Chapter 2

Paige

He drew my dress up above my waist, then it came, thick, trying to find its way in.

Fifteen days was enough for me to attest to its fantastic size, the type women would kill for.

I was supposed to welcome it, to enjoy it. But right now, within these cursed walls, at the mercy of this monster, it was the last thing I ever wanted.

I had spent the past fifteen days dreading the nights, praying for a miracle that would end this torture.

Yet, here I was again.

It found its way and pushed in without delay.

I groaned lightly as my body was not in any way prepared to receive visitors.

He ignored me and continued till he was fully in.

Once he moved, I gasped in pain, biting my lips to keep from making an audible sound; but I failed.

I groaned again, but it didn’t change a thing. Rather, few movements later, the pain began to ease.

I kept telling myself that I hated this, that I never wanted any of this, but along the line, I realized that I was getting wet.

I started crying, hating myself. This monster was defiling me and it was not supposed to be fun.

I tried to distract myself from it, started recalling bitter moments of my life, things I disliked, things that disgusted me, but the success was short-lived as I couldn’t shake off the fact that a monster, a handsome monster, I must admit, was rocking in and out of me.

I bit my lips harder to keep the sound in. But at a point or two, it escaped me.

When his pace increased, my body started trembling with both pain and pleasure, each thrust reminding me that this was not going to end anytime soon.

His thrusts became fierce; I could feel it in my stomach.

Oh God, I shouldn’t enjoy this, he wasn’t doing it for fun. He was doing it to hurt me.

But my wetness was already sliding down my thigh and my body was willingly betraying me.

Traitor!

My legs started shaking and I started slacking off.

I shut my eyes tight and clenched my teeth, struggling to remain on my feet, to show him that what he was doing was not getting to me. Instead, I started sliding down the wall.

Suddenly, his arm rounded my torso, holding me in place against him, and his other hand steadied my leg on the bed.

His warm breath graced my ears.

Before I knew it, I was leaning entirely on his sturdy arm, moaning without reservation.

I forgot my struggle, my defiance, my status; I gave in only to the moment; my eyes closed, my mouth open, pleasure surging through me. I could have said his name if I knew it.

Stupid me!

Moments later, I was already on my way up.

But, no, I shouldn’t let that happen. It’d be ridiculous.

“Stop,” I cried and started moving to get off his arm, “Let me go.”

I pushed against his arm, twisted my body slightly but I made no significant impact.

He said nothing; he hadn’t said anything since the onset, not even a sound.

Then, sensation washed over me, I succumbed totally.

Few merciless thrusts more and my will were overridden immediately, and I convulsed helplessly in his arm, my fluid streaming down my thigh.

His grip tightened seconds later and I heard him make a deep sound once, holding me tightly and crushing my waist against his hip.

Then he slammed violently into me once, twice, thrice, holding deeper and longer each time. Of course, my body registered the heat of it and my eyes almost shot out of its sockets.

I heard him exhale deeply after the third.

Moments later, he abruptly let me go and I dropped heavily to the floor like a wet blanket. No strength to catch myself even slightly.

At that moment, regret took hold of me. I couldn’t believe that I couldn’t resist such a little pressure.

Would you blame me? Who could?

I felt his gaze as he buckled his belt. But I dared not look at him.

He got on a knee beside my sprawled body, “Next time you make a sound,” he said quietly as he uncuffed my wrists, “You’ll regret it.”

Then, he rose.

“Pathetic,” he spat while he stepped away from me and headed out without another glance.

I felt the disgust in his voice.

And yes, I deserved it, because which prisoner ever cared for pleasure when they didn’t know what would become of them in the next minute?

Not that I cared, but…

"Get her cleaned up," he ordered someone outside my cell.

“Yes, sir.”

I listened to his footsteps fade out.

I lay frozen on the floor, still not having strength to move.

This was usually the point when lovers cuddle, kiss, share affection. But here I was, littered, discarded; a proof that the moment was never meant for my fancy.

A tear rolled across my temple.

I had cried the first day, and the second, and maybe the third, but somewhere after that, tears had started feeling useless.

I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, staring at nothing.

I didn't know if anyone was coming for me; if I was ever getting away from here.

Maybe not.

But one thing I knew, even if no one came… even if I died here… I would never let him break me. I’d keep resisting.

Then, two maids stepped into my cell and started lifting me to my feet. That was when I realized that my legs had gone numb.

I practically couldn’t walk.

My legs shook vigorously, but the maids still managed to carry me away.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Max

Max Hardy stood before the glass wall of his city office at the top floor, one hand tucked into his pocket, eyes fixed on the skyline below, glittering as beautifully as it would be easy for him to destroy.

The floors beneath him belonged to other people, politicians, businessmen, drug suppliers, underground dealers; and a good part of them answered to him.

A long time ago, he had stood at the bottom looking up. Now he stood at the top looking down. And somehow, it still wasn't enough. The major fulfillment he desired had not been achieved yet.

Behind him, voices filled the room.

"We intercepted another shipment from Seth's men."

"Three warehouses secured."

"Two men injured."

"The docks are under control."

Max remained silent.

The meeting room stretched behind him: dark wood, expensive leather chairs, security monitors lining a part of the walls.

That was his empire, built with blood, from years of desperate ambition.

"...Boss?"

Max slowly turned.

Randy shifted uneasily in his seat, "There is something else."

Max stared. The room quieted immediately.

Randy swallowed, "Seth. He still isn't reacting."

Max's expression darkened, "Really?"

"We've been monitoring his communications," Randy slid a file across the table, "He's increased security around some locations and his home, but..." he hesitated, "...nothing concerning his daughter."

Max stared at him.

"He hasn't demanded proof she's alive."

Silence.

"He hasn't made serious attempts to negotiate."

Silence.

"He hasn't even sounded worried."

Max's jaw tightened.

Impossible. No father acted like that. No father remained calm while his daughter sat imprisoned by his enemy.

No father.