“I am Olivia Rose, I am a writer, I am unbreakable, I am Claimed,” I said quietly to myself as I crawled back in bed.
“See, Azrael? I can sharpen my thorns. Tell Everett. Tell him I’m not a thornless rose. Tell him that his little pup has teeth.”
20
Olivia
Date Unknown
“Hello, Olivia.”
I blinked slowly, remaining as still as possible as my eyes lifted to the new male now sitting before me.
There was nothing exceptional about him. Light brown hair, light brown eyes, he looked old though. Not by age, but by stress, by life lived.
“My name is Mr. Alascer.”
I blinked again. Where was Merlin? Was he hiding? He always hid when people came in here now. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, but I wasn’t scared, I didn’t think I had that emotion anymore. Fear seemed like such a silly thing at this point. All I felt now was anger.
“Is she always this docile?” he asked, studying me carefully.
Phil stepped forward. “No,” he answered evenly.
No, of course I wasn’t. I had to be like this though, just in case that thing inside of me took over again. That black fog that made me lose time.
“Interesting.” Mr. Alascer glanced over his shoulder. “Can you have her lay on her back?”
A moment later, Phil was at my side. “Olivia, turn over.”
I did as he asked, falling onto my back, everything still sore. My hands fell to either side of me and I stared at that ceiling, studying the cracks. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, burning. It felt as if another person was living within me now, and if I didn’t keep her on a leash, she would explode again, leaving me in darkness.
Mr. Alascer stood, leaning over the bed. “Does she listen to orders from just anyone?”
“No, she likes to fight back,” Phil replied.
Fight back? Was that how he labeled it?
Mr. Alascer nodded. “I see that they beat her into submission?”
“Sometimes worse,” Phil answered unemotionally.
“Yes, I don’t like the scars though, that’ll cut the price down a lot.” He grabbed each arm, lifting it, squeezing roughly up to my wrists and back down.
I forced myself to breathe. Forced myself not to react. This wasn’t like what the others had done. This was something else. He was studying me like a man buying a pig.
“Some of those she had when she got here,” another man said.
“Doesn’t matter, a scar is a scar.” He squeezed one breast and then the other. “Real,” he mumbled, sliding his hands down over my ribs, causing me to wince whenever he hit a bruise. “A little thin, but we’ve got people who like them looking young. How old is she?”
I cataloged every single place he touched, I wrote it down inthe book in my head. Just because I couldn’t kill him now, didn’t mean I wouldn’t.
“23,” another man answered.
“Hmm.”
Mr. Alascer grabbed my hips next and then my right thigh, twisting it around. “’E’ what does that stand for?”
“One of Malachi’s sons laid his claim on her.”
