Page 8

Chapter 8

AIRLIE

W hen I returned, I danced around to dry my body quickly, then pulled my dress back on. I’ve been lingering by the window for what feels like an eternity, allowing the wind sweeping through from the storm to dry my hair. Father doesn't like it when it’s wet. I know that he’ll be here soon. He’s hardly ever late. I do hope he brings food. I must be on my best behavior now that I have my stranger. I can’t risk being denied dinner. I never get much to begin with, but now that I have to take care of him, I’ll have to split what little I get.

Distant murmurs echo through the cave, and I immediately stiffen as ice-cold tendrils trickle down my spine.

Something is off .

My body goes rigid as Father’s low, unsettling voice drifts through the air. A warm amber light flickers in the dark, dancing with the shadows cast on the jagged walls as he approaches.

Is he talking to himself?

I sure hope so because my night is about to go horribly south if he’s bringing her with him. Ursa. She is cruel, venomous, and malevolent. Her only desire is to see me suffer, but not in the same way that Father does. She’s everything my mother wasn’t. Jealous and vindictive. She morphs into a putrid shade of red that almost looks purple whenever Father and I play together, yet she still insists on watching us whenever she’s around. I think she likes the torment almost as much as she likes to hurt me, standing by and watching me suffer as she tells Father to do bad things to me. I don’t know why she likes it. I don’t know why Father listens to her.

I climb down from the rocks and settle into my usual position, on my knees, palms resting upright on my thighs. The jarring clink of keys rattles against the iron bars, the sound discordant as Father unlocks the gate. He visits almost every night recently, though I wish he would at least stay away long enough for my wounds to heal.

He’s whispering something, but the wailing wind outside drowns out his words. It’s all I can do not to take the chance of facing my punishment by pretending to be asleep just to escape the sight of Ursa altogether. But no, I can’t do that. I need every scrap of food I can get, so I’m just going to have to suck it up.

Footsteps thud heavily on the ground as he emerges from the tunnels. I know better than to look up, so I keep my gaze fixed downwards, as I always do. The hollow is much brighter now, and I focus on the silhouettes shifting about in the shadows on the floor. The sound of the gate slamming shut echoes through the stillness around me, followed by more footsteps and male voices drawing closer.

Male voices?

Where’s Ursa?

On second thought, I don’t care where she is.

Father brought a man down here—no, not a man.

Men.

My stomach churns, and a wave of pure apprehension, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before sinks into the pit of my belly. My chest tightens as if there are thousands of tiny insects fluttering around my heart. A pair of black polished dress shoes, not Father’s, appears in my line of sight, but I refuse to look up. I don’t understand. Other than Ursa, he’s never brought anyone down here before. Father was the only other man I had ever seen until today when I found and saved my new friend.

Surely he didn’t see me out there?

What if he was in the tower earlier, watching me in secret as I rescued the man from certain death, waiting until now to deliver my punishment?

Oh God.

My stranger.

He’s already so hurt. If Father finds him and hurts him even more, he will die, I’m sure of it.

“I see you’ve been holding out on us with this one, Father Grimsby,” the man before me says, his voice menacing.

Grimsby?

I didn’t know his name was Father Grimsby.

The man runs a finger along my shoulder, then traces it across my upper back to the other, walking around me, circling me like I’m his prey, before settling to stand on my left side.

Why do I feel like I am his prey?

It takes all that I have not to flinch, but I keep any reaction to myself.

I don’t like this.

“Yes, well. She is but a broken vessel, leaving me no choice but to seek other… measures . I’ve done all I could, but it seems that it isn’t within God’s plan,” Father replies, his voice weary and defeated.

What does he mean by ‘other measures.’

I’m not broken, am I?

I’ve been good.

Haven’t I?

Well, aside from today, but I refuse to believe he saw me out there because the reality of that being true is too tragic for me to think about. I’m always careful when I leave the cave. I came back, I do every time. I don’t run away from Father or this place. Where would I go?

“How old is she?” Another male voice sounds from across the hollow. His voice is more profound and rougher than the man who spoke before. He steps forward, laden with curiosity and judgment, then positions himself on my right.

“Eighteen years. She’s one of the original vessels born here at Atlantara, and until recently, she’s been something of a favorite of mine. Her obedient disposition has made for an irresistible source of satisfaction if I do say so,” Father says, still standing back in the shadows watching as the others wait at my side.

They’re close.

Too close.

Their bodies brush against mine, but their full attention is on Father. When he doesn't continue, one of the men asks, “If she hasn’t yet bred a child, why is she still breathing?”

Still breathing?

A child?

What is he talking about?

My heart grows even more frantic as the man to my left kneels down beside me, fisting the back of my hair, turning my head roughly so that I face him. He is much younger than Father and not much older than I am. He wears the same clean black clothing as Father but without the white collar. He moves in closer, running his nose along the nape of my neck, then to my jaw, breathing me in.

“Mmm. She smells like heaven and sin,” he says, his hot breath fanning my neck and cheek as he continues to smell me.

The walls close in around me, and a cold sweat crawls down my back. I force myself to breathe, pushing down the panic rising in my chest. I want to tell him to stop. I want to push him away. I don’t know these people, yet Father is letting them touch me.

“This one isn’t like the others, Deacon Falon. Let’s just say that this particular vessel is part of a far more personal agenda,” Father replies. His casual, detached voice is like a stab through the heart, and I’m not even sure what he is saying.

He’s letting them touch me.

“She’s a pretty little dove, isn’t she, Jeremy?” The man on my left says hungrily into my hair.

“What would you like us to do with her, Father Grimsby?” The other man questions. His voice is smoother than when he spoke before, making him sound less intimidating. But then, his hand travels to my chest, slipping underneath the neckline of my cotton dress, resting it right above my breast, and any illusion of safety instantly evaporates.

“Isaac spoke to Abraham, his father, and said, ‘Behold the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the offering?’ Father says, virtually to himself, and I think he may be losing it a little because I don’t know how that has anything to do with me.

He stalks toward me, and the man on my left releases his grip on my hair, allowing me to turn and face Father, now standing before me. The other man removes his hand from inside my tattered dress, tearing it a little as he does. Father waits in silence, his silver eyebrow raised, wearing a look of impatience that I've seen him wear many times over the years.

“Well, gentlemen, here’s your fucking lamb.”

I go completely still.

A sharp, stinging sensation forms deep in my chest as my breath threatens to give away my fear. I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to do at this moment, but I decide that he would want nothing more than for me to follow through with whatever he asks, and honestly, that might be my safest option. Without a word, he reaches for my hands and holds them like he does before we begin our games.

Father and I have always had a silent understanding. We read each other in ways that come with years of knowing someone intimately, making secret keeping damn near impossible. But as I stare up at the only man I have ever known, I see nothing but wreckage, pain, and rot as dread crashes over me, stronger than any of the waves I’d seen outside in the storm today.

He killed my mother.

I don’t know why I forget about that sometimes. I just do. The evil swirling in his irises only triggers my memories because it's the same look he wore the night he took her life.

Is he going to kill me too?

The weight of that thought settles in my chest like a boulder, and my body starts to tremble. I close my eyes for a split second, composing myself. Do not let them see my fear. They like fear. If he kills me, my stranger will likely starve to death. If he kills me, they could find him and hurt him in ways that would have him praying for hunger to take him out instead.

“Rise,” Father commands, and I do as instructed, pushing myself to my feet. I don’t see that I have any choice in the matter. My hands are still clasped between his larger ones, and the men to my side distance themselves, giving Father and me some space. Thank the skies for small miracles. “Let's give our guests a warm welcome, Child,” Father says, pulling me towards the cave wall. This is where he likes to begin our games.

Are they going to watch Father and I play together like Ursa does?

No, Father wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Father reaches for my shoulders and then presses me back against the stone, “Deacon Falon, will you do the honors of removing this whore’s filthy dress?”

No .

He can't let them do that? I want to tell them not to touch me. I want them to leave me alone and let me sleep. They can keep their food.

I'm not hungry anymore.

The man, Deacon Falon, strides over. His tall, dark frame towers over me as he reaches for the hem of my dress and lifts it over my head. His eyes rake over my body, focusing on the wounds on my side, then the place between my legs. I look away. I don't want to see his face, but I can feel their eyes on me as Father closes the gap between us, giving me little time to process the others' scrutiny.

Without having to think about it, I raise my arms and hold them out to each side of me, muscle memory taking over. He takes my wrist and locks a shackle around it, then moves to the other, fastening it with a clink that echoes around us. He gestures to the other man, Jeremy, I think, who then steps out from the shadows and stands at Deacon Falon’s side. The flames from the candles flicker in his dark, hungry eyes, and I look away as my lips threaten to betray me with a tremble. I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from revealing any more of me than they are no doubt bound to take.

“Chain her legs,” Father instructs, and Jeremy drops to one knee, shackling my left ankle, and then my right, his eyes never leaving my cunt.

I can feel his heavy breaths on my skin, and I bite down even harder on my tongue. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I hold back a sob.

How could father let this happen?

I thought he loved me.

I know he isn't perfect and sometimes does bad things, but so do I.

“Feast, gentleman. Do with her what you wish. Fill her with your seed, and don't waste a single drop,” Father orders, then steps away.

He can't be serious.

Wait, he isn’t going to leave me here alone with them, is he?

I stare pleadingly into his cold, obsidian eyes. Silently begging him not to do this. But the corner of his mouth tips to a half smile, and my stomach sinks as a wave of nausea floods me.

No. No. No.

“Thank you, Father Grimsby. We know exactly what to do.”

He can’t let them do this to me!

“We’ll have your stomach full of us in no time,” one of the men whispers against the side of my face as Father’s silhouette dissolves into the darkness, leaving me alone with Satan’s beasts like I am nothing.

My vision blurs as tears brim my eyes, though I don't let them fall. My jaw slackens as blood spills from my lips and drips down my chin. Falon notices, leaning in closer to trail his tongue along the blood as it drips from my mouth. I focus on the sound of Father’s footsteps as he retreats, anything but the fingers trailing over my body and the evil man hovering near the place between my legs.

“Do you think she tastes sweet, Falon?” Jeremy asks, and I can feel his breath on my sensitive skin.

“There is only one way to find out, now, isn’t there. Why don’t you fuck her pretty cunt with your tongue? While I fuck her tight ass.”

I force back a whimper and squeeze my eyes shut. I want to kick and scream, but it would be pointless. I’m chained, powerless against them.

“Don't worry, Dove. I can go again, and again, and again,” Falon whispers before his tongue wraps around my earlobe and he sucks it into his mouth. “You should be thanking us, really. You're as good as fucking dead without us. Father Grimsby has been trying to get you pregnant for years, but between you and me, that old bastard doesn't have a decent fuck left in him these days. I don't know why he didn't tell us about you sooner. It seems that you—” He trails his tongue along the side of my face, then hovers over my ear before continuing, “You are his dirty little secret, aren't you?” Goosebumps prickle at my skin, and I’m equal parts terrified and completely devastated.

“He must like you, you know,” Jeremy says, still on one knee before me. His eyes shift from mine to focus on the place between my legs again, and I remind myself that any form of retaliation will not end well for me. “Because he lets you shave your pussy. Or do you let him do it for you?” he asks, hunger lacing his tone as he continues to stare at me.

Father says I look better this way, and I never minded him shaving me for that reason. When I oblige, he treats me better, and to be perfectly honest, what happens to me is none of their business. They are not my friends. They are not kind. I used to think Father cared for me, even if he didn't always know how to show it. But that thought, and any other pleasant feelings I may have had toward him over the years, all died the moment he walked away from me, leaving me alone and defenseless with these animals. It never occurred to me that the pain that he inflicted on me was deliberate, let alone that he wanted to get me pregnant. How do I get pregnant? If he had told me, I could have tried. I would have done anything to stop this night from happening.

“Do you know where you are, Little Dove?” Jeremy questions, but I remain stoic and unbothered by him, forcing as much hatred and indifference into my expression as I possibly can. When I don't reply, he continues, “This place is Hell, and the only way out for you is death.” My brows furrow. Everything I had known this place to be, my home, the ocean, can't be Hell.

“This is Atlantara. The place where people like us are either born, stolen from our families, or sold,” Falon says, and I audibly gasp, then quickly shut my mouth before one of them comments on it.

That cannot be possible.

God may have disregarded a few things that have happened around here recently, but there's no way he'd allow for someone to be stolen or, even worse, sold.

“No reaction?” Jeremy chuckles, grinning up at me. “There are hundreds of people like you here.” The breath from my lungs almost disintegrates with that piece of information.

Hundreds .

Why?

What is Father doing with hundreds of people like me?

He's lying.

There's no way Father would do something like that. And if it were true, the fact that they are telling me all of this can only mean one of two things. I won’t be alive long enough to tell someone, or Father told them I do not speak, therefore keeping their secrets safe.

“She's spiraling,” Falon sing-songs, smiling as he gently runs his finger along my face, where his tongue was moments ago. It only makes me feel sick.

“The real mystery is why he's kept you down here all these years and not up there with the rest of us.” One of them speaks, but I don't know which, as my mind spins.

The rest of us?

Are they prisoners, too?

Am I a prisoner?

I'm so confused.

It's like they're clawing their way into my mind.

I can't let them.

The sharp pain in my ear from Falon’s teeth drags me from my warring thoughts as he moves his mouth from my ear down to my breast, leaving behind trails of saliva and blood before wrapping his mouth around my nipple. It hardens in response, and I silently curse myself.

“Do you see that, Jeremy? This dirty little slut loves the feel of my tongue,” Falon says with a smirk.

I’m being punished.

God saw me save that man today, and somehow, He told Father. This is all my fault, and now he hates me.

“Let’s see how she reacts to mine,” Jeremy says at my feet, gripping my hips to steady me, and after another breath, he lines up my core with his mouth and then drives his tongue into me.

I stifle a cry as his fingers dig into the wounds at my side, still raw from Father’s cruelty last night. Falon pulls me away from the wall and closer to Jeremy, my flesh still in his mouth, then settles in behind me. His hard length is pressed up against my naked bottom through the fabric of his clothes, and I just want to die. I want to see my mother. I don’t know what I did wrong. I close my eyes, refusing to open them again. I never imagined I'd ever wish that it was Ursa who Father brought down here instead. I can do this, I tell myself. Because if I don't, they'll find my stranger.

Don't make a sound. They don't deserve to hear my voice.

They don’t deserve me.

I know that any reaction I give them right now, especially those drawn out of me by pain or humiliation, will only encourage them to hurt me even more.

I will not scream.

I will not react.

I will simply… be .

Until they are done with me.