Page 20 of Ace of All Hearts

“Sam!” I fight with all I have, yet it doesn’t last long. Dark thoughts invade me, and primal responses of fight or flight kick in. My feet kick against the headboard, as my shoulders attempt to lift off the bed. After a few minutes, my head starts spinning and the mattress swallows me. It’s deep and dark, exactly like my mind.

I was naïve when I told Sam he wasn’t like Bianco.

He was realistic. ‘No. I’m worse.’

He uses the same techniques as the man who broke me when I was just a child. He uses me, forces me to feel things I don’t want to. And then leaves me alone with my own thoughts.

And I don’t only hate it because it reminds me of the worst moments of my life.

I hate it because, someway, somehow…it works.

I think of the things he said, because they were true. He turned the technique around, forcing me to focus on myself when Bianco used to force me to focus on him only.

I think of how I felt when I heard the tone in Rachel’s voice, the regret she expressed for enjoying herself without me. The jealousy when Lik taunted me with what they had done. The fear when Sam offered me everything I’ve ever wanted on a silver platter. The need to bring Simon into the mix and make sure I would make all of them regret it.

It’s all there, bouncing against the walls of my skull.

The fact that I’m starting to believe how pleasurable it would be to belong to them. To live only for their pleasures and mine. To forget about all the deep thinking that makes my life a living hell. The constant thoughts of the things I never forget, the beauty that shouldn’t belong to anyone else but Sam orthem.

My eyes flutter shut, a certain peace falling over me.

When he’ll come to untie me, I know my true self will come back. Stubborn, feisty. I love her. She is my rock, she is the girl who survived.

But for once, I let her take a rest. Let a tame side of me bring harmony and balance to my being.

When they enter the room again, I’m exhausted. I’m cold, my body shaking and my teeth clattering. I don’t know how long they left me in here, but the sky is dark outside. Lethargy has taken over my limbs, and I’ve lost my voice completely.

So I don’t say anything. Sam unties me silently anyway. Not bringing anything up. Lik helps me up and massages my shoulders. He undoes the belt around my neck.

Cum, spit, and blood have all dried on me, and I feel utterly disgusting.

Disgusting, humiliated, used.

“Shower,” Sam says softly as I walk out of the room. Soft yet still an order as if he knows no other way to talk to me anymore.

It’s not like I was going to do anything else.

I shower, warming my cold body as much as I can. It doesn’t stop the trembling, although I can feel my extremities again. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, climbed a mountain, and swam an ocean. Lik, Sam, myself: the triathlon of death. My muscles are burning, and my mind is foggy.

When I’ve finally scrubbed everything off my skin, I watch red patches form with a sick satisfaction.

I come out of the shower, wipe the steam on the mirror and stare at myself. Dark circles decorate my eyes, the shade fitting strangely well with the midnight blue. I look down and skim the bruises on my throat with the tips of my fingers. They’re dark, some bits still red from the irritation. It’s evident where the belt pinched my skin, making it an ugly purple. I shiver, and a heavy nausea settles in my stomach.

In the past, I’ve seen people leave Sam’s bedroom with those exact marks. I’ve dreamed of being at the receiving end, yet I feel no satisfaction now that it’s happened.

I look like I’ve been beaten up. My knees buckle for a moment, and I have to hold myself on the counter. I’m coming down from a terrible high. I feel it all at once: the ache in my pussy, the tightness in my throat, and the bruises around my neck. I peer down at my wrists since they burn. A redness shows on the scars I have there. These two circled scars that don’t quite reach all the way around.

On the hard floor, my face rubbing in dirt. My arms fight against the zip ties around my wrists so hard I’m bleeding. I can feel it trickling down my hands. It’s the third time I’ve passed out. Third time they force me back into consciousness. My tears have dried, so has the blood that spilled from my lips.

Hands on my hips. They dig deep into my skin.

A laugh. Something spoken in Russian.

And pain. Radiating from between my legs and all the way to the top of my head.

My ass hitting the floor brings me back. I blink a few times, then force myself back to a standing position. Because no matter what, I’ll always be the one who picks myself up. I look into the mirror, right into my eyes, and pointlessly look for the pieces of me that were stolen.

And then the anger comes.

---