The pit in my stomach grows, and nausea bubbles in my gut.
“No one can see you,” he says, with a faint foreign accent. “The windows have a special coating on the outside. No one can see in.”
My shoulders sag, and another flicker of amusement passes across his face. He tucks a hand into his pocket and circles the glass of amber-colored liquid in his hand.
“What is your name?” he asks. “I’d rather not call you seven-fifty-five when Itakeyou.”
My head snaps back, and I wrinkle my nose. I’m going to vomit.
He throws his head back, laughing, and walks to the part of the couch positioned opposite me.
I crawl back farther, drawing the chains taut, and watch him drink. I gave away my vial, and as he brings the liquor to his parted lips, I imagine if I’d held on to it, I might get a few drops in there at some point. He has to unchain mesometime. Right?
It doesn’t matter now, though. He’s got me, and I’m going to experience what every other girl in our bunker has.
Tears well in my eyes, and when Bishop’s grin widens at the sight of them, I look away to let them fall. My mind swings between counting how many times he might hurt me and trying to shut myself off from feeling anything at all.
I can’t do this. I wish I could die. I don’t want to experience this every week. I-I can’t.
I’ve had my fair share of unwanted attention from boys in school or men in college, but this goes beyond. This is a whole new level of depravity I’m about to experience.
My body shakes, and I wipe the sweat beading on my upper lip.
Somebody help me.Would anyone come if I screamed?
He stands, gliding over to where I’m heaped in a tangled pile of limbs on the floor. He reaches down for my face, but I flinch, pulling and ducking away. Undeterred, he fists my hair and jerksmy head to the side. A sound breaks from my throat, and he exhales, as if he enjoys it.
“Good … I can’t wait for more of that out of your mouth.” He thumbs my lower lip, smearing his salty digit over it.Disgusting. “Tell me … did Slade DuPont enjoy you?” He snickers. “You sure are the talk of the society. The youngest DuPont doesn’t show up at EV on off days. Ever. Not until he bid on you.”
The memory of the congressman outside the door flashes in my mind. Slowly, I look up at Bishop. Every inch of him whispers money, control, like he could—will—bleed me dry. A chandelier dangles above him, all glinting crystal and obscene with wealth, and I close my eyes, releasing a hollow exhale.
There’s an odd stillness in knowing it can’t get any worse.
Just block it out. Go somewhere else, Thea.
Bloom where?—
“Bishop.”
My eyes pop open to find a guard standing in the threshold between the living room and hallway.
“What?” Bishop snarls, whipping his head toward the man.
“You have a visitor.”
Inside, I sigh with relief.Thank God.
“Send them away. I’m busy.”
The guard pauses, pulling the lapel of his suit down. He clears his throat. “It’s Congressman DuPont, sir.”
My eyes widen and my spine straightens at the same time Bishop yanks his hand away from my head. Then he glances over his shoulder at me with a sneer.
What?Congressman DuPont?My pulse spikes.Why in the world would he be here?
“Damn it.” Bishop considers for a moment, then adds, “Send him in.”
No. He’s going to see me like this. I shouldn’t care. Idon’tcare.
