Chapter 6

Max

Awkwardly, he touched her back, "It's okay."

She cried harder, "My daddy..."

Max swallowed, "My father will protect him."

Pearl looked at him, "I know, but…” she sobbed harder.

Max’s hand rose gently to her shoulder as he tried to comfort her, "Don’t worry, I’m sure he will be back safely."

He held her in silence until her crying slowly began to ease.

Then she leaned toward him and rested her head on his shoulder while Max sat perfectly still, not wanting her to move…

**

Back on the balcony, Max's thumb moved across the scar one last time.

A faint smile touched his face, “I wish you were...here.”

For a moment, it looked like a tear would drop from his eyes, but then it disappeared abruptly. His expression hardened and his eyes became cold again.

He pushed himself away from the railing, finished the rest of the scotch in one swallow, took a final drag from his cigar… and walked back inside.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Paige

I kept shivering inside my wet clothe for almost an hour. I thought I was going to pass out.

My body had long stopped deciding whether it was freezing or burning. I lay curled on the narrow bed, my knees pressed against my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around myself hoping I could somehow hold warmth inside.

The cell felt colder even knowing no one cared if froze or burned to death.

The walls were cold, the air was cold; everything was cold. I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined a blanket appearing over me; something my father used to drape over me whenever I accidentally fell asleep on the couch in his office.

But when I opened my eyes again, there was nothing; just silence and me.

I shifted weakly and pulled myself closer together.

That was when I noticed a figure standing outside the cell, watching me.

My heart stopped.

I hadn't even heard him arrive.

He stood there in complete silence, staring through the bars like he was still unsure what to do with me.

Then, the lock turned. Fear shot through me instantly.

I forced myself upright, though my body protested.

My teeth were chattering, my drenched thin fabric glued translucently to my body.

My arms tightened around myself.

He entered slowly, as usual, his face plain, eyes on me.

"What game are you and your father playing?"

My throat tightened. I said nothing, because I didn't know what to say.

Not like silence was safer but speaking hadn't saved me before.

For several seconds he just stared. Then his jaw clenched.

Wrong answer.

I saw it immediately.

He crossed the room in long strides and grabbed the front of my clothing, and yanked me upward.

I gasped.

"Answer me when I talk to you,” his voice was low and deep with fury.

I didn’t understand why he was always so angry at me. I didn’t even know what I did. I could feel my pulse hammering everywhere.

"Why didn't you say anything to him?" he asked.

I stared at him, my breathing uneven.

"Why didn't you tell him what was happening here?" he demanded.

Still I couldn't answer. Not because I was trying to be difficult, but because I genuinely didn't know what to say.

I mean, say what exactly?

That I was scared? That I didn't understand any of this? That I wanted to go home? That I wanted my father?

A slight confusion flickered across his face.

He stared at me for a while, and suddenly, he let go.

I stumbled backward and nearly fell onto the bed, still wrapping my shivering frame.

For a moment, he simply stood there breathing and staring at me.

"What are you hiding?" he muttered.

I frowned weakly.

Hiding? I wasn't hiding anything. I was just not who you thought I was.

But I couldn’t say it; because I was sure he would not believe me.

He looked back at me, then reached for the buckle of his belt.

I gasped, thinking he was going to whip me. But then, he stepped closer, grabbed the neck of my wet dress, and tore it from top to bottom.

“No,” I cried, trying to hold on to the dress and conceal my body that just went bare in a second. But he grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind me, forcing me to turn around.

The dress slid down to my wrist, and he let it drop to the floor.

He slipped the handcuff from his pocket and closed it round my wrist.

Panic engulfed me because he had not cuffed my hands behind me before. I didn’t know and didn’t wish to know the kind of horror he was going on unleash on me.

“I am not his daughter,” I spat as he pressed my unclad body violently to the wall, cuffing my second wrist.

He paused.

For a moment, I thought he believed me.

Then, he leaned in and spoke into my ear, “Is that the best you could come up with?”

I shut my eyes briefly in despair; speaking had never ever saved me.

“You and your stupid father think this is a game? You both think I am a fool?”

I wanted to shake my head in response, but he grabbed my hair tightly, it hurt.

I groaned.

“Three days…” he continued into my ear, “…is more than enough for me to break every single bone in your body, starting now.”

No, please.

“I will show you exactly how your stupid game makes me feel,” his voice went lower.

Horror washed over me as he dragged me off the wall towards the bed.

He kicked the kneepit of one of my legs and I dropped to the knee instantly.

He got on one knee behind me and pressed me onto the bed with the length of his forearm, letting his weight on me.

I groaned, crushing under him, unable to move.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said coldly.

Seconds later, he was pushing into me…

…no…

…what?

He was pushing into my asshole…!?!

“No! Stop!” I cried, “Please!”

I had to beg, at this point. I had always dreaded backdoor action because I associated it with unbearable pain and an ugly after effect.

I was not in any way prepared for this. So I tried again.

“I am not his daughter, believe me,” I managed to say through my failing breath.

He said nothing and continued to force his way in.

I groaned again, and tried to twist free, but his weight on my back pinned me totally, I could barely turn my neck.

He kept pushing into me, unleashing the kind of pain I had never felt before.