10. TEN

TEN

H ours pass before the van rolls to a stop. Muffled voices move around the side of the vehicle before stopping near the back doors. My heart pounds in my chest; I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. What are they talking about? What if that man told whoever is waiting the truth?

But no. There's no way. He was scared shitless of Bone Saw and whatever debt he owed The Order. He still has a family he cares about, so there's a part of him that's human.

And that's what makes him easy to control.

The door to the van opens, and the old man meets my icy glare. If I get a chance to kill him, too, I will.

"What are you waiting for?" another man says. "Bring them out."

Do it, I challenge him with my eyes. Come put your fucking hands on me.

"Actually, I hurt my hip the other day," the man says. "I need help unloading them."

"Jesus Christ, Dale, you worthless piece of shit," the other man says. He sighs heavily before stepping into the van, then stops in front of me first. "What'd you do to this one's face?"

"Uh, my guy got a little rough with her," Dale says.

"She looks fucking pissed. She's older than he likes, too. And too lucid."

He guides me out of the van and into the garage, where I wait mere feet away from Dale while he retrieves the other two. I keep my eyes trained on that fucker the whole time. Then, they march us through the expansive home to an office upstairs. Sugar Daddy looks up as we walk in; I don't see the girl with the cake anywhere.

"You said there would be four of them," he says calmly. "And what's wrong with this one's face?"

"One of them…didn't make it. And my guys got a little rough with that one."

"You really are a worthless piece of shit, Dale," Sugar Daddy says.

"That's what I told him!" the other man says. He nudges my shoulder. "Didn't I tell him that?"

I do my best not to react, glowering at the floor.

"Ugh, god, I thought I smelled something," a female voice says. The girl with the cake walks up the side of the room in a pair of workout shorts and a crop top. She stops in front of me. "Well, that one looks okay…except for the right side of her face. Does she have all of her teeth?"

She removes the duct tape and slides her fingers into my mouth, pulling my lips away to better examine my teeth. It takes every ounce of self-control not to bite her damn fingers off.

The girl next to me doubles over and vomits onto the carpet.

"Ew…" Cake Girl says.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sugar Daddy grumbles. "Mike, get Dale out of here—pay him half."

"Half?! But—"

"Half. And you're lucky you'll be getting that much."

Mike escorts Dale out of the room, and then Sugar Daddy brings the phone on his desk to his ear. "Matilda, come clean this shit up in my office…now."

He slams the phone back down in its cradle. "It smells."

"I know," Cake Girl says.

"If we weren't going to be on a beach in Europe somewhere by this time next week, I'd have Mike kill Dale out of spite."

"Should I take them downstairs and get them hooked up?"

Shit. Here we go.

"I have a call I have to take. Bring those two downstairs, then take the one with the busted face to my room." He looks me in my eyes, waiting for a reaction. When he doesn't get one, he asks. "Do you speak English?"

I don't answer.

"?Hablas espa?ol? Well?"

I lift my cuffed hands, point to my ears, and shake my head.

"Oh," Cake Girl says. "I think she's deaf."

"Fucking worthless," he scoffs. "Fuck Dale. I can't fucking wait to be done with his ass."

Now? Do I do it now? I could take her out easily, but he's behind that desk and in decent shape. If he sees me coming, he'll probably be able to get the best of me, and Bone Saw says that's my superpower…that he won't see me coming.

I dig my nails into my palms, willing my hands to stop shaking and my pulse to slow.

Cake Girl walks around the side of the desk, opens one of the drawers, and pulls out a gun. "I'm sure we can still get her to follow directions," she says.

She points the gun toward the three of us and motions toward the door. "Move."

Shit. I guess it's a good thing I didn't pick now.

I follow the other girls out the door and then to an elevator that takes us to the basement. Cake Girl stops and knocks on a door near the end of the hall.

"Just these two," she says, ushering the other two girls into the room. "I'll bring this one down later. He'll probably want to move them tomorrow."

The other man says nothing, closing the door behind the two girls, and I'm escorted back to the elevator. Once it starts to rise, she tucks the gun back into the waistband of her shorts.

"You're lucid," she says. "But you don't really seem afraid. How much of this do you understand? Can you read lips?"

I don't respond or react.

"You're older than he usually likes," she says, stepping onto the second floor and gesturing for me to follow. "You're the prettiest I've seen in a while, though, even with your busted face."

She stops in front of a bedroom, ushering me inside with her hand on the small of my back. I linger near the doorway, and she turns, gesturing before extending her hand to me.

"Come," she says. "Let me help you with your nose."

Still cuffed, I take her hand, and she pulls me into the attached bathroom, closing the door behind her. I gasp when I catch my reflection in the mirror.

Both of my eyes are black, my cheek bruised. Dried blood runs from my nose down my chin and is smeared over my cheek.

"Oh…you haven't seen it?" Cake Girl asks. "I bet that would be shocking."

She runs water over a wet rag and then brings it to my face, wiping it clean. I wince when she runs it over my nose.

"Sorry," she says. "I'm sorry for what's going to happen to you, too. Not sorry enough to help you, though. Warren isn't that bad, though. His dick is small—like microscopically small—and it never gets all the way hard, so at least it won't hurt. I'm too old for him, too, you know. My dad sold me to him when I was fifteen. He's left me alone for two years."

She sets the rag aside and fingers the orbital piercing on my left ear. "You were cared for," she says, her brow furrowing. "Where did they find you?"

I jerk my head away, worried she'll move from my ear over to my braid. She still has the gun, but I only need a couple of seconds. I need a little more room to maneuver than this, though. There's maybe six inches of space between her body and mine.

"That'll make it harder for you," she says. "If you were cared for, then you probably know what it's like to be touched in a loving way. See, I didn't—I was raised knowing I would be sold like this and that it would be my duty." She runs her finger down the side of my face. "You're so pretty. I bet you've been held before. I bet you've been special to someone, and they made you laugh. They told you they loved you or wrote you letters, called you things like honey or sweetheart or angel."

Angel.

Something in her eyes changes; she must see the longing in mine, and she smiles. "You do know what I'm saying. Is that what they called you? Did they call you an angel?"

I blink, sending a silent tear rolling down my good cheek. She wipes it away with her thumb and then sucks it into her mouth.

"I'm going to help you with something." Her hand dips into the waistband of my pants and inside my underwear. Her fingers run over my clit before she pushes them inside me, and I gasp. Before I can push her away, she grabs me by the handcuffs and pulls me in tighter.

"Don't fight it," she warns. "You'll like it if you relax, and if you don't, I'll use the gun. Got it?"

I don't reply, but I relax a little. I don't want her to get her hands on the gun.

"I'm going to help you get nice and wet—that'll make it easier for you. And then…maybe you can help me, too," she says, moving her fingers in and out of me. "You won't tell him, right? I'll make sure they take good care of you. I can do that, you know."

She's lying. But I almost feel sorry for her…and her fingers feel good. Feeling my body give in, she releases the grip on my shoulder and kicks my feet further apart. "There you go…feels good, doesn't it? You're getting nice and wet now. I am, too." She moves her wet fingers out of me and onto my clit, rubbing it back and forth, and I moan, gripping the side of the sink. "This is how I want you to touch me," she says, increasing the speed. She sets the gun on the toilet behind her, pushes her shorts down over her hips, and moves my hand between her legs. "Touch me just like I'm touching you. I'll come fast. My clit is so sensitive, and you're really fucking pretty."

She is soaking wet—maybe she will come fast. I take two fingers and rub her clit the same way she's touching me and watch her knees almost instantly buckle.

"Oh, f-fuck," she whispers. She places her free hand against the wall on the other side of my head for leverage. "Just like that. Oh, that's good."

She leans in, kissing me, her tongue running over my lips and dipping into my mouth while we work each other's pussies, and I can't stop myself from thinking of how much prettier she'll look once she's covered in blood. I bury a moan into her mouth at the thought.

"Don't make any noise," she whispers. "Don't make any noise when you come."

I bite my lip and explode, thighs flexing, gritting my teeth as I bury my heaving breath into her shoulder. Once it rolls through me, she grasps my wrist with her hand and rocks her hips against my fingers.

"Oh, yes…" she moans, leaning into me and shuddering with her own release.

"See?" she says. "That wasn't so bad. I'll ask the guards not to rape you tonight, and I'll come down and bring you some water later, and we can do it again. They never let them have water. It's the easiest way to keep them weak. Matilda made strawberry pie, and if you eat me, I'll bring you some."

She takes a couple of steps backward, grabs some toilet paper from the roll, and then bends down to wipe herself clean.

Both of her hands are occupied. She isn't looking. This is it.

I slip my right hand from the cuffs and then reach back, grip the handle, and pull out the blade while grabbing her hair with the other hand. Before she has a chance to react, I bury it into her throat.

I pull it out, quickly stabbing her a second and third time, hoping to sever her vocal cords to prevent her from calling out while she struggles against my hold. After the third time, she's not really struggling. I drag her by her hair into the shower and stab her just under her clavicle two more times—in that place where Declan almost killed me. She stops fighting and stares ahead at me with cold, almost lifeless eyes.

She really is beautiful like this.

"It's not personal," I whisper, taking her hand in mine. "But…you're not good, either. And I have these friends…they'll kill them if I don't kill you, and they are good." I pause, sighing. "And he did call me his angel—Luca De Rossi did." Recognition flashes in her eyes as she takes another gargled breath. "For what it's worth, I don't blame you that much. We didn't choose this, but there's no undoing it now. And I'm going to kill him, too."

I don't know if it brings her any comfort or not, but I stay there with her until the lights go out.

I step out of the shower, close the door behind me, and then slowly and carefully make my way through thick, slick blood back to the sink where I run my blade under the water before putting it back in my hair. Blood paints the front of my black shirt and pants, but you can't tell unless you're looking for it. I grab a white towel from the rack and dry as much of it as I can before cleaning the blood from my face and neck. I slide my right hand back into the cuffs and slip out of my shoes, leaving them behind before returning to the bedroom. Then, I sit at the edge of the bed facing the door, my heart pounding in my chest, and wait.

And wait. The antique clock above the fireplace tells me it's been over twenty minutes. The mansion isn't empty; I can't go looking for him. Just when I'm starting to panic, wondering if something happened and if I should just go flicker the light, the doorknob turns.

Warren steps into the room, and I watch him, trying to steady my breath.

"She cleaned you up, huh?" he says, unbuttoning his shirt. "Did she touch you, too? She thinks I don't know what she is—it's disgusting."

I clench my jaw as he shrugs off his shirt then moves to his belt buckle. His chest is bare; there's no monitor.

Femoral triangle. He says it's easy to miss, but it would be hard to chase me.

Easy to scream, though.

He moves toward the bed, stopping in front of me and lifting my cuffed hands. "It's hard getting old," he says as he unlocks and tosses them aside. He turns his back to me and pulls open a drawer on the bedside table.

Kidneys. It's supposed to be so painful you'll forget to breathe. That'll make it hard to scream.

I pull the blade one more time and lunge for him, burying it into his back. He manages to flip around before I can stab him a second time, and I panic when he lunges for me but he misses, falling to his knees on the ground at my feet. When I go for him again, stabbing him in the back of his neck, just below his skull, he knocks me off my feet, but it doesn't matter.

I got him. He's dying.

He falls forward, flat on his stomach on the floor with his pants below his hips. It requires more muscle than I'm used to, but I dig it into his back over and over again just to make sure. And just because I like the sound it makes and the way it looks.

I don't talk to him while he goes, but I do wonder what's going through his mind. Maybe he realizes it's a hit, but I like to think maybe he's lying there, aware he's dying, thinking it's all random, and one of the girls he planned to sell like garbage just finally got the best of him. Because he was too stupid, his ego too big, for him to realize what he was looking at before it was too late.

Then, I go to the doors, lock them, and flicker the bedroom light for at least thirty seconds. I remove my bloody shirt and pants and sink down onto the floor, leaning back against the bed in just my bra and underwear.

The deep red puddle of blood pooling beneath Warren's body, so dark it almost looks black against the deep brown exotic wood flooring, creeps closer to me. I don't move, watching it as it travels over and around my feet until I'm sitting in it, too.

I dip my hand in the warm, sticky liquid, coating it before holding it out in front of me. It's beautiful, and there's power in it, just like Declan said. I can feel it vibrating in the room around me, in every cell in my body, but I don't bring it to my lips. If taking blood is a transfer of power, of energy, I don't want whatever Warren has.

Then, the power shuts off, sending me back into darkness. No light seeps in from under the door.

This is it. Whatever was going to happen is happening now. It's too dark to see the clock on the fireplace, but I hear it still ticking. It feels like an hour goes by before I hear muffled shouting coming from downstairs.

Maybe they'll fail at whatever they're doing, and I'll die.

Shortly after, the power comes back on; heavy footsteps make their way down the hallway, opening doors. They'll be coming to this one soon.

I dip both hands in the blood again, smearing it over the front of my body, and lie down behind Warren's corpse, my weapon clutched tightly in my right hand. The doorknob rattles a few times, and when it doesn't turn, the person on the other side kicks or rams something into it. It only takes three tries before the wood buckles, and the door flies open.

"Teagan?" Bone Saw calls. "Oh, fuck…"

Then, he's kneeling beside me, pulling me into his arms. "Shit. Teagan," he says, searching my body for the source of the bleeding, "wake up, sweetheart. You're okay. Where are you even…if I find out you did this to yourself, I'm gonna—"

"Relax, you big fucking baby," I say, opening my eyes. "It's not my blood."

He dumps me back onto the ground and quickly stands, pacing the floor in front of me. "God damn it, Teagan."

"It looked real though, didn't it? I did good; I did what you wanted."

"Where's the girl?" he asks.

"In there," I tell him, nodding toward the bathroom.

He turns in that direction and I follow, moving in close behind him when he stops in front of the shower door.

"See?" I reach around the front of him, running my hand down his abdomen until I reach his cock. "Didn't I do good?"

He turns to face me, and even in the darkness, I feel his eyes roaming over my body. "You're drenched in their blood," he says. "Did you drink it?"

"No," I tell him. "I thought about it, but I don't want whatever they have. I want what you have, though. I want to taste yours. Can I?"

"No."

"You don't even have to take any of it off," I say, moving in closer. I slide my hand over his chest, up his neck, and then inside his hood. "There's that little space right here. If you let me cut you…just a little bit—"

"No, Teagan. I don't have time for this shit. I have a job to do. Go find a shower."

"I could run my tongue over the cut and drink you down while you fuck me in a puddle of their blood." Reaching behind my back, I unhook my bra and shrug it off before stepping out of my underwear. "I think I look good like this. I feel good like this, but if you don't like it, I guess I will go find a shower—another shower, I mean. One without the hot girl who fingered me rotting at the bottom."

"You do that," he says.

Sighing, I leave the bathroom and then the bedroom, and start down the dark hallway. Gold-faced men emerge from Warren's office carrying computer parts and monitors, files, and boxes, barely looking up as I pass. I turn into a large bedroom, finding the ensuite bathroom in the moonlight, and turn on the water.

I bet this was Cake Girl's room. A quick inventory of the cabinets and drawers confirms my suspicions. I take what I'm sure is a very expensive perfume from the cabinet and spray it in the air, inhaling deeply.

I think I'll take this if he'll let me. My mind wanders again to the masked monster who held me when he thought I was bleeding on the floor but rejected me when I stood naked in front of him, and it's like those thoughts summoned him because I hear footsteps moving through the room behind me. I set the bottle on the counter just as a hand closes around my braid and jerks me back into the bedroom.

"Damn it, Teagan," he says as he pulls me toward the bed. "You insufferable fucking brat."

Just as quickly as he bends me over the side of the bed, he sinks his cock into me, thrusting hard and fast.

"Oh, fuck!" I scream.

He uses that braid for leverage, just like he said he would, straining my neck in the most uncomfortable position. I grip the covers tightly, arching my back and pushing against him, lifting onto my toes as his hips slam into my ass over and over, his cock hitting me hard and deep.

"I wish I'd never laid eyes on you," he rasps. "I should have never dipped my dick into your needy little pussy."

His words shouldn't have me moaning, my pussy clenching, but they do. "Yes!" I cry out. "Oh, fuck, don't stop."

"You're a little whore, little monster," he groans, twisting the braid tightly around his fist. "I'd slit your throat and send you back to whatever crevice of hell you crawled out of if I could."

"Fuck!" I scream, violently coming apart around him. I can't breathe. I can't see. I can't focus on anything except for the pulse between my legs and the thick cock drilling into me from behind.

"Say it!" he grits through his teeth. "Say you're a little whore."

"I'm your little whore," I whimper. "Master."

He groans loudly, moving his hands to my shoulders and using them to pull me back into him. His hips slam into me a few more times before he stills, burying himself so deeply I can feel his cock twitching inside of me when he comes.

"Look what you fucking did," he growls. "Now, we're going to have to burn these blankets, too. Damn it, Teagan."

I fall limp onto the mattress as he releases me and storms out of the room, leaving me naked and alone, breathless and bloody, face down on the mattress with his cum dripping from my swollen pussy.

"Fuck," I mutter. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I can't explain why it hurts so much, but it does.

I push off the bed and, on legs like jello, make my way back to the bathroom. The water is still running, and the mirror and shower doors are completely fogged over. I step under the hot spray and scrub my body and hair clean with jasmine-scented soaps and shampoos, watching blood swirl down the drain.

And a lot of hair, too. Of course, it makes sense that the knife would have cut through some of it. The braid must have been the only thing holding it together. Oh well.

After I dry off, I walk into an attached closet just as big as the bedroom. I open drawers until I find Cake Girl's bra and panties and slip on the prettiest matching set I can find. Then, I flip through the wardrobe—through all the shiny, beautiful things Warren bought for his child bride.

Riv would be in heaven in here.

With her in mind, I find a red lace mini dress and pair it with black leather Prada combat boots with a zip pocket on the side. I use her makeup and perfume before leaving the bathroom. A masked man lounges on the bed against the headboard, his arms crossed in front of him, when I return to the room.

"Are you Bone Saw?" I ask.

"What do you think?" he snaps. "Why are you dressed like that?"

I frown, shaking my head. "Does it matter?"

"It's okay, kitten." I look to my left and see Declan sitting in a high-backed chair in the corner of the room with a book in his lap. "You look pretty. You just wanted to look pretty, didn't you?"

I nod.

"You're so sweet," Fake Declan says. "Maybe you should tell him that and ask him to hold you again."

"He doesn't care," I tell him. "It's not real."

"It still feels good, though, doesn't it? Even when it's not real? That's what you said."

"Well, that's the problem…it's starting to—"

"Teagan, what the fuck are you doing?"

I turn back to Bone Saw. "Nothing," I say.

And when I look again, Declan is gone.

I sit at the edge of the bed near his feet.

"She has some really pretty clothes," I say. "Can I take some more of them?"

"No. I shouldn't even let you take those."

"But you're going to?"

He doesn't reply.

"I kind of felt sorry for her. Do you know what her name was?"

"Sonia," he says.

"She said her family sold her. She was sad…and lonely…like me. But she was broken in a way you can't fix; she was always going to hurt people. I think maybe I put her out of her misery. I could have done it a little faster, though."

"Taking children is one of The Order's favorite ways to collect debts," he says. "But you're right. She was broken."

"I hate it when you just leave me like you did before," I tell him. "It feels really bad. Declan and Luca never did that to me. I can't…I want to go home tonight."

"Is that what you and your imaginary boyfriend were talking about?" he mocks.

"No. He was just telling me how pretty and sweet I am."

"I don't think you should go home, Teagan," he says. "Ever."

I turn, facing him. "What? Why not?"

"Because you're broken, too. Like me, like Sonia. I told you what's going to happen—you're going to kill again."

"No. I'm different because I was born like this. I'm not broken; I can fight it. I have…self-awareness."

"Maybe before you could. But you've got more of a taste for it now, don't you? And you're good at it. What else are you this good at?"

"I—"

"There's no finger in the proverbial dam anymore, Teagan. You're long past controlling it. I know there's a part of you that still believes you can have some type of normal existence, but you're wrong. The part of you that still craves love and acceptance is wrong, too. You don't need that, either."

I scoff. "You're barely human. How could you know what I need?"

"Because I've been watching you for months, Teagan. You need a place and a purpose—that's all anyone needs. The Order can give you that. You can disappear, move through the world without fear, always protected. You can keep scratching that itch that will never go away."

"But I won't have a face or a name."

"No, you won't. But there's freedom in that, too."

"Do I have a choice?"

"You do. But it isn't much of one, is it? Where are you going to go? Who will you ever be able to tell your secrets to?"

"I still need other things."

"You think you do," he says, bringing a hand to caress my cheek. "It'll fade. I promise. You'll stop caring; it'll stop hurting, too. Won't that be a relief?"

I nod. "Yes."

Another masked man appears in the doorway gesturing to his wrist as if pointing at a watch. As Bone Saw stands, the other man leaves.

"The cleanup crew is here," he says, tucking something hard and cold between my breasts. "It's time to go."

I pull it out, stifling a sob when I unfurl my fist and see it.

A knife.

My knife, with the pearl embossed tulips on the handle, my name etched into the titanium blade. The knife I snorted cocaine from with Luca, the one I killed Heidi's sister with, ruining all of our lives to save his.

The knife I used to carve my initial into Declan's chest after he told me that he loved me and he'd never leave me.

It takes every ounce of strength I have not to bury it in my own chest.