Turning my head, I watch him over my shoulder. My body was used to being bashed by the asshole so often, I’d learned to withstand the pain. Biting down on my tongue until blood floods my tastebuds, I feel nothing when he slaps my ass. Nothing when he spits into his hand and rubs it over his dick with a loud groan. Nothing when he spreads my ass cheeks and pushes his fat cock inside me. Nothing, when he stretches me wider than a newly made elastic band.
“Fuck, yes,” he roars.
I continue watching. Looking but not seeing. His stomach slapping against my ass as he pounds into me. Hearing but not listening. His grunts and moans filling the room. Alive but dead. Because that’s what I became the second my mother gave us up to the son of Satan.
And as he touches me in places, I’m not sure a man should touch a child, I know two things for sure. One. I’m no longer a child. Two. I’ll kill Monster. I stare blankly at him, the disgusting sounds of him fucking my ass, zoning me out. The darkness in my mind slowly changing into the forms of me and my brother pretending we are Star Wars characters, pretending we are in space, flying through the blackness filled with thousands of tiny brightly lit planets. Our oohs and ahs every time we see another star take shape.
I want to smile but I don’t dare. It’s wrong. I can feel the spaceship’s control slipping from my fingers. It’s tilting, first left and then right. Dipping, pulling me down. My fingers tighten on the control, digging deep into the wooden design. Another second and my ship crashes, dropping and rolling with the heavy clang of metal. I come tumbling back to earth and back to the bastard who caused the collision with his noisy groans. Looking away for a second, I noticed the deep scratches my fingernails have carved into the wood.
It wasn’t the ship’s control that was losing momentum, was it?
I know the moment Monster finishes. He sounds like a dog whose leash has been pulled too tight before his chest presses into my back, flattening me to the tabletop. His loud pants filling my ears, his weight squeezing the air out of my lungs. Still, I don’t squirm. My ship crashed. No one will be able to rescue me. Not because they can’t, because I don’t plan on letting them try.
When his body stops twitching like a dying corpse, he steps away from me. “Go get cleaned up,” he barks and walks away.
Slowly, I straighten ignoring the pain in my stomach and bottom, the blood-soaked cum running down my thighs, the shaky legs that carry me to my room. I stop in front of the mirror. Nothing matters. Not the vacant, red-rimmed eyes staring back at me. Not the dribble of dried blood on my chin from biting my lip hard. Not the hardened expression of a face that will never smile again. I move closer and lift a hand, my palm connecting with its reflection, the glass cold against my skin—just like the flickering light of my soul. I vow to keep it burning, my mind stuck only on one thing.
Monster might be the son of Satan, but I’d just become the devil himself. My palm curls into a slow fist. And what does the devil do well? Unleash hell on earth. My fist swings back and crashes into the mirror, splintering my reflection and sealing the deal.
An hour later, I’m staring up at the ceiling of our bedroom, when the sound of car doors slamming catches my ear. I check on my brother, sleeping soundly next to me, and crawl out of bed. Dragging my sore body to the window, I look out in time to see two men pushing through the waist-high gate, and walk up to our pathway. I hear the door open downstairs before loud voices float up.
Another couple of seconds pass and our bedroom door slams open. Monster stands on the threshold, his smirk weird and creepy. “Get dressed and get your asses downstairs,” he demands.
My brother stirs then sits up, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t want to go,” he mumbles, his voice trembling.
I sit down next to him and squeeze his hand. “We can’t make him mad, okay and I won’t let anything happen to you. Okay?” He nods and gets up with me. After we dress, we go downstairs. The two men are standing in the living room while Monster sits on a couch, his hands spread out on the backrest, his feet tapping to a silent beat. My eyes dart to the dining room. He’s removed my mother’s body.
He stands. “There’s my little fuckers.”
The taller of the two men takes a step toward us and I immediately step in front of my brother, shielding him. I meet the man’s gaze head on. His gray eyes filled with something I’ve never seen before, warmth maybe roams over my face then drops down my body to my sneaker-covered feet, like he’s studying me.
“Protective that one.” The shorter man laughs.
The tall man offers me a smile. Any other time and he would’ve looked friendly. Right now, though, I trust no one. “Hi. What’s your name?” His voice sounds different like he has an accent. He kneels, bringing his face in line with mine. I ignore him. “Do you know who I am?”
Still, I make no move to answer. Why would I know who he is? I’ve never seen him before. My brother peeks out from behind my arm.
“Hey, little one.” Tall man unbuttons his jacket and slips his hand inside. I catch sight of a gun sitting in a holster at his side before he withdraws a chocolate bar. He holds it out toward my brother. I glance down at him, shaking my head and he ducks behind me again. Laughing, the man straightens.
“We’ll take them both. Ten grand a piece,” Short man says to Monster.
“What the fuck,” Monster curses. “You said twenty for the small one.”
Tall man shifts his gaze from my face to Monster. “Do we have a problem?” The expression on his face is a simple ‘don’t fuck with me’ look and I wonder who this man is that he can frighten a man like Monster.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Take the fuckers. Not like I care.”
Tall man looks at me again. “Come.” He holds out his hand and I don’t move. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his tone almost gentle, like he cares. Wary, I shake my head. Why does he care? He’s paying a lot of money for us and who knows what he plans to do with us. “Would you rather stay with him?” He tips his chin at Monster.
I look from him to Monster and back again. I have no idea who’s nastier of the two, but I’m not taking any chances. “We’ll go with you on one condition.”
For just a second the man frowns then throws back his head and roars with laughter. Behind him, short man also bursts out laughing.
“Shut the fuck up and go with him,” Monster sneers.
“No, I want to hear his condition,” Tall man says without looking at my stepfather. “Go on then, tell me what’s your condition.”
“I want him to die,” I say, my voice stiff as I point to Monster.
