Page 45 of The Devil of Hollywood

The Reeve wrote it down, and the guard immediately went higher, calling out the numbers from my elbow to shoulder before he moved to my next arm. He treated me like I was food getting ready for slaughter. And maybe I was. I said I wasn’t going to be auctioned, but from the looks of it, I was starting to believe I was doomed to be bought. For what… I was too scared to think about.

“Left leg.”

The guard measured from my ankle to the base of my knee.

“Twenty-nine centimeters.”

“Sir?” The rope was so tight against my jaw, I could barely speak. My words were gritted through clenched teeth. “Reeve, please. I can stand. I won’t fight.”

“Right leg.”

The torturous pain flaring from every inch had me trying to shift. Anything to ease the throbbing burn.

“I promise. No fighting. You have my word.”

“Waist.”

My body was pulled forward, and I screamed out at the stress against my already torn muscles in my arms and legs. It didn’t matter. The Reeve didn’t care as he moved to my chest, the size of my breasts, my neck, my thigh, biceps. The further we got along, the more impatient the men became. They shuffled around me as if they were awaiting a meal they’d been desperate for their entire life. I saw the hunger behind the predatory stares.

They watched… and they waited.

“Prepare the spreader.”

Spreader?”

I tried to rotate my head as a guard was already walking forward with a device that looked too familiar. Too terrifying.

“N-No. No, please!”

Footsteps got closer as I fought with every ounce of energy I had. When cold metal began gliding inside of my most intimate area, I only screamed louder. The gel the guard had used for some reason surprised me, but the invasion stole the realization as it pinched and increased its depth.

“Get it out. Get it out!”

Popping had me stiffening through the clicks as it began stretching my channel open. I wasn’t crying anymore; I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I was breaking again, just in a different way this time.

Severance. Sever. To be separated from what ‘is’. Dissection. Detachment. Dehumanized. I wasn’t even a slave; I was a body meant to be sold. I was nothing but stock that could scream, and I was doing plenty of that as I felt my insides tear.

Click.

Click.

“Please! P-Please!”

Drip.

Drip.

Time.

Laughter.

Snickering.

The room wavered, and footsteps headed forward as a cuff came undone. Blood. It fell from me, dripping in that all too familiar pitter-patter-drip-drip. The room seemed to darken as I felt my weight sink down into the rope. Pressure from the hemp burned across the front of my throat and for the first time, I gave myself to it. To the finality of what my life could be if I just pushed down a little more… a little longer. It might be a better alternative. If I was sold, I was a dead woman anyway. With how the men were crowding in, some already reaching for their belts… I already was.

Drayton

Twenty-seven hours and forty-two minutes. That’s how long it took for the Unavowed to grant Bram Whitlock’s request. And only because Bram threatened to bring the entire Order down if he didn’t comply. We were granted entrance but not happily. The entire day had been an absolute shitshow, and it didn’t appear to be getting any better as we headed through the dark tunnels that were meant to lead me, Bram, and Elec to The Order.