Page 35

Scarlett

I t’s freezing cold.

Bright.

The room is illuminated as if the sun is rising right there, outside my very window.

I screw my face up, wincing, but as I try to roll over, my body won’t respond. Can’t respond.

Fear explodes in my chest.

I have no idea what is going on. My eyes dart around the room, blinking rapidly against the brightness because let’s face it, that’s the least of my worries now.

The wallpaper is flowery, old fashioned. The space feels opulent. The mattress I’m on is so ridiculously comfortable, if I wasn’t tied to the bed frame, that is.

I’m tied to the bed frame.

I’m fucking tied up.

I let out a gut-wrenching scream as reality slaps me around the face like a cold fish.

My legs are secured to the corresponding bed knobs by some nasty rope that bites right into my ankles. I’m naked. Completely starkers, and spread wide open.

My hands are free. My upper torso isn’t held down in any way, but it means very little because the way my legs are bound renders me utterly defenceless.

I don’t know what the fuck happened yesterday. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Where the fuck am I? Have I been kidnapped? Was I out drinking at some bar and then my drink got spiked?

My mind races with every awful possibility and I sit up as best I can, my fingers scrambling to try to undo the knots.

The door opens. Two sets of footsteps reach my ears and my fear escalates.

And then Alex of all people walks around to stare at me.

“What is this?” I gasp. “What the fuck is going on?”

Normally I’d be relieved to see him. But the look on his face right now…

He tilts his head, glancing back to the second person, the other unknown in the room.

“Playing dumb today, I see.” He remarks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hiss. Why the fuck would he do this? What the fuck is he talking about?

He’s clearly involved in whatever this is because he hasn’t untied me, he hasn’t rushed to comfort me and tell me that everything is okay. That he’s here to get me out of whatever this is.

He lets out a laugh that is far too close to a taunt.

“Alex, please, please, I haven’t done anything…” I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know what awful transgression I’m meant to have committed but whatever it is, it wasn’t me. Not present me, anyway. I’m innocent.

“Dirty little whore.” Alex says, slapping my face hard enough to leave a lingering sting behind. “You enjoyed fucking my brother so much, I figured you’d want another go with my father too…”

No.

What the fuck is he talking about?

Rafe? I fucked Rafe?

No way I would have done that. No way… but my gut tells me it’s true. That I wanted him. That on some level, some part of me sought him out.

An image flashes in my head of him, of us. We’re kissing, fucking, practically devouring each other in our need. And worse, I can feel my body reacting, feel that desire even now, even though that moment has long since passed.

Was I a whore? Is that who I was yesterday?

But I can’t be held accountable, not really. I was on meds, am on meds. I don’t have full capacity, I don’t…

My reasoning dies the minute that man comes to a stop right by the end of the bed.

He stares down, not at my face, not looking at me as a person, just gawping at what’s between my legs.

“Her cunt’s already salivating at the prospect.” Vincent says, folding his arms.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” I snarl.

Vincent looks up, his lips pulled is the most depraved grin. “Don’t you threaten me, you little bitch.” He says. “Besides, you’ve ridden my cock enough times for you to be well and truly moulded by it.”

No.

That’s a lie.

A disgusting, nasty lie.

I turn my head, searching for Alex, stupidly, desperately believing that this might all be some awful hallucination, some twisted imagination of my warped mind.

I stupidly convince myself that he’s going to reach over, take my hand in his and gently soothe me.

When I find him with my gaze, my stomach drops. He’s undoing the buttons on his shirt sleeves, rolling them up like he’s about to do something that would cause a mess, and he doesn’t want to dirty himself any more than he has to.

“Alex…” I plead with everything I have, but he just stares back at me, completely devoid of emotion.

Hands, fingers, and nails press into my thighs. I might be held down, tied in place, but that doesn’t stop Vincent from manoeuvring me more to his liking.

“Stop it!” I scream, lashing out once more. “Stop. Get off me. Get off…”

Alex’s hand yanks me back, wrenching my face to the side. I’m forced to look at him while Vincent’s weight pushes me further into the bed.

“Scream all you want, Scarlett. No one is coming to rescue you.” My husband says in a voice that is eerily calm.

Something forces its way into me. I jerk, gritting my teeth and I realise it’s Vincent’s hands, his fingers.

“Such a whore.” Vincent mutters as he penetrates me further.

Tears begin to stream down my face. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to give in and show weakness, but they’ve already beaten me before I could even try to defend myself.

How long has this been going on? How long have Alex and his father been abusing me?

My body jolts, rocking as Vincent starts thrusting in and out. Is he trying to get me off? Is he trying to pretend that any of this is about my pleasure?

“So fucking wet.” He groans. “The bitch is dripping all over me.”

I’m not, I know I’m not. I know it’s a lie.

Maybe that’s what he has to tell himself. To convince himself, because deep down he knows this is wrong. That it’s rape. That he’s a fucked-up piece of shit.

Is he trying to pretend that this is consensual, that I’m into this? That I what, get off on fucking both Alex and his dad?

Bile rises up my throat before I can stop it. Instinct and reflex has me swallowing it back down, and I can’t tell if that sharp acid taste makes this situation better or worse.

My eyes dart around the room. I don’t know what I’m searching for, what miracle I hope to find. But that sinking feeling hits me harder as I suddenly realise from the view out the window exactly where I am.

I’m in the mansion. The Forster Mansion.

Alex brought me here.

“Alex…” I cry again, praying that this time might be enough, that whatever they’ve done to me now might be enough.

My husband grabs my hair, yanking my head to the side as he too moves to kneel on the bed.

“Do me a favour,” Vincent says from between my thighs. “Shut up her crying. I’m sick of hearing it.”

“With pleasure.” Alex says, unzipping his pants, pulling his cock out and pressing it to my lips.

It’s engorged, red. He’s obviously getting off on this whole thing.

I clench my jaw, pressing my teeth tightly together. No fucking way am I letting his disgusting cock in my mouth. No fucking way am I sucking him off.

Only, something happens. Something horrific.

I scream out, writhing in pain as something unfathomable shoots right up my core. Alex chooses that exact moment to ram his cock into my mouth, and the grip on my hair becomes a silent threat that if I dare to do anything now, he’ll snap my neck in half.

But it doesn’t matter. None of it does.

Whatever his father is doing to me is so much fucking worse than Alex’s treatment.

“Listen to it,” Vincent laughs. “Listen to her greedy cunt. Listen to how she squelches.”

He’s fisting me.

Jesus fucking Christ.

My toes curl in agony as my body locks up. Nothing about this feels pleasurable. Every cell in my body is consumed by the feeling of his hand forcing itself into me, demanding space I don’t have.

“Filthy. Fucking. Whore.”

He punctuates every word with one brutal thrust after another.

My body moves, my body rocks. I’m forced to endure the abuse for what feels like forever.

And all the while Alex is there, face-fucking me, turning my cries of distress into useless, pitiful sounds. He uses my mouth until he finally comes, and I can at least breathe properly.

Thank god for small mercies, I guess.

I don’t know what makes Vincent stop. I don’t know whether he simply grows bored of it, or whether his arm aches too much to continue, but he pulls out, then climbs on top of me and I brace myself for another kind of violation.

“I’d say she’s nice and ready for me.” He says, addressing his son, as if this is some sort of bonding exercise. A nice family day out to remember.

“What are you waiting for then?” Alex says, leaning down, grabbing my pussy between his fingers, pulling me wider, as if I need the assistance or he needs the encouragement.

Vincent grins more. “Rafe would never get this.” He says ruefully. “He just wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s what sets us apart.” Alex states. “Why I’m the better son.”

Vincent draws in a long breath, but whatever he thinks about that, he doesn’t reply. Instead, he lines himself up and pushes into me.

I shut my eyes, turning my head. Hating the feel of him. Hate the knowledge that it is him. I can’t pretend. I can’t zone out. I’m trapped in this horrific moment, just like I’m trapped on this godforsaken island.

Vincent groans, holding himself still while he’s buried as deep as he can go.

I can smell him. I can smell his sweat. His aftershave. The hint of morning coffee still on his breath.

“It’s a shame.” Vincent murmurs. “A shame we can’t keep her longer.”

“It is what it is.” Alex replies, sounding almost philosophical.

I want to snap back. To say something to shame them, but we’re so far beyond that. These men don’t feel shame, they don’t have any morals or a conscience.

So instead, I lay still. I pray for it to end, I pray that once this is over, I can at least be untied and can wash away the disgusting remnants of them both.

Vincent bucks and grunts above me. Alex keeps his hand there, like some sign of ownership over my body. With his index finger he lazily plays with my clit, but I feel nothing. Not pleasure. Not even pain. I’m numb. Empty. Completely hollow.

Vincent turns into a sweaty mess. His hair sticks to his face, he’s gasping as if his heart might give out and a small part of me would welcome that event, even if it did mean his rancid body would almost certainly collapse onto mine.

I turn my face away in disgust, and Alex is quick to grab my jaw.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He snarls. “You’re going to watch. You’re going to enjoy every moment of my father fucking you.”

Vincent wraps his hands around my throat, pressing those pointy fingers into my already badly bruised skin as he thrusts harder and harder.

“Fuck.” He groans. “Fuck.”

“Fill her up.” Alex says, cheering him on.

I clench my fists, digging my hands into the sheets, willing myself to hold on just a little more. That it’ll be over in a few more moments, it’ll be done.

But as he finally comes, his arms give out and he slumps right over me, and it’s too much. Far too fucking much.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t take it.

Vomit once more rushes to my mouth, and this time I don’t hold it back. I can’t.

I cough it up, it all over my chin, over my chest.

Vincent pushes off, cursing me as if I’m the beast here.

He pulls the end of the sheet up off the bed and wipes the few bits of splatter onto it while I lay there, watching them both warily.

“Let’s get some lunch.” Alex says, fixing his shirt. “I’d say I’ve built up quite the appetite.”

Vincent nods, slapping him on the back while muttering something I don’t catch.

Are they not going to untie me? Are they not done? I jerk my head and I stare in horror as they both head for the door and as they open it, I lose what little rational sense I have left.

“No.” I scream. “You can’t leave me. Not like this. Not…”

Alex lets out a laugh that echoes around the room. “You really don’t understand, do you?” He says. “This is a punishment, Scarlett. You broke the rules. So now you have to pay the price.”

“What rules? What did I do?”

He drops his gaze, staring between my legs as if that’s the answer, as if that makes any sense, and then he just turns and walks out right behind his father.