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Not just with pain.
She flinches like she expects more abuse. Sexual. Violence.
It doesn’t matter which.
They hurt her.
That’s the only thing that matters. One down and the rest to fucking go. The auction tonight is for some boy. I heard the guard talking on a two-way, which is a problem, but I’ll deal with that when I need to.
If I need to.
I don’t know if it’s the one Malone’s looking for or not. Right in this moment, I don’t care.
“Dakota?” I try to keep my voice calm, which is damn near impossible when all I want to do is kill people. I want slow, protracted torture and maximum pain before death. “You know who I am?”
She doesn’t speak, just squeezes her eyes shut.
“It’s Orion.” I swallow. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s Jaxson. Orion. It’s me, baby girl. Here to take you home.”
“Is it really you?”
Something bright swells in me at the sound of her hope-filled voice. She’s okay, that’s all I can think in that moment.
And her thickened, scratchy voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve heard.
Especially since she recognizes me.
I force myself back into coldness, as much as I can, and keep my tone gentle.
“Yeah, I’m not easy to get rid of. I’m going to unchain you, and it’s going to hurt when we move, so try and wiggle your fingers and toes, okay? Get your blood moving. Ready? Here we go,” I say as I start to pick the locks. The dead guy most likely has the keys, but this is faster for me than trying to find them on him. “Then I’m going to give you some water, just a little so you’re not sick. And I want you to take a bite or two of the protein bar I have. Okay?”
“I thought I’d lost my mind.” Her voice is so broken it hurts my heart. “I smelled you, felt you. Saw you and thought I’d made you up in my mind. It is you, isn’t it?”
“Daddy’s here, baby. Daddy’s here to take care of you.”
She starts to cry. Silent tears that make her shoulders and abused body shake.
When she’s free, I pull out the black shirt I have for her. I’ve got pants, socks, and shoes, too. But I cover her in the shirt because I think she needs that before anything else.
“Baby girl, it’s okay.” But it isn’t. And it won’t be. Not until I’ve killed them all.
She moves her hands and feet like I told her to. I rub her arms and then give her some water, taking it away before she’s ready, and though I know it’s the right thing, her little mewl of protest almost breaks me.
“Sorry, I don’t want you throwing it up. Here.” I feed her the bar next.
When I’ve helped her dress, it takes a few precious minutes to get her walking without falling.
There’s no blood on her thighs, no stains, and I comfort myself that she probably wasn’t raped.
I comfort myself because I know she was sexually abused. She wouldn’t be naked otherwise, and sexual abuse—touching, humiliating, stopping short of penetration, pain— they’re all things used to try to psychologically hurt her, control her.
“They wanted me to talk. To cry out. I didn’t, Da— Orion. I didn’t.”
I take her face gently in my hands and kiss her softly. “Call me Daddy if you need to.”
The game we played is a comfort place, the fantasy world, a place to hide.
“Daddy. Tell me what to do.”
