.

Squeak. Squeak. Scream.

My screaming. My arms tightened around me and I started to rock back and forth. Back and forth. I fought the urge to scream for them to stop.

Instead, I brought my hand to my mouth and bit into my flesh. Hard. A warm liquid trickled down my skin, the metallic scent a familiarity.

This was what nightmares were made of. How fucking ironic my life would end the same way it started.

Santiago hadn’t raped me yet. But it was coming. I could sense it with each second that passed by.

Another scream. Different girl. Different terror.

My gaze flickered to the steel door, and I uttered a silent prayer it’d remain closed. Although it only prolonged the long, torturous hours. Maybe it had been days; I couldn’t tell.

I tried not to think about Raphael because it hurt. It fucking hurt so bad that I thought my chest had been ripped open. He knew his father tried to break Anya and he saidnothing.He knew about the contract. He knew Anya wasn’t my father’s. He tried to make me into a contract.

Yet, he saidnothing.

I wanted to scream my rage. The betrayal. Instead, I kept it all boiling inside me.

My throat burned. My eyes stung. My ears buzzed.

The door clanked and panic rose up in my chest as my eyes snapped in its direction.

“I’ve come for you, little one. My ice princess.”

* * *

I couldn’t move. The foul smell of the dark room and rot made me want to gag, except I had nothing left in my stomach. This was a nightmare. I had learned to breathe this fear of not knowing when the next whip would come.

Santiago Tijuana thrived on taunting me.

This was the taste of the terror that Anya endured for the duration of her life. Minutes turned into hours. Hours turned into days and nights.

My shoulders screamed from the pain, my head pounded and my vision blurred.

I might die here. Silent tears mixed with the sweat on my face.

Exhaustion was heavy in my lungs and my bones, but I still found strength to curse at my own stupidity. Anya made her sacrifice for my life worthless because at the end, I was too weak to fight.

I had no idea where we were. In the cellar. Somewhere in the Caribbean I thought.

Tick. Tock.

I lost the sense of time. The basement was dark, without any glimpse of light. No windows. Desperation replaced my fear of darkness. I grew weaker and more desperate by the hour.

Dying would be a welcome reprieve.

But I kept fighting. I kept on breathing, my mind revolting at the idea of giving up.

I bit into my lip anticipating another lash of the whip. It didn’t come. But my body refused to relax. My mind knew the pain would come. Maybe I had reached the numbing point and nothing would hurt anymore. I lost count after twenty.

Crack.

I cried out as the whip slashed across my back. Yanking on my hair, he wrenched my head back. His breath made my stomach churn. I struggled to breathe and desperately attempted to jerk away from him.

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