Page 6 of Brutal

If anything, he’s more amused.

“Good!” he says. “Get your shit together. I want to grab a burger on the way home.” He stops, seeming to really look at me, and he makes an aggrieved sound. “Delivery, then. Whatever.”

While I numbly get dressed in the only outfit I have, Brutal and Elena confer quietly. Five minutes, probably less, and the whole transaction is done.

Is going home with this man going to be better or worse than this hellish existence I have now?

I’ll get to see a different set of four walls.

I won’t ever have to see Elena and her false sympathy ever again.

I’ll be away from the men who brought me here.

But I suspect that Drake Brutal isn’t going to be a kinder slave owner than the rest were.

CHAPTER 2

Mimosa

Nobody looks at me as we get onto the elevator.

That stands out to me, somehow. I’m this unwashed woman with bright orange hair, in an oversized coat and flip flops, but none of the staff even glances twice at me. They greet Drake Brutal, and he nods in response, but I’m invisible.

I should make a scene. I should shout, cry, beg. Try to run, maybe.

But Elena had made it very clear to me that if I didn’t cooperate, the boss would hunt me down and personally torture me. Not to mention the billions and billions of dollars that Drake Brutal can throw around to ensure law enforcement is on his side.

At the start of the year, I still might have tried.

Now, I’m more than aware of just how unfair the world is.

It’s a long elevator ride all the way to the very top. I guess I’m not surprised that Drake Brutal has a penthouse apartment.

Of course, intellectually knowing it doesn’t quite prepare me for the reality of it. Even just stepping out of the elevator, there’s a disgusting amount of luxury on display in the form of fancy vases and expensive paintings. The floor is a very smooth marble.

Somebody must come up here and clean, right? Will I get to see them?

More importantly, will they actually see me, or will they ignore me the way the concierge and bellhop had?

Brutal herds me out of the elevator and into the foyer, where I can see a spacious living room with wall-to-wall glass on two sides. It gives a beautiful but terrifying view of the night sky, dim lights providing some lighting as we head toward a set of stairs. “Up,” he tells me, right on my ass as he walks me up the stairs. “You smell like you haven’t showered in weeks.”

The complaint is a little on the nose; it’s not like I do get the chance to bathe often.

Getting to shower properly will be nice, I guess. Hopefully he’ll give me warm water, since the showers I’ve been subjected to the past few months have all been quick, cold rinses.

I don’t say a word as I walk up the stairs. I wish I could believe it’s because I have nothing to say, because I’m defiant, but I know the truth.

I’m terrified of saying something that will turn this stage of the nightmare into an even worse hell than I can imagine.

That’s another thing I’ve learned in these past few months. There’s no end to the pain and torture. It can always get worse.

“So tell me the truth,” Brutal says as we reach the second floor, and he opens a door to the right-hand side. “How many men did you bite before they had to threaten to rip out all of your teeth?”

I step into a room with a bed easily as large as the entire cell I’d been living in, and he waves me toward another door. Ambient light pours in from the city around us, making it seem bright despite the late hour.

I glance at him and lick my lips. “A few. But only the ones who deserved it.”

“You aren’t going to make me waste my breath threatening you, are you?” he asks, his voice jovial despite the mocking smile on his lips. “Go on, through the door. You’re stinking up the place.”

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