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CHAPTER 1
Orla
The noise was something that I knew I would never get used to. The creaking of the mattress as he fucked him in the bed above me. They kept me safely tucked away in an oak wooden coffin he had built out of before I arrived, and whenever they felt like using me, I could see daylight.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said with a sadistic smile. “When we say this is over, we already have a cozy place picked out for you. And as you can see, I was thoughtful enough to build your little death box ahead of time.”
The sentiment came crashing back over me as he let out a loud moan. I always thought that he sounded like a dying horse when he fucked him, but I had yet to say it out loud. I sighed as I heard flesh slapping against flesh intensify and turned my thoughts away from the debauchery above me. Of course, this wasn’t always where he put me, only when he saw it fit to crawl into that hole of his for as long as he could stand it would I have the privilege of being beneath them.
He told me that’s where I belonged the first time; he put me there because I was nothing like him and he’d never love a whore like me. I think that jealousy made him the crueler of the pair because he could choose to be gentle whenever he wanted to, but he always treated me like nothing more than a stray bitch that he used to get his rocks off with when he felt like using someone that wasn’t him. A different mouth to suck his cock. Different holes for him to fuck.
I took a breath and did my best to exhale silently. The rope around my wrists, ankles, and neck felt tighter today for some reason. Drawing attention to myself would remind them that I was here, and I found solace in the days that they would forget about me. Even though I would be ravenous with hunger, have the stench of sweat caking my skin, and have suffered more infections from holding onto my piss for as long as I could manage, it wasn’t as bad being alone.
It was just the sound of him howling as he plowed into him that made my teeth itch. He was putting on a show for him, and I always thought that these were his attempts to make me remember who the head bitch of this house was and always would be.
Until I change his mind, I thought as I turned my head slightly to the right and closed my eyes. Or at the very least, until I died.
CHAPTER 2
Orla
They fell asleep a while ago, though I don’t know exactly how long, and I was still tucked neatly under their bed. I wondered why they left me here. Usually, I would be made to strip their bed, put the sheets in my box, and sleep in them as they stood me purposely upside down in the closet. He never left me like that for too long. He just liked the way it made me dizzy and docile enough for him to fuck without a fight. I hated myself more than either of them because I still hadn’t figured out a way to keep my bearings during those times.
A small act of mercy is better than none at all, I reasoned as I gently raked my broken fingernails along the jagged wood. I refused to beg for his mercy, so he would do little things like this, unknowingly bestowing it in quiet moments. He would also withhold death after every vile mistreatment. He wanted me to scream the words aloud; he wanted me to beg, and I refused to do so. Of course, he didn’t know it yet, but he was turning me into something … feral. At the right time, I would find a way to show him that he was no monster at all, but he managed to shape one out of everything he claimed to be.
Every new bruise hardened me.
Every forced kiss turned me colder.
Every time they held me down for each other’s pleasure and violated me, another piece of me that was human died. I let a breath out and did my best not to think about the monsters in the bed above me. In a way, I secretly hoped that they would forget I was here. That they’d leave me to rot and die neatly packed in my little, homemade container, forgetting that I had ever been here at all.
When I was stolen for this, I thought I would find happiness in the tumultuous storm that had been wrought upon me. That the sins of my father wouldn’t have travelled so far with me. Sins I had never committed nor was privy to, but vengeance seems to be everlasting in some bloodlines and now here I lie.
A memory for a memory.
A death for a life.
A slave to his rage, his jealousy, and a martyr for my father’s sins.
The mattress springs above me creaked gently as someone shifted above me. Comfort was something they always ensured they had. Something they made sure was the last thing I would ever feel. I closed my eyes and told myself that if making me a prisoner to their deviance, let them sleep so well at night, then perhaps I should have just gathered my strength. Tomorrow was going to be much worse than the day before because they seemingly forgot about me, so I knew that they would make up for it.
Me.
Their dirty, useless girl in her death box.
CHAPTER 3
Alex
God, it smells, I thought as I wrinkled my nose. Kase shifted slightly with his arm still draped across me, then turned his face away. I always thought that I had been so lucky that he chose me because I never thought I was someone that would end up with a guy like him. The first time I met him, his serious light brown eyes softened slightly when they locked on mine. He slowly slicked his messy black hair back with his hand, and his lips curved up into a smile. I remember looking to my left and right. Behind me, then in front of me, so sure that he had been looking at someone else. Then when he started to make his way toward me, the smile still on his boyish, handsome face, skin as white as pallor and as smooth as porcelain, his eyes still locked on mine, I knew that he had picked me. Out of all the women gathered at Club Escape that night, desperately trying to get the attention of men, writhing against their bodies as the music pulsated through the dance floor. He had picked me.
The following days were a haze of lust, the high life, and being made to feel like the only girl in the world. He spoiled me rotten with his affection until lust finally turned to love. Mine, not his. Kase Stokes never loved anyone but himself, though some nights as he lay sleeping next to me, I liked to pretend that he did. And that it was me that he loved most of all.
More than himself.
More than money.
More than his father.
