The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,417

Why are they suddenly so quiet?

The man lifts me, hoisting me over his shoulder, and carries me into the house. Panic is all I know, as he walks through a sparsely furnished living room. The wall-mounted tv is tuned to something loud, but he’s moving too fast for me to see anything clearly. My feet and fists strike his back and torso, but he doesn’t seem to feel it.

Tears run down my face and into my open mouth, choking my screams and filling me with a terror more visceral than anything I’ve ever known.

He dumps me unceremoniously onto a mattress in the middle of the room. It’s thin, and my head slams against the hard floor, and for a moment, I’m dazed. He tugs my leg, and before I know what’s happening, something tightens painfully, pinching near my foot. I sit and wail, in horror, when I see the shackle around my ankle. I kick for everything I’m worth. And yelp, as whatever it’s anchored to on the ground makes my joints pop, as I yank to try free myself.

“Men three times your size can’t break free. You’ll just hurt yourself,” the man says, in between grunts, as he wrestles to grab my other ankle. I manage to pull it free, and my foot connects with his face.

He howls in pain and returns my blow with a fist slammed into my cheekbone. Pain and light explode, and I fall back, sobbing as the coppery taste of my blood trickles onto my lips.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Getting paid, bitch. Shut up.” He grunts and grabs my arms. He pulls them together over my head and I feel the now familiar slide of cold metal before they’re bound together and attached to an anchor in the ground.

I’m trapped, helpless, and staring into the eyes of a man I’ve never seen before, but who I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ll never forget.

“I can pay you more.”

“Doubt it. But you’ll make us some nice money.” His smile makes me want to throw up.

Weston strolls in.

“Welcome, Princess. You like my new house?”

I gape up at him in horror. “Wh- Why are you doing this?” I cry.

He smiles that terrible smile and sits next to me on the mattress. I struggle to catch my breath.

“Do you want money? My grandfather will pay you to give me back. But if you hurt me, he won’t.”

“You, dumb cunt. I don’t want money. I want my pound of flesh.”

He lifts his shirt and twists to show me a small scar on his lower back. Tears fall from my eyes, as I look at it.

“Thanks to you and that little shit who called the police, I have a record. I had eight months of community service. So, I’m thinking that once I stab you and then make you spend 8 months getting fucked up the ass by men you don’t know and who don’t give a shit about anything beyond the nut, they’re going bust inside of you, we’ll be even.”

And then he holds up a knife, one just like the one Stone stuck him with.

“What are you doing?”

I scream as the knife flashes down and slices my shirt open leaving me completely bare from the waist up.

His smile makes my stomach heave.

“Weston. You can’t do this.”

He lowers his head and draws his tongue around my nipple. It’s a disgusting imitation of a lover’s caress, and I can’t hold back my cries, as he sucks and licks and bites me until I beg him to stop.

“See? All you had to say is please,” he says, as he lifts his head.

He cuts every stitch of clothing off my body, and when he finally leaves the room, there’s not a single part of me he hasn’t touched.

“Turn her on her stomach,” he says to the man who carried me in. He’s sitting on a small sofa, stroking himself, as he watches me. I’ve never felt so vulnerable.

“And Regan, you better try to get used to it. I’ve got three customers upstairs waiting for you.”

I start to scream, and I don’t stop until Weston sticks a needle in my arm and injects me with something that makes it all go away.

Chapter 56

Trust

Stone

“Good morning, Goddess.” I push a lock of hair that came loose from my makeshift braid, out of her eyes and she blinks, several times, then peers at the clock.

“Oh, heaven help me, why does my head hurt so much?” She presses the heels of her hands over