Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

It’s a testament to how much the wound knocked me on my ass when I’m jerked awake as hands grab me. I didn’t even hear them come in or see them turn on the lights. I was sleeping, and it pisses me off. I start to fight before agony slams through me from my wound, and then I stop. I can’t do any more damage to myself than I need to.

I need to heal so I can kill them, so I let them drag me away even though I hate it.

I’m brought into one of the medical rooms, but instead of a bed, there is a chair one would see in a dentist’s office. I’m tossed into it, and my arms and legs are quickly strapped down. Struggling against my need to fight, I relax into the leather and blink.

“What, no breakfast?” I taunt.

The guards ignore me, stepping back against the wall, and look at the opposite wall as if to avoid even looking at me. I’m forced to wait, and I grow bored. I test the restraints. I could snap them if need be, but for now, I leave them on, and sometime later, the door opens, admitting my father.

“Novaleen,” he snaps in annoyance, the door shutting behind him. His tone is angry, and he looks tired, probably from the fire last night. His suit is slightly wrinkled, which tells me all I need to know. He’s stressed and hasn’t slept.

“Looking bad, Pops,” I taunt. “Now, what’s on today’s agenda? Teeth pulling?”

“There was an explosion last night.”

“I did hear something.” I shrug as much as the bindings will allow. “What’s your point?”

“We know it was you.” My father sniffs, looking irritated.

“Are you sure?” I smirk. “I was in my room, you know, being a prisoner and all.”

“Are you trying to make me believe that one of the most intellectual minds of our time couldn’t have timed that?” he snaps.

“I think you have a problem in your house, Father, and it isn’t me. After all, I’m injured and a prisoner. Maybe you should look at your staff.” I see him falter just for a moment, but it’s enough to let me know he’s worried about that, worried about being betrayed from the inside.

It’s another crack in the armour, which is something else I can use.

“Punish her!” he snaps as he turns and storms out.

The guards step forward almost as one, and I let out a low breath and force a smile. This is going to be bad, but I can survive it. “So, what do you guys think about—” My breath whooshes out of my lungs as one man slams his fist into my stomach. I feel my stitches rip, but not enough to cover the tearing of the wound from yesterday. It hurts like a motherfucker though. That’s when I realise that if I can make him do it again, I can cover my ripped stitches.

“Pussy,” I rasp, and just like I expected, he winds his fist up and slams it into my stomach, rupturing the wound. Blood pours from my flesh, and agony courses through me, but I smile as I wheeze. He played right into it, giving me exactly what I wanted.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” another says as he steps up, and my heart stills as he grins. Winding a cloth between his hands, he kicks his foot into the chair, and my head slams back. He places the cloth he was holding over my mouth, and then ice-cold water pours across it, spraying over my mouth and face. I can’t see, and my ears buzz. I struggle to breathe, my lungs on fire as I writhe in the straps, feeling blood slide across my stomach and chest. Just when I’m about to pass out from choking on water, he stops, allowing me to suck in desperate, painful breaths, only to repeat the action again.

It continues until my throat feels like razors are cutting into it from the inside and my lungs are so desperate for air each breath hurts. My stomach competes for a close second. Drenched, shivering, and coughing, I force my eyes open, waiting to see what will happen next.

He called it a punishment, but this isn’t punishment.

This is a lesson.

This is a warning.

Their warnings come back to me. I have no buffer anymore, and this shows me just that. A scream slips free as something red-hot presses into the bottom of my foot, making me contort in the bindings. My toes burn and throb like pins and needles but a hundred times worse. All I can do is just lie here as they beat the bottoms of my feet with something hot. I could break free and kill them, but it would be for nothing, and I would be punished more.

No, I need to bide my time.

Never before have I come so close to breaking as they tear my body apart one sensation at a time. After my feet, I’m woozy, but I refuse to pass out.

“They say she’s strong, so let’s see how strong.” A guard laughs, but I can no longer tell them apart. I jerk when my shirt is ripped away, leaving me in a grey cotton sports bra, and when I lift my head, I watch as they tear the gauze from my injury and dig their fingers into the wound, tearing it back open.

The howl of agony that leaves my lips is animalistic, and despite my best intentions, blackness claims me.

* * *

I wake with a jerk as something sharp pierces my stomach. “Fucking animals. This was sewn perfectly, now look at the mess,” someone mutters.

I blink, trying to bring the room into focus, but it takes too long and my brain is sluggish. Eventually, I realise I’m in the same room, still shivering both from shock and temperature. Rolling my head down, I see the guards are gone and there is a man in a lab coat bent over my stomach, stitching up the mess they made of my wound.

“Such a waste,” he mutters as he starts to staple me.

“I know you.” My voice is little more than a whisper, but he jerks and looks up, freezing. I cough, clearing my throat, and he watches me struggle. “I know you,” I repeat stronger once I catch my breath.

“I would hope so.” He looks back down at his work and carries on. It hurts, but it’s clear he is here to help, not to cause pain. “You spared my life once.”

Blinking, I stare at his face until it comes to me. He was the head of the lab, the one we let go free before the plane crash. “You bastard!” I surge towards him, but he pushes me down with a glare at me then the door.

“Shut up. If they hear you are awake, they will come back in and hurt you. I was only supposed to stitch you up so you didn’t die,” he hisses, and we both stare at the door before he sighs and hurries to seal my wound.

“You bastard. I let you live, and you came back to him,” I snap.

“It’s not what you think,” he mutters, ducking his head. “We don’t have time to discuss it.” He quickly cleans my stomach and looks me over, shaking his head. I see something almost haunted and sad in his eyes before he shakes it off. “Believe me, if I had any other choice, I would take it.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t, Nova,” he replies sadly. “None of us do, least of all you. You, more than anyone, understand obligation and chains that bind us.” He stands quickly, shoving his stuff back into his bag before pulling out a needle. He sticks it into a bottle, drawing up a dose and testing it before turning to me.

“This is all I can do. I’m sorry.” He injects me with something, and I gape as he hurries to the door and rushes out.

My blood heats, and the guards step back in. “Look who’s awake.” One grins. “Time to continue with our punishment, shall we?”

Lying back like I’m at a spa, I smile like I’m in charge. “Of course, where were we?”

* * *

They have to bring the doctor back in three times before he announces that if I lose any more blood or am hurt again, I will die. It’s a lie, well, close to a lie. I do feel like I’m dying, but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. I can’t decide if he’s trying to help me or if he just feels guilty since he won’t meet my eyes as I’m carried back to my room and tossed onto my bed.

I lie here, unable to move or feel thanks to the meds the doc keeps pushing. I’m guessing it’s morphine. It let me drift while they tortured me, but it pissed them off more since they didn’t get the reaction they wanted, so they had to get more creative. The last time the doctor came in, they did too, and he couldn’t give me anything, hence the agony now.

But anything is better than the pain in my soul and the fact that I almost slipped away.

My men never would have known. They are all I think about. I hate it. I hate that I can’t see them. I hate it and miss them, hoping wherever they are, it’s better than this. It’s all that keeps me going. I close my eyes now and imagine them here, needing their warmth and comfort.

It dashes away when the door opens. I groan and try to sit up, expecting more guards to haul me away, or even my father or a doctor. What I don’t expect is him.

It’s one single guard, and with one look into his cruel, mocking eyes, and I know his intentions. I leap to my feet, stumbling as I try to head to the bathroom to put a door between us, but I’m slow, the drugs and pain slowing me down.

He grips my hair and yanks me back until I’m pinned beneath him again.

“You know what your daddy said?” he says into my hair, pulling me back tighter to let me feel his hard cock against my ass. “That you are free game now. He doesn’t need your cunt for anything, and he wants us to feel motivated, so I figured why don’t I sample it? It seems like such a waste, don’t you agree? Be a good girl and take it, and I’ll get you extra food and some pain meds.”

“Fuck you!” I yell, slamming my elbow back. “I’ll fight you every step of the fucking way, you disgusting pig.”

His fist slams into my face, the force knocking my head into the floor, and for a moment, my ears ring and my vision blurs. He rips at my clothes and when his hands reach into my underwear, I come back online. I turn over and slam my foot into his face. He falls back with a roar, so I do it again, blood pouring from his nose as we stare at each other, breathing heavily until his radio crackles.

“Omar, we need you in Lockdown One. Omar, repeat, where are you? He’s mad you aren’t at your post.”

“Better get going, Omar,” I choke out.

With one last look at me, he climbs to his feet, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and answers the radio. “I’m on my way.” He grins at me. “This isn’t over. There’s no one to protect you, little girl.”

“I don’t need them to, but the next time you touch me, I’m going to cut your hands off and shove them down your throat,” I promise.

He leaves me, slamming my door shut, and I curl into a ball, unable to move as the reality of what almost happened hits home.

Screaming, I slam my feet into the floor, roaring out my agony as tears begin to fall.

Sobbing on the floor, I wrap my arms protectively around me until anger starts to take over. I crawl to the bathroom, drag myself up by the sink, and stare at my reflection. I have one black eye, a split lip, bruised cheeks, a gaunt face, and . . . my hair.

I once loved my hair. It almost falls to my ass, wavy and black, but now all I can think about is how he used it against me. It could have been the difference between me getting away or being trapped.

Smashing my fist into the mirror, I watch cracks form, splintering like my soul, so I do it again until it shatters. Picking up a shard, I start to hack at my hair. Clumps of the black mass fall into the sink with the shards until I drop my shaky hand. My head hangs forward as tears slide down my cheeks.

I lift my head and meet my eyes once more.

My hair now falls to my shoulders in black waves, and I smile through the curtain. It’s a bloodied, wavering smile, but it’s there.

They will not break me.