Alice
The man with the tattoo on his left hand would come again and let me use the restroom. Iâd been left alone close to an hour already.
I leaned up on my elbows and stared down at my tattered clothing.
Black leggings.
A ripped baseball shirt that Iâd put on for bed, and no shoes, not even any socks.
I stared at the door and waited.
It was the only constant in my life now.
My bathroom breaks, and when they would bring me food.
One by one, the locks jerked back making a shrieking sound as the door moaned open.
It wasnât the same man.
It was a man.
But different.
With lighter features, icy blue eyes, and golden blond hair that made him look like he should be on the cover of a magazine not giving me a bathroom break.
His cheekbones were high, his jaw firm.
I gulped.
Because he didnât look happy.
No, he looked pissed.
And Iâd been on the other end of that look my whole life.
I very quickly squeezed my eyes shut and whispered. âCan you please just make it fast, please?â
I didnât sense any movement.
My heart was beating erratically as I wrapped my arms around my legs and tucked my head against my knees, if I fought it would only hurt more, if I just let it happen, it would be over soon, it was always over soon with Aldo.
âSlut. Whore,â heâd whispered in my ear. Saliva ran down my chin onto my shaking hands. âYou shake because you want your own brother. Say it! Say you want me!â
I never did.
And he hated me for it.
More than he hated himself, I think.
He was raised to dominate.
And I was raised to look the other way.
Any minute now, this blond manâs hands would be on me, any second, I would smell his breath on my neck, and it would have liquor on it, because thatâs where foolish men gained courage, wasnât it?
Dear God, help him to pass out.
I was shaking so hard that the bed was moving.
I couldnât stop it. At least I knew what Aldo would try. This man, I didnât know. This man didnât look like he was capable of a smile.
I knew it, like I knew that Hell existedâthis man was many things.
Good was not one of them.
âCome,â he said in a rich voice.
Slowly, I lifted my head as two men walked past him and unlocked the chains wrapped around my ankles.
I didnât move when I was free.
He seemed disappointed.
It was three against one, it was survival.
I was on high alert; anything could be used as a weapon if you hit hard enough, right?
I was a De Lange.
My name meant something to me. Once a proud family, now on the run, my father was one of the last made men still alive.
It meant something.
I meant something.
I was valuable alive.
I knew this.
Did they?
My stomach sank as the two men who helped free me walked in the opposite direction of the blond-haired man.
Whether it was from pleasure or pain, I wasnât sure.
And even then, I asked myself, did it even matter anymore?
He stopped at the end of the hall, slid a key card over something black, and then looked up at the camera.
The door beeped open.
And I was hit with steamy hot air.
A spa? He was taking me to a spa?
I narrowed my eyes as women of all shapes and sizes stared me down; several of them were in a hot tub-looking thing, completely nude, sipping champagne; the other half were getting massages.
Everyone looked happy.
And curious.
We kept walking through that room.
Nobody made eye contact with him.
I kept my head down in fear that it would trigger the beast because thatâs what he was, a magnificent lion moving through the rooms like it was his kingdom and everyone else, his subjects.
People didnât bow. Then again, they didnât have to.
It was like he knew without looking from left to right that people took a step back when he took a step forward.
I swallowed the dryness in my throat when we came to another dark hallway; he picked up his pace.
My legs ached, but I kept up with him.
Until finally he stopped at a large set of black doorsâthey were at least twelve feet tallâand said, âDanteâs Infernoâ across the top.
I forgot to breathe as he shoved them open and whispered under his breath, âHell, sweet, Hell.â