Chapter Thirty-One

The musty air is so thick I can hardly breathe, the damp concrete floor cold, so cold. My naked body shivers against it, but I can’t move. I feel a wetness against my cheek, but I can’t tell if it’s from the floor, my tears, or my blood.

My skin crawls as the feeling from the last touch still remains, like an unremovable mark, no matter how hard I try to wash it off, it will never leave. Forever staining my skin, reminding me of what I have suffered and what I will continue to.

A pair of clammy hands grip my hips, lifting them into the air as I begin to whimper. No. No. No. No. Not again. No more, no more. I try to muffle my cries as quietly as I can manage. They hit me extra hard when I make noise. When the impact comes, I’m not ready for it, though. The force of the thrust causes an audible tear, and I scream. I feel a glass bottle hit the back of my head before I can even breathe, and blood begins running down the back of my neck because of it.

His jagged fingernails dig into the flesh of my ass as he pounds me into the floor, ripping me more and more with each thrust. My eyes meet him from across the room, a satisfied, lust-filled smile donning his face as he watches his friend destroy me. He already had his turn. He always goes first, and then the others follow. The other two that hurt me tonight are on either side of him, watching in a semblance of awe as their friend strips away what’s left of me. At least for the night. They’ll be back tomorrow night, they always are.

One minute I’ll be sleeping, and the next I’ll have hands on my body, carrying me down to the basement before pinning me to the floor like a pig for slaughter. He always starts by undressing me himself, whispering to me how I’ve been begging for it and tempting him all day while his wife sleeps soundly upstairs with her CPAP machine on, masking my torture and my screams.

He then runs his tongue up and down every inch of me, forcing the slimy feeling to linger with me longer than it should before he begins. Almost every single night this has happened for the last seven years. I’d fight to get away, fight to be free, if only I had anything left worth fighting for.

I wake up drenched in sweat, gasping for a breath I’m unable to catch when I look at my surroundings. Slowly registering where I am, that I’m safe, that I’m free. The sun streaming in from the window tells me that it’s already morning and I could never be more thankful for that. I haven’t had a dream like that in years. I’ve purposefully avoided any and all reminders possible, and it’s a system that has seemed to work for me. Until last night.

The door is slightly open, and I remember them closing it behind them last night, so obviously they’ve been in here since then, and by they, I mean Zayden. I decide to take a shower before going out there, mainly because I’m uncomfortable but also because I’m embarrassed. I don’t know what I was saying or how I was acting before they woke me up. I know the nightmares used to be really bad. All of my exes used to say so, at least.

I take my time lathering myself, shampooing and conditioning twice, as well as shaving myself from head to toe. None of it really matters, though, because once I’m dried and dressed, the knotted feeling in my stomach only amplifies with every step I take out of the bedroom.

They are both standing at the kitchen island, seemingly talking in hushed tones. It’s almost like they feel me before they see me, because before I even say a word or make a noise, their heads look up at me in perfect unison.

“Do you guys ever sleep?” I joke, noticing how it falls flat.

“No,” they respond together.

I give them a tight smile and nod before Dominic pushes away from the counter and comes to me. I flinch as he towers over me, something I thought I had gotten over, at least with him. Clearly, last night was a setback in many areas.

He frowns at that, smoothly dropping to his knees before me as he looks up at me.

“Are you okay?”

I nod. “I’m okay, you don’t have to kneel,” I say as I reach for him, attempting to pull him up.

“I want to,” he insists steadily. The assurance in his words makes my heart skip a beat, and I think I fall in love with him a little more right then and there.

“What are you guys doing today?” I ask.

“Nothing. Was just planning to spend time with you,” Dominic says as his phone begins to ring.

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he curses before grabbing his phone and silencing it. It starts ringing immediately, forcing him to silence it again. On the third ring, I catch his hand before he can cancel the call.

“Go to work. Do your thing. Protect the street cameras and all that stuff,” I say on a small laugh.

He shakes his head when I soften my voice, my lower lip quivering as I do.

“Please?”

There is something about Dom. He makes me feel so seen, so weak. He makes me feel that way because I know I can be vulnerable and fall apart with him, and he will be there to pick up the pieces. Right now, though, that’s the last thing I need. What I want is to feel in control and strong, and I can’t do that with him staring at me like this.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

I nod quickly, forcing him to blow out a breath before he stands slowly, pulling me into a hug before he reaches his full height. I wrap my arms around him as he pulls back just enough to kiss me. His lips linger on mine, and it’s enough of a contact to send butterflies racing through me before his thumb brushes against my cheek.

“I love you, babygirl.”

“I love you too,” I say with a soft smile.

My words cause him to grin before he gives me a sweet wink and turns to face Zayden.

“Take care of her.”

“Always,” Zayden responds quickly, his focused eyes on me the entire time his brother gathers up his things and heads out the door.

When the apartment is silent once more, I realize that Zayden and I are still staring at each other, unmoving, practically unblinking.

“You guys saying your I love you’s,” Zayden remarks.

It’s not quite a question, but it doesn’t seem phrased as a statement either. It feels like a test, and one I don’t feel like participating in. I roll my eyes and turn around, intent on getting away from him, when he comes up from behind me, catching my elbow and turning me to face him.

“What?” I snap.

He forces me backward until my back is pressing against the wall. He cages his arms over me and just stares. Where Dom is worried about intimidating me, Zayden seems to relish in it. I try to act like it doesn’t bother me, but with the menacing look in his eyes, the steel-cut edge to his jaw, and his face inches from mine, I’m doing all I can to keep it together.

“What do you need?”

I furrow my brows at that.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you need, angel? What can I do?”

I stare up at him for several seconds before I shake my head and look away.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Can you please just leave me alone and?—”

“No. Now tell me how I can fix this.”

“Fix what?” I ask.

“You.”

I blink hard at that, my breath practically stolen from my lungs for several seconds before I speak softly with a shake of my head. “You can’t.”

“Then what can I do to make it all go away for a little?” he asks, softening to a tone I wasn’t sure he was even capable of.

“I just want to be…in control. Free. Strong,” I say more to myself than anything as I stare at the wall behind Zayden.

Slowly, my eyes come back to his when he doesn’t respond, those blue eyes flaring to life before he nods his head once.

“Grab a jacket.”

He heads for the door, and I don’t hesitate. I’m in no position to be turning down a chance to get out of this apartment.

When we get downstairs and onto Zayden’s bike, a thought occurs to me. The last time I ended up on an excursion on the back of his bike, I ended up getting fucked on top of his parent’s grave. Maybe this was a very stupid idea. Clearly, I can’t be trusted around him, or more accurately, he can’t be trusted with me.

As soon as we hit that open road, though, with the wind whipping through my hair, all of my headache-inducing thoughts and worries fade, and I just…live. Zayden bobs and weaves through traffic so easily, it’s as if he’s more agile on a bike than his own two feet. He moves with each curve and bend of the road, and it feels closer to magic than just driving down the freeway.

It doesn’t take long before we’re exiting, and another mile or so down the road we’re pulling off into the gravel parking lot of a building with the name Buckey’s Shooting Range.

Zayden swings his leg off the bike, helping me with the helmet he slipped on me when we left before setting it on his handlebar. He offers me a hand, and I look at it hesitantly before I take it. His fingers intertwine with my own, and even when I’m off the bike, he refuses to let go, tightening his hold on me instead.

I shoot him an irritated look, but he just winks at me as he leads us toward the front door.

Within ten minutes, we are set up at a shooting lane on the very end with two guns and a box full of bullets. Zayden picked a human-silhouetted target to shoot at, and he loads one of the guns before gesturing for me to come to him.

“You ever shot a gun before?” he says, though I can barely hear him through the earmuffs they make us wear.

I shake my head and scoff. “When would I ever have shot a gun?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he pulls me to stand in front of him. Setting the gun in my hand, he straightens out my arms and has me hold it, pointing toward the target as he speaks.

“This is your safety, this is your clip, your rear and front sights,” he says, pointing to various parts of the gun. “You want to line up your target in between your rear and front sight. It’s okay to close one eye to practice, but I want you shooting with both eyes open.”

“Why are we doing this?” I ask.

“Because someone hurt you badly and you weren’t able to defend yourself.”

My stomach drops to the floor as a rush of goosebumps cover my skin. I wonder if I look as pale as I suddenly feel, but I don’t get a chance to speak before he continues.

“They took something from you, and you never got it back. This is how you get it back, one shot at a time.”

I don’t say anything as I look into his eyes. He waits for me to deny it or something, and maybe I should, but a smarter piece of me knows that would be futile. He’s not guessing, he’s not running with a hunch. It’s obvious what happened to me, it’s just that no one wants to form the ugly words into a single sentence.

Swallowing roughly, I nod, turning to face the target as I hold my arms out. Zayden’s hands run over my form, making small adjustments to my hold and stance before he nods, resting his hands on my hips.

“Close your eyes for me, angel. Picture him. Picture the man who hurt you, who stole your voice, who stole everything. I want you to picture him as vividly as you can.”

My stomach revolts at the request, the very idea of reimagining his face voluntarily too repugnant. For some reason, though, I do as he says. I see everything, from his dirty blonde hair and scraggly beard to his beady green eyes and his overhanging beer belly. I can practically smell him, taste him. I’m ready to fucking lose it when Zayden speaks again.

“Open your eyes and shoot the son of a bitch.”

My eyes fly open, and my finger on the trigger doesn’t hesitate. I fire the gun as many times as it lets me until the clip is out of bullets. When it’s done, my hands are shaking as I set the gun down onto the counter, blowing out a measured breath as Zayden hits the button that brings the target closer to us.

He pulls it down from the cable, grinning like a madman as he shows me. Four out of the six shots landed on the silhouetted body. Two to the head, one to the chest, and one to the stomach.

“Now that’s one dead piece of shit,” he cackles in a way that should sound completely unhinged but hits my ears, sounding of pure delight and pride.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

I nod. “Can we do that again?”

Zayden grins at me, nodding before hooking up a new target and sending it back down the lane.

“But first, I’m gonna show you how to take the gun out of someone’s hands.”

He takes out the clip, clearing the last bullet inside the chamber before testing it down the lane. Once he knows there are no bullets inside, he points it toward me.

“What do you do?” he asks.

“Beg for mercy?” I snark.

He rolls his eyes but smiles, handing the gun to me. His head nods, and I take it, pointing it at him like he did me.

“So, if they are holding it with one hand, you want to do this in one motion. If they are holding it in their right hand, you’re going to grab the muzzle of the gun with your left and hit their arm with your right simultaneously.”

After he explains it, he does it so fast it makes my head spin. Zayden’s hand wraps around the muzzle, and he smacks my arm loose, forcing my grip to break as he holds the gun, spinning it into his hand and pointing it at me. I can’t help but laugh at how utterly incompetent I just was as he nods encouragingly.

“Your turn.”