Chapter 94

MADDISON

Mr. Fennick is the latest victor, dramatically tossing his cards and chips into the pot. He turns to me, his grin wide and self-satisfied. Is it wrong that I was anticipating his turn the most?

I’m sprawled on the bed, belly down, discarded by Mr. Lettingdon after he had his way with me twice. The game has stretched on longer than the first. Now, he’s back at the table, puffing on a joint, wearing nothing but his boxers. He watches Mr. Fennick approach me.

Mr. Fennick discards his suit jacket on the floor next to the bed, undressing to the rhythm of the music while the others watch, captivated. He takes my hand from the bed, guiding it over his warm skin.

He unbuttons his suit pants, his arousal straining against the fabric. His boxers are the only thing keeping him contained. He uses my hand to stroke himself.

He’s trying to get as hard and ready for me as possible. Smirking, he finishes his joint. He snuffs it out in the ashtray on the bedside table before heading to the small cupboard filled with his toys.

I keep my gaze fixed on the men at the table as he selects something to use on me. Mr. Fennick gets off on inflicting pain on girls like me. I’m ready for whatever he has in store.

I’ve been craving it, having been deprived of it for so long. My body is priming itself to find pleasure in the pain.

“Press your chest to the mattress, bottom in the air,” he orders, his voice low and resonant.

His arousal is palpable; I can hear it in his voice. And his arousal stirs my own.

That dark part of me that I keep hidden from everyone, including myself, is rearing its head, filled with desperate need. Before the first strike even lands, I’m soaked with desire, my muscles trembling in anticipation of the pain that will trigger a rush of endorphins, mixing pleasure with pain.

To an outsider, it might seem like I’m being forced to stay in this room with four men twice my age or older. But the truth is, here in Sanctum, I have more choices than that.

I have safe words; I can stop any scene when I’ve had enough, even if it means getting only half the pay. They enjoy seeing me play the damsel in distress, and I enjoy the darker side of that—the side my father ingrained in me.

Mr. Fennick lashes my skin with a whip. A line of pain sears through my buttock and lower back.

A cry of pain escapes my lips as I gasp for breath. And even as the pain teeters on the edge of pleasure, an unexpected thought enters my mind.

Asher’s face, the gentle way he touches me. His soft words tinged with an English accent like his mother’s. The pleasure he alone has given me.

A pleasure that’s about more than just pain. A shared pursuit of an orgasm that I’ve never experienced here.

I yearn for that now, but I know I won’t find it with these men. No, these men are dark and twisted. They own and frequent this club to indulge their depraved sexual fantasies.

They’re much like my father, a man who has exploited me and girls like me for years. A man who enjoys breaking a girl, warping her thoughts until she thinks like him—until she submits, like I am now.

In their abuse, we girls discover a different side of ourselves. A twisted, bizarre side that shouldn’t exist within us, but does.

That’s why I chose to return. Why I agreed to help Callum. I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew the horrors I’d have to endure.

And then there’s Asher’s mother. Violet. The unsung heroine of this whole ordeal.

She’s the one pulling the strings behind the scenes; she’s the one funneling money to the feds to dismantle syndicates like this. Just a few days ago, she sat crying, pleading for my forgiveness for sending me back.

She confessed that she knew what she was doing was wrong, that she should have saved me right then and there. But we both agreed that this next shipment would be the last.

My dad will personally deliver the shipment. I’ve agreed to this, and with that agreement comes my final act of submission, the last time I’ll let these men use me.

I’m prepared to show my father that the daughter he thought he’d broken isn’t as malleable as he believed. My fingers clench into the sheets as Mr. Fennick begins his brutal punishment.

The moment my skin tears for the first time, a scream escapes my lips. The blood that follows moistens my skin.

But he doesn’t stop there. He continues until he’s satisfied, then forces himself into me, spreading my knees to make room for himself.

Just like the man before him, he laughs and jokes with the others as they watch, taking pleasure in my pain.

To my surprise, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Pierce are already waiting their turn when I’m left alone, aching on the bed. I’m flipped onto my back on top of Mr. Bennet, his hands tearing my black dress from my body.

His hands roam over my breasts, pinching my nipples as he thrusts into my already soaked sex, and soon after, Mr. Pierce joins him. They take turns, their pace relentless.

With every movement, my back screams in pain, and my cries are punctuated by a scream soaked in agony. They don’t care, though. They never pull back, never try to help me, move me, or adjust my position.

My vision blurs, tears streaming down my face as the pain from my wounds overwhelms me. I feel the bed shift, the weight on the mattress changing, but my mind is too clouded to understand what’s happening around me.

I think I must fall into a sort of pain-induced sleep. Everything goes black, the sounds fading until I wake up to the familiar scent of my own bed upstairs.

It’s dark; no lights are on, indicating it’s still night. I roll over, the pain a harsh reminder of the night’s events, but despite that, I close my eyes again, inviting sleep to reclaim me.

In the morning, I’ll get my revenge on these bastards, gathering everything Violet needs to bury these motherfuckers, or at least the ones I don’t kill first.