Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(54)

I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. There was nothing but animalistic lust and enjoyment at my pain. What had Q done to these men to make them so happy to destroy a woman? Why must I pay for his sins?

Driver placed a hand on my throat and pressed down, choking me.

Tess, disappear. Find that place. Hurry!

Brute spat on his fingers, putting them between my legs. He frowned, muttering, “She’s f*cking dry as a husk.”

My mind exploded with thoughts of Brax. I was always dry for Brax. But Q… Q made me wet. He befriended my body, despite my hate. I’d broken myself—I didn’t need men to torture me. I’d done it every night since I hit puberty.

I wilted in terror as Brute forced his saliva inside. Fingers scraped and tore. My dryness granted pain… agony.

If someone offered me a gun or this, I’d take the gun.

How could I think I wanted to be dominated, commanded? The na?ve fantasy of rape wasn’t fun. It wasn’t sexy or hot. This was true rape, and it would do more than just take my body. It would be what finally broke me into tinkling, unfixable pieces.

Brute’s fingers thrust harder; dirty fingernails scraped the inside of my core. I thrashed my head to the side, ignoring the ripping of hair.

The tear of foil echoed and my breathing accelerated; a low keening sounded in my chest.

Driver slapped my face. “Shut up. You’ll like it, slut. Then it’s my turn.”

I opened my eyes. Big mistake.

Brute had his cock out, rolling a slimy condom down the length. The smell of latex filled the air, gagging me. I tried to close my legs, to lock knees together.

Driver laughed, passing the flogger over my head to him. “Use this. Make her ready.”

Brute’s lips stretched into a cruel smile. “Ah, treasure. You’re in for it now.” He raised his arm and struck.

The leather bit my naked thigh, welting immediately with angry blood. I bit my lip, trying so hard to pretend I was dead.

Brute hit me again. And again. Each lick eroded parts of me: my hopes, my stupid thoughts of escape, my love for Brax, my hatred for Q—everything twisted into a cauldron of filthy emotions, sucking me deep into the dark. The fight I prided myself on, disintegrated into pieces and I shrivelled. Each beat stripped me bare; I became lost. I no longer knew who Tess was—I didn’t want to know.

The flogger stopped and Brute wrenched my legs apart. Spitting on his fingers, he rubbed my entrance roughly.

“Please—” I moaned. “Don’t.”

Brute laughed, positioning himself between my legs. “Was that a beg, treasure? You want me?”

Driver panted heavily in my ear, pulling my hair in excitement. “I think she’s asking you to f*ck her. Better give her what she wants.”

Please, oblivion take me. I wouldn’t survive. My mind rattled like fractured glass already.

Brute shifted, nudging me with his cock. My body revolted, stomach snarled, and tears flurried down my cheeks. No, no, no.

Brute grunted, forcing his way inside. My flesh rejected him, burning with violation.

Hips thrust, burying himself deep. His head dropped as he shuddered, grinning at Driver. “She’s f*cking tight. You’ll enjoy this one.”

Driver growled. “Hurry up.” He forced horrible fingers into my mouth, tasting of sourness and metal.

While Driver f*cked my mouth with fingers, Brute thrust his hips, bucking with violence. Heavy breathing rained on my face, horrid, rancid.

I tried to shut everything off. I wanted to bite Driver’s fingers—I wanted to fight. I’d been reduced to a piece of meat.

My ears rang, and the room swam with delirium. Mirrors reflected Brute’s naked ass as he f*cked me. My eyes were haunted, and Driver loomed with a manic look on his face.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere in the house; Brute faltered in rhythm. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see if more men arrived—if I’d be subjected to endless purgatory. I never wanted to open my eyes again.

Another bang, then empty air. Brute’s horrible cock disappeared and his weight flew off. My hair jerked, then released as Driver screamed.

Grunts and shouts amplified around the room and I opened my eyes.

Three men in suits beat Brute where he huddled in a ball with jeans around his ankles and arms over his head. Blow after blow they rained, and I flinched when one kicked Brute’s jaw so hard, his head snapped back, and teeth flew.

My hands curled, loving retribution, the pain Brute suffered.

Driver was strung to the mirrored wall on the rack with whips and handcuffs. More guards punched him; his head lolled on shoulders, blood glinting on his temple.

My heart leaped free from my flogged and hurting body as Q strode into the room. He moved with angry grace, hands curled, mouth pursed. But his eyes—I’d never seen such rage contained.

“Putain de batards,” Q seethed, pulling a gun from his lower back, stalking toward where Brute lay whimpering on the floor. “You f*cking touch a girl of mine and think you could survive?”

Brute reached for him, eyes imploring mercy. “We only took what we used to get from your family. Nothing more.” Blood and spittle flew from his mangled mouth.

Q closed his eyes, body shuddering. When he glared at Brute, so many things raged in his face, I ached. “Consider this payment for the past and present.” He squeezed the trigger and Brute existed no more. The back of his head exploded with red mist and I scrambled away, huddling on the mattress.