Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(2)

Though I guessed from the way I smelled, and with the matting of blood, dirt, and grease, that I wasn’t going to be winning any beauty contests.

A hand reached down to squeeze my breast roughly. I flinched at the pain, intensified by the fact my body was in the first stages of withdrawal. I was unable to move far past my position on the floor, and my flinch caused my head to collide with the edge of my bed.

There was a cruel laugh from above me.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it, whore. I know better than anyone how much you enjoy me, how much you want it,” the voice sneered.

I glanced up, anger bubbling from deep inside me. Somehow, I managed to muster a glare filled with contempt and venom, despite my body and soul crying out for what he held in his brutish hand.

“Fuck you,” I hissed in a barely audible croak. My voice was raw from screaming, although I thought I had endured it silently—the torture, the abuse of my body. Obviously not.

He grinned and I felt sick to my stomach at the sight of it. Of him. His muscled body dwarfed my small form curled on the floor. Even if I had been standing, he would have towered over me. He was built, though not all muscle; his stomach protruded over the belt of his slacks. His hair was combed over and thick with grease. His beady dull blue eyes held me captive. Not a hint of humanity lingered beyond them as they roved over my battered and filthy body.

“I’ll do that soon. You’ll be begging for it,” he mused, then held his meaty arm out in front of me.

My eyes bulged at the object. Despite wanting to be as far away from the sick f*ck as possible, my body betrayed me, lurching forward to snatch the precious package from his hands.

I wasn’t quick enough, and he yanked it out of my grasp. It wasn’t hard; my entire body was shaking and I barely had the energy to hold my weight. I knew it was because of malnourishment, of the abuse I had endured, but none of that mattered.

“Not so fast,” he cooed, making a clicking noise with his mouth. “You get this”—he swung the package—“only when you agree.”

I stared at his hand. “Agree to what?”

He nodded. “Agree to anything we say. We own you now. As long as you agree, then we’ll take care of you. We’ll give you your medicine, as much as you want, for as long as you perform for us,” he explained.

I didn’t watch his facial expressions. I couldn’t. My gaze was fixed on the one thing that would help, that would make the shame, the filth, everything go away.

“We’ll take the handcuffs off,” he continued. “Maybe even let you shower, if you’re a good girl. As long as you keep your customers satisfied, keep Carlos satisfied.” He grasped my chin roughly and yanked my shaking body off the ground. Beady eyes met mine. “Keep me satisfied,” he drawled, his putrid breath making me gag.

My violated body knew the meaning of those words. They’d kept me there for however long, strung out and abusing me when the need came to them, which was often. I knew there was an endgame.

This was it.

“I agree,” I said without hesitation, holding out my shaking hand.

He smiled, revealing yellowing teeth. “That wasn’t hard, was it? Why did you give us so much resistance before?” He clucked his teeth once more.

Had I resisted? All I remembered was giving in. Finally taking the escape they offered after they’d beaten me. Starved me. Until I surrendered. How long ago was that? It felt like forever. Like nothing had existed before this. Like I’d always been there.

Something dangled in front of my face.

I snatched the package and frantically tore open the bag. My entire body was convulsing, and it took me a frustratingly long time to get it where it needed to be. To get out of this room. To escape the filth covering every inch of me. The filth that was me.

I finally got it—the escape, the relief. Everything melted away once more and my mind was freed from the shackles of my body. Gloriously, I barely registered the brutal way my body was pushed onto the rickety bed. The stinking weight that settled on top of me, the intrusion that pushed into me, dirtying my insides once more.

I wasn’t there. I was somewhere else. Beyond caring. Beyond anything.

I didn’t even jump at the dull bang that seemed to echo in my head. At the sudden emptiness above me as the body was yanked away.

My vacant eyes danced to the source of the noise, the reason for the various male curses and fury that even I could feel.

Then I watched, with a vague sort of detachment, as a familiar man in a leather vest savagely beat the creature who had just moments before been raping me. The rational part somewhere deep inside me both cheered and reared away from this.

He’s killing him.

That was good. No, that was great. But he, the man who smiled at almost anything and always had a joke on his lips, was killing him. Because of me. That was a mark on his soul I would be responsible for.

I wanted to say something. To tell him to stop. But I couldn’t. I was paralyzed.

I felt myself being covered with something, rough leather that smelled of tobacco and oil. The voices above me moved in slow motion, muffled as if my ears were stuffed with cotton wool I couldn’t get out.

The room swayed.

Or maybe it was me who swayed because I was no longer on the bed. I was floating like a cloud, watching the man with the hazel eyes kick something on the floor. Shapes moved around him, trying to pull him away, I guessed.