The odds are stacked against us. Zeke has god knows how many armed men stationed throughout the complex. No doubt Mia and Lena are being kept under lock and key, and we’ve only got one gun between us—but we have to try. We’ll die trying.
We might be outnumbered, but we’ve survived situations with worse odds. Zeke fucked with the wrong family. He’s about to find out just how badly he fucked up.
Chapter 31
Lena
Apart of me died today. I’ll never forget the agony on the faces of the men I love as Zeke inflicted such horrors on them. I’ll never forgive myself for standing there silently watching, for doing nothing to stop him. As a reward for my compliance, for passing his twisted test, Zeke let me see Mia. I held her for as long as he allowed, refusing to let myself give in to the tears that threatened to give my misery away. Again tonight, Zeke forces me to dress up like a doll and amuse him while we eat dinner, fake-laughing at his sick jokes and vile stories, playing happy families in that soulless, haunted dining room.
As much as I want this meal to be over so I can retreat to the safety of my room and finally let myself cry, I know that worse horrors most likely await me after it, so I eat slowly. Not that I could eat quickly, even if I had an appetite, each mouthful seems to stick in my throat. Still part of me, the part that can somehow feel hope despite the hopelessness of my situation, wonders if I’ve done enough to satisfy him today that he won’t come for me tonight. However, any hopes of being afforded another night alone, a reprieve from Zeke’s advances, are dashed as I finish my last bite.
“Go upstairs to your room. Take a shower and get changed. I’ve left something on your bed for you to put on. I will come for you soon,” Zeke tells me, his voice dark with intent as his eyes rove over my body.
I don’t reply. I can’t. The words stick in my throat.
I nod my head, the only sign of consent I can bear to offer. Rising slowly, I use my hands to brace myself for fear my legs may give up. I turn on my heel and walk away without a backward glance, my spine rigid. A bead of sweat forms on my brow. Each step feels like the door is getting farther away as I try not to rush. I can’t do anything to make him suspect what I’ve done. He can’t know what I’m hiding. He didn’t see me take the knife from the table earlier and slip it into the folds of my gown. He didn’t notice it was missing when they cleared the table. The knife knicks against my leg as I walk, and I pray that my blood won’t stain the cream dress I’m wearing and give me away. I will need to use it tonight.
I’ll kill him before I let him touch me again.
Back in my room—my prison cell—I go through the motions, getting ready as instructed. Now I’m alone and could cry if I wanted to, I’m all dried up. Or perhaps more accurately, my tears have frozen like a lake in winter, waiting until spring to thaw. My heart has turned to ice. I’m not sad. I’m angry. Filled with an ice-cold wrath. I want vengeance. If Zeke thinks I’m still that scared little girl whose innocence he stole, he’s in for a shock. I won’t lie back and let him have his way with me. I won’t freeze with shock and fear like last time. I’ll wield that ice like a weapon and drive it into his heart.
The moment I entered my room, I hid the steak knife under my pillow. It’s not very sharp, it might prove to be useless, but it’s better than nothing. I try not to think about what I will do if Zeke summons me to his room instead. There’s nowhere in this skimpy lingerie that I could conceal it. No. It has to be here. I’ll have to find a way to get him over to the bed—not that it will be too difficult. Zeke’s always thought more with his cock. His arrogance will be his downfall. I simply have to confirm hisbelief that I want him. That will be the tricky part, hiding my disgust.
I shouldn’t be surprised when Zeke doesn’t knock, striding in like he owns the place, which, of course, he does. But I startle slightly nevertheless. This small act of disrespect, of ownership, proves further that I am a prisoner here without even the right to privacy.
I collect myself quickly, greeting him like a queen in her palace, not the prisoner I am. I straighten my spine, chin tilted up defiantly. He may have me dressed like a whore, but I will never be his whore, I have my pride. “Good evening, Zeke.”
I’m grateful that the room is poorly lit, with only the lowest dimmer switch setting to see by. If I could turn out the lights, I would. I feel exposed, stripped bare under Zeke’s predatory gaze. “Lena,” he growls, his voice full of arousal and intent. He intends to lay claim to me.
He strides over to me, grabbing my hair in his meaty fist and painfully pulling my head back before shoving his tongue down my throat. He tastes of stale cigarettes and it makes me want to retch. Panic surges through me. We’re too far from the knife. What if he bends me over and forces himself upon me right here? I’m not strong enough to fight him. Flashbacks of him raping me race through my mind. This can’t be happening again.
He finally comes up for air, moving to bite and suck on my neck, trying to mark his territory, allowing me the chance to speak. “Let’s move over to the bed, take our time. It’s been too long, we don’t want to rush.” My voice comes out breathless with fear that he mistakes for passion.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you all night long, princess,” he purrs.
I can’t believe I used to like it when he called me princess. Now it makes my skin crawl.
“Why don’t I go on top?” I suggest.
I’ve thought about it, and this is the best way for me to get the knife and get away. I can hold it to his throat and threaten him, injure him enough to get away. If he’s pinning me down, he can overpower me. The same goes for if he tries to fuck me like a dog or insists on a blowjob. I know there’s no chance he’s going to try to go down on me. Zeke’s all about his pleasure.
A dark shadow crosses his face, and I realize I’ve said the wrong thing. I’m being too dominant for his tastes. He wants me to be virginal and compliant. In his mind, good girls don’t suggest taking control in the bedroom.
“You’ve certainly changed your tune. My little Lena was a shy thing. I wonder where you learned that from, if I’m the only man you’ve ever been with?” I can see the rage simmering under his calm composure. One wrong move, and I’m dead.
“I’m sorry, Zeke. I just want to please you, I thought that was what guys liked,” I reply, making my voice as sweet and girlish as possible, faking vulnerability. Like a teen desperately trying to impress her crush.
Zeke softens, and I can breathe again. “You don’t need to do that, my beautiful girl. I want you just the way you are, sweet and pretty, my innocent little Lena. Go lie back on the bed and let me take charge, I’ll remind you how it’s done.”
Shit. This isn’t going to plan at all. How am I meant to stop this? How can I get to the knife without him seeing?
Inspiration strikes. “Zeke?” I ask shyly. “Do you think maybe we could turn the lights out? Just this once,” I hasten toadd. “It’s just, after giving birth, my body has changed. It isn’t yet how I want it to be.”
Rather than telling me that I look good or giving me any kind of compliment, the way my men would, the way a man who was truly in love would, Zeke agrees. “Alright, just this once,” he says softly, kissing me on the forehead. “Don’t worry, the diet and exercise regimen I’ve planned for you will have you looking your best in no time. The hardest part is admitting you’ve let yourself go and need to do something about it.”
God, he really is an asshole, I think as I smile benignly back at him.
I go to lie down on the bed as Zeke turns out the light. There’s a chink of light spilling in through a gap in the curtains, bathing the room in moonlight. I reach out to feel for the knife, the cool metal a comfort, before pulling back. Not yet. I’ll only get one shot at this. I bite down on my lip to keep myself from revealing my genuine emotions. Zeke’s silhouette looms over me, the boogieman in the flesh, the monster under the bed is real, and he’s here.
