Chapter 11

As consciousness slowly returns, I find myself in a cold concrete room. It”s barren except for the small bed I wake up on, its thin mattress and blanket offering little comfort. The bed”s legs are set into the concrete, rendering it immovable. A toilet sits in the corner, and there”s only one door, sealed shut. A small window near the ceiling is lined with bars, offering a glimpse of darkness and trees outside. Water drips incessantly from around the window frame, the sound becoming a steady rhythm that grates on my nerves.

And of course, there is the shackle around my ankle with the chain connected to the bed. It doesn’t surprise me to find myself chained again and somehow I doubt it would ever be removed again.

Fear grips me as I realize the gravity of my situation. I”m trapped, alone in this bleak room with no means of escape. Panic rises within me, threatening to suffocate any semblance of hope.

I struggle to recall the events that led me here, but my memories are fragmented, disjointed. The last thing I remember is the confrontation with my stepfather in the cabin, his taunts and threats ringing in my ears. Had he really orchestrated everything? Will I always be at his mercy, playing along with his sick and twisted games?

A glimmer of defiance still flickers within me. I refuse to surrender to despair, to relinquish hope entirely. Somewhere beyond these walls, Damon, Rayth, and Killian are out there. Should I believe my stepfather, was I just a toy to them, a reward for good work? It hadn’t felt like it.

Exhaustion eventually claims me, and I drift into a fitful sleep haunted by nightmares of my stepfather”s abuse and malevolent laughter echoing through the empty room. When I wake again, I”m met with the same stark reality—alone, trapped, and at the mercy of forces beyond my control.

The sound of a key turning in the lock early the next morning startles me from my restless slumber. I scramble to my feet, pressing my back into the corner, instinctively recoiling from the imminent intrusion. There”s only one person who would be entering this room, and I refuse to be a passive victim any longer.

As the door swings open, my pulse quickens, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My stepfather”s presence fills the room like a suffocating fog, his sickening smile sending shivers down my spine. I steel myself against the wave of revulsion that threatens to overwhelm me.

He steps strides toward me and I try to push myself further into the corner, but the bricks won”t allow it. My head spins, I’m too weak and disoriented, and when he lifts a hand I flinch back automatically, my head hitting the wall. “Don’t touch me,” I spit out at him, turning my body away, rebelling against the thought of being touched by him again.

”Do you really think I want to touch your well-used cunt anymore?” His words, dripping with contempt, strike me like a physical blow. Despite the venom in his voice, a twisted sense of relief washes over me. At least he”s not here to inflict more abuse upon me.

But he still grips my jaw as he taunts me, his words like daggers aimed at my already battered spirit. ”You”re nothing but a usable whore now for my men,” he sneers, reveling in my discomfort. ”Get comfortable, you stupid little slut. This is your life now. The only time you leave this room is when I deliver you to someone as a reward. Well, for as long as you”re usable, that is. You better hope you last longer than your mother did.”

His callous words cut deep, reopening wounds I thought had begun to heal. My heart freezes in my chest and I already feel the tears I tried to hold off start to slide down my face.

The weight of his words presses down on me like a suffocating blanket, threatening to crush whatever semblance of hope remains within me. My mind reels with a mixture of despair and rage, struggling to comprehend the depth of his cruelty. He can’t be saying what I think he is saying. I was told my mother died in a car accident.

The mention of my mother sends a jolt of anguish through my already battered soul. The wounds of her loss reopen with raw intensity. She had been the only beacon of love and light in a world consumed by darkness, and now even her memory is tarnished by his vile words. Was it a lie? Did the police lie to me?

The possibility that my stepfather may have played a role in my mother”s death looms ominously, casting a shadow over everything I once held dear. Was she truly taken from me by fate, or was her life cut short by the very man who now stands before me, mocking my pain?

With trembling hands, I wipe away the tears streaming down my cheeks, mustering every ounce of strength within me to hold onto my resolve. Though his words cut deep, I refuse to let them define me. I refuse to believe his twisted version of reality.

”You”re lying,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a hoarse rasp. But even as the words leave my lips, doubt gnaws at the edges of my consciousness.

His laughter rings through the room, mocking and cruel. ”Am I, Everly?” he taunts, his voice dripping with malice. ”Do you really believe that? Or are you just clinging to the delusion that your life still has some meaning?”

The words strike a nerve, fueling the flames of my anger and defiance. Even if my time with those men was set up as some sick twisted reward, it helped me find the backbone I thought I had lost. ”I don”t know what your game is,” I retort, my voice trembling with suppressed fury, ”but I will never do what you want. I won’t let you break me ever again.”

His sneer twists into a cruel smile, his eyes gleaming with malice. ”Oh, but my dear Everly,” he purrs, his voice dripping with disdain, ”you”ve already been broken. You just refuse to see it.”

I glare back at him, refusing to crumble under the weight of fear and despair. His smile only grows more sinister, his gaze piercing through me like a dagger. ”Remember this, little slut,” he hisses, his voice dripping with malice, ”even dogs learn to heel. And if they don”t, they get punished painfully, or they simply get put down.”

His words send a chill down my spine, but I refuse to let them intimidate me. I”ve endured too much, fought too hard to reclaim my sense of self-worth, to allow him to break me once again.

With a final mocking laugh, he turns on his heel and leaves the room, the heavy clang of the door shutting behind him echoing in the small, desolate space. The sound of him locking the door again reverberates through the room, sealing me once more in my lonely prison.

I”m left to grapple with the haunting echoes of his words and the suffocating weight of despair that threatens to consume me. With trembling hands, I reach down to touch the cold metal shackle around my ankle, a physical symbol of my captivity. But even as I feel its weight, I refuse to let it define me.

I am stronger than this. I am more than a pawn in my stepfather”s twisted game. For as long as there is breath in my body, I will fight. I will resist. And I will never allow him to break me again.