22. Vogue

My wrists burn.They've been rubbing against the cold metal of these cuffs long enough to leave bloody welts that sting, bringing tears to my eyes. I tug again, more out of stubbornness than any real hope it'll make a difference. The room is all shadows and grime, the only light flickering from a bulb that's seen better days. I can feel the bass from the music overhead vibrating through the concrete floor into my bones.

Am I in some sort of club?

"Look at her struggling," one of the guards chuckles, his eyes fixed on me with something hungry in them. "Cute." Gravels and Sharpie have been relieved of guard duty, so these two new fuckers are ugly and slimy and way more creepy than the other two. I wish they would come back.

"Pathetic, if you ask me," the other one adds. He stands up, stretches like he's bored out of his mind, and saunters over. His comrade follows, both of them now looming over me like vultures circling prey. My heart thumps with fear, anger and something else I can't quite put my finger on.

"Please," I spit out the word like it's poison. "You really think I'm scared of you two idiots? Which one is Pinkie, and which is the Brain?"

With a swift motion, he raises his hand and backhands me across the face. I feel the sting of his palm against my cheek, but it pales in comparison to the boiling anger that simmers in my soul.

I won't let these assholes see how much they're getting to me. Mum taught me to stand tall, no matter what life throws at me, and I'll be damned if I crumple now.

"Your spirit's gonna break, pretty, " the first guard taunts.

I glower at him. "You clearly don't know a thing about me."

"Guess we'll find out soon enough," the second guard spits out, leaning over me, his fingers fumbling with the hem of my shirt. He has a nasty grin as he rips it open, the sound of tearing fabric echoing ominously in the small space.

I suck in a sharp breath, not from the chill that hits my exposed skin but from the wave of revulsion that floods through me. These guys are serious fuckers. My tenacity hardens; I have to get out, have to find a way to survive this sick game they're playing. But right now, the options are slim, and these thugs are making sure I know it.

"Take a good look," the guard says, leaning in close enough for me to smell the stale coffee on his breath. His buddy laughs, the sound grating on my ears.

"You're disgusting," I mutter, twisting away from their touch.

"Aw, she thinks she's got a choice," the first guard says, mock sympathy oozing from every syllable.

I clench my jaw, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Scared, sweetheart?" the one I've decided is Pinkie leers, his hand moving to unzip his pants.

"Pathetic," I spit out, trying to shrink away from him as he drags out his cock. It's limp and gross, and I don't want that thing anywhere near me. Unfortunately, I'm not going anywhere so I have to try and fight this somehow. He starts tugging on himself, and I've never felt more revolted in my life. My stomach churns, but I force myself to keep my gaze defiantly locked on his. There's no way I'm letting them see fear.

"Enjoying the show?" Pinkie sneers.

I snort. "You wish. You're just another sad pervert with a tiny dick and a power complex."

His face twists into a snarl as he steps closer, his cock growing harder. It's definitely the power trip that's getting him off.

My chest swells with anger, hot and fierce, but it's doused by a wave of fear. Is this what awaits me now? To be violated until somehow, I can escape.

Poor Harry is dead; the guys will know it's my fault, and they will leave me here to rot like a piece of cabbage that's been boiled to within an inch of its life.

Harry.

I choke back the sob as my mind remembers seeing him shot on the floor of my apartment. I feel even more guilty that I'd blacked it out, the fear of my predicament clouding everything else. I'm a horrible person, and I deserve this.

I force myself to look away, focusing on the damp stone wall, anything but the scene before me. They're just men—vile, yes, but men all the same, and men make mistakes. All I need is one mistake, and I'll turn this around. I have to.

Blinking back the stinging in my eyes as he splatters his cum over my bra and stomach, the taste of helplessness overwhelms me. My mind is a mess of doubts, gnawing at me with every ragged breath I draw. Did I ever really have a choice? Or was it always going to end up like this, chained to the darkness that's been my birthright?

"Think you're tough?" Pinkie sneers, shoving his dick back into his grimy jeans.

I don't give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I retreat into my head, where memories swirl—my mother's tired smile after a double shift, the weight of textbooks in my backpack, the feel of aced exam papers crisp between my fingers. All of it feels a world away now, tainted by bloodlines I never asked for.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a relentless drumbeat of fear. But there's no room for fear when your life's on the line, is there? I've seen enough to know you've got to be cold if you want to survive, and survival is all that matters now.

"Your daddy would be so proud," the Brain taunts, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

The mention of my father spikes my anger. His legacy—it's an anchor around my neck, dragging me down to depths I never wanted to explore. Violence, betrayal; they were his companions, and now they're mine. How can I ever escape this cycle? Is it even possible, or am I doomed to swim in the same murky waters he does?

"Fuck you," I hiss, and the words are like shards of glass in my mouth, sharp and bitter.

I have to keep my mind clear, ready for whatever comes next. If there's one thing I've learned from my mother's determination and the nights spent studying until dawn, it's that giving up isn't an option—not for me.

I pull at the chains again in frustration, wrists raw, the cold metal unmoving. The guards leer, their eyes skimming over me like I'm nothing but prey. My skin crawls, but fear is an old acquaintance now; it can't paralyse me when survival is on the line.

Swallowing back the bile in my throat, I lock away the disgust. These bastards won't get the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. I need to be clever, patient. Wait for that sliver of a chance, that momentary lapse in their attention. Every second, every minute I endure is another step toward freedom. I will not become another victim of this twisted world—my father's world. Instead, I'll forge my own path, cut through this nightmare with the tenacity that has been drilled into me since the moment I was born.

Pinkie grins, drawing a knife from his belt. The blade catches the low light, a cruel flicker in a sea of shadows. With a quick movement, he presses the tip against the side of my neck and drags it across my skin in a shallow cut that has me nearly wetting myself with fear that this is just the start, and I'm going to bleed out on this revolting bed.

It takes everything I have to just flinch at the burn, not giving them the satisfaction of a scream. He watches, fascinated, as if my pain feeds some sick hunger inside him.

"Look at that pretty blood," he taunts, the metallic scent filling my senses, a sharp reminder of my vulnerability.

They think they can reduce me to nothing more than a plaything for their twisted desires. They can, but they also believe they can break me, and that is something they will never do.

Time drips away slowly. Each second feels like a minute, every minute an hour. I'm losing track of how long I've been down here, chained to this bed, my wrists raw and my mind screaming for release. The music from above is a dull throb in the background, a cruel soundtrack to my pain.

My eyelids are heavy, and my body is screaming for rest for just a moment of peace. I shift, trying to find a less painful position, but there's no relief. The ache in my muscles is constant, a reminder that I'm still alive—for now.

The guards watch me, their eyes hungry and cold. They're waiting for me to break, to cry out or beg. But I won't give them that pleasure. Mum didn't raise a quitter, and even though she has lied and betrayed me, I can't let her down. Not now. Not ever. It's not who I am.

"Remember who you are, Vogue," I murmur, clinging to the fragments of my identity that haven't been stolen by this place. Yet.