Page 23 of Broken

Ryder looks like he’s desperately trying to look anywhere but at me and at first, the sinking feeling in my gut makes me feel like maybe I have done something wrong. When I take the glass from him and give a quiet, disheartened, “thanks,” I finally see his gaze flick to mine. It’s only subtle, out of the corner of his eye and I watch as his face instantly morphs into one of rage. He has clearly seen my eye and is not happy about it. As quickly as I see the look of fury fly across his face, it disappears just as fast and is replaced by a mask of indifference. I realised then why Ryder wasn’t looking at me. I’m not his to look at and we can't do anything about that. If he feels even a fraction of the pain I feel at that realisation, then he must be dying inside.

“Ah good, thank you, Ryder. Now that we have the bubbly, we can properly toast. Friends, I would like you all to meet the beautiful Miss Ava Delgado and soon to be Mrs. Grant Blakeman.” Grant raises his glass and directs their attention to me like I am a fucking auction prize. Don’t even get me started at the wave of vomit that tried to wriggle its way up my throat at the mention of me becoming his wife. But I don’t want to give Grant even more reason to be pissed and so I smile and raise my glass before taking a healthy gulp of the champagne to help with my nerves.

“I know you will all be aware of the party going on downstairs and I will let you get back to that very soon, but I wanted you all to meet my fiancé personally first. I’m sure you have worked out we were a bit late to our own party since Ava here, has yet to learn the importance of obedience. All of you work with me in some capacity and I know you all know what I expect from people in regards to loyalty and commitment. You all know how I feel about my instructions being followed, don’t you?” Then, like all of the guys in the room belong to some kind of cult, they all begin nodding and shouting confirmation. It’s clear Grant has some kind of hold over all of these guys and they do whatever he wants. A wave of shame comes over me at knowing all of these slimy looking men are judging me, knowing I am pushing back against this engagement. I don’t understand why he would say it, surely this isn’t exactly giving off the perfect image of domesticity he wants everyone to believe.

“I found something out about my beautiful fiancé today and since she will not listen to me about it, I thought I would ask for advice from my most trusted advisors. Are you all happy to help educate Ava?” Grant talks like he is addressing a class full of students and encouraging them to shame the dunce of the class up at the front. I feel so on display right now and I can feel the blush of embarrassment spreading across my cheeks and up to the tips of my ears. The room erupts into cheers of confirmation and I can feel my heart start to race and my palms are sweaty. I am trying not to make eye contact with any one of the numerous eyes that are boring into me right now. Grant breaks me out of my spiraling anxious state by taking hold of my arm as he leans into my cheek. To everyone else in the room, it looks like a sweet gesture, but I can see the glare on his face. His breath on my cheek sends chills down my spine, but not the good kind. No, this is pure fear and I hate that ever since I learnt he was capable of punching me and feeling no guilt, I have felt a horrible sense of foreboding.

“Drink up, princess. You are going to need it,” he whispers for only me to hear before guiding my arm so I can swallow the last of the champagne in my glass. It's a wonder I don’t choke on it because I’m frozen with fear and yet gulping to not only to try and consume the alcohol that he assures me I need, but also to get in some much needed air. Breathing, panicking, and drinking have never been a good combination and I do start to cough and splutter at the end as Grant takes my glass from me. He chuckles and tells the room how clumsy I am. The rest of the sheeps join in laughing and no matter how much I try to convince myself that these people don’t matter and that I am strong, I know I don’t feel it. I feel trapped and scared with no way out. I had hoped Ryder was going to be my ally, the person who would stop Grant from taking things too far. But since Ryder can’t even look at me, I think it's safe to say his job is the most important thing for him.

Gripping tightly onto my forearm, Grant walks me more into the centre of the room and I become hyper aware. Something is going to happen, I can feel it, and the smirk on his face is only acting as further confirmation. That's when I noticed his other bodyguard, Vic, slowly moved behind us to stand in front of the door. I don’t know whether he is blocking people from getting in or me from getting out. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my head as the fear of being trapped in a room with this many less than moral men takes over. I risk another look over at Ryder and I finally see his face has come to life. He is no longer wearing the mask of indifference I have seen him with since I arrived. Now, his eyes are scanning every section of the room, the door which Vic now appears to be guarding, the behaviour of the other guys in the room, and most importantly, Grant’s behaviour. I can see him doing the risk assessment that he’s hired to do and I wished to God I knew what he was thinking. No matter how much I assess, all I can see is danger, everywhere I turn, and with no way out. I have to see how this plays out and hope Ryder has developed a conscience because I can tell by the smarmy looks on everyone else's face, they will not be stopping this shit show.

“Right, let’s get this show on the road. As you all know, being my wife comes with certain expectations. She has to fit in at the social events I attend and uphold the Blakeman family name. Now, as I’m sure most of you all know, Ava comes from nothing. In fact, most of you have probably had the pleasure of dealing with her no good, deadbeat, drunk father.” Hearing Grant talk about me like I am worthless is embarrassing, but hearing him talk about my papa in that way is infuriating. What right does he have to announce my papa’s problems to this room full of people? I feel myself curling my hands into fists as rage races through my veins. Before I even have a chance to say anything, to defend my papa, Grant continues.

“In spite of Ava’s less than perfect upbringing, I knew from the moment I met her that she would be perfect for me and the plans I have for the future. Naturally, she jumped at the chance to be my wife, didn’t you, princess?” Grant says jovially as he reaches around and squeezes my arse cheek. This results in cheers and cat calls from all the scumbags in the room. Then before I even realise what has happened, Grant pulls me so my body is flush against his. One hand slowly gropes down towards my arse again, and his other hand grips the back of my neck. We are so tightly pressed together, I can feel all of his hard ridges, his chiseled chest is pressed firmly against my breasts. The hand that is resting very low down on my back pulls me in closer as he tilts his hips and I feel the outline of his erection pressing against my body. Disgust fills my body and I’m sure you could probably see shame seeping out of my pores. I can hear the jeers around me and that seems to egg Grant on further.

With my head secured by his hand at the back of my neck, he pulls forward and before I know it, his lips crash against mine. They feel hard and bruised as his lips push against mine. His tongue sweeps over my bottom lip, trying to get access. I’m frozen. Somewhere in my mind, there is a part of me that is shouting and screaming for me to fight this. To push him away. But the other side is terrified of what the repercussions would be if I fight Grant in front of his men.

Even though to the spectators it looks like we are enjoying a sexy kiss, I am holding my ground as much as I can. My arms are firmly by my side with my fists crushing so tight, I can feel the nails digging into the skin on my palms. But where I am fighting the most is my lips, they are crushed as tightly closed as I can possibly get them to ensure the monster currently groping me doesn’t get the entry he so desperately craves.

Grant obviously has other ideas because he changes tactics and the hand around my neck starts to grip tightly and his teeth take my bottom lip into theirs. He bites down hard, so hard I fear he might actually draw blood. I try my best not to scream, but the attack does cause me to jolt backwards. As I am firmly in his hold, I have nowhere to go and my mouth opens in fear. He sees this as an opportunity and his tongue snakes its way into my mouth. I try to move my tongue away but he seems to find it and it feels as though we are in battle. Normally, in a kiss, it's a battle for dominance over who can give the most pleasure and who can take charge sexually, but this is different. This is completely about Grant exerting his power and authority over me. He is showing me he always gets what he wants and I am his. So by moving my tongue out of the way, by fighting back in any way I can, that is my way of taking back what little control I can in this situation.

Since this isn’t a fairytale romantic kiss, I don’t have my eyes closed and I’m not stuck in the moment squirming over how amazing the kiss is. Instead, my eyes are taking in everything around me. I can hear the catcalls and the shouts for more like we are a live porn show. Over in the corner is a young sleazy looking guy with hair that is slicked back, not by gel but by grease from the looks of things. I can see him staring at me, licking his lips and groping his dick with his hand in his trouser pocket. He looks like the type of pervert that has the pocket cut out so he can reach in and play with himself whenever the need arises, and apparently, given the stroking motions he is currently making, the need has arisen right now. The repugnance I feel at the situation has just been heightened even further and I can feel the nausea growing.

My slight reprieve comes when Grant pulls away and I am forced to stand there while everybody claps for me. Grant smirks, but I know from the look on his face that he isn’t done and now I really start to panic. I don't want to look because I’m scared of what I will find, but I have to see Ryder. I have to make him see how scared I am. When I look over at him, my heart breaks just a little bit more when I see that instead of looking at me and the shit show in front of him, he’s totally engrossed in the bottle of beer he’s holding. I watch him gaze into it like it's the most fascinating thing he has ever seen before he then takes a swig and repeats the process. The devastation I feel is heartbreaking. Why did I ever think that one night with him might have been enough for him to choose me?

“Right, so we can all agree that Ava is a beautiful woman and exactly what society expects from my wife. So, you can imagine my complete surprise when I finally got Ava naked, I discovered she was, in fact, not as gorgeous as I had hoped. She had defiled her body and lowered herself to the point that she may as well have written ‘I’m a whore’ on her body.” Grant is practically foaming at the mouth as he describes my tattoo to a complete group of strangers. The one part of my body that I keep hidden because it is just for me is being discussed with a group of strangers and I feel like my world is spinning. My tattoo has always been my shield and I have always seen it as something beautiful and unique, but Grant is talking about it like it makes me a slut to have it. The humiliation I feel starts to consume me and the more the room jeers and hisses, the more I can feel tears start to fill my eyes.Ava, you will not let them see you cry.I mentally repeat this to myself over and over again, trying to block out the room.

“Now, I have offered to have her whore mark removed so she can put her slutty past behind her and move forward. I think this is a more than fair offer, yet Ava has declined. She is insisting she keeps the tattoo. What do you think she should do?” he shouts the question to the room like he is a pop star at a concert, shouting to his adoring fans, and, of course, they reply exactly how he wants them to. He wouldn’t have asked the question if he didn’t know they would agree with him. But still, the calls of ‘slut’, ‘remove the whore mark’, and ‘tramp’, chip away at a piece of my soul. I can count on one hand the amount of guys I have been with and the amount that have seen my tattoo is surprisingly even less. I have only ever had one, one night stand and that just so happens to be with the one person I would give anything to have more with. The same person standing on the other side of the room like a statue, staring into his beer. I really need him to teach me whatever technique he is using to block out the whole fucking thing because he is doing a bang up job, whereas I am snowballing.

“Oh, stupid me. You can’t make an accurate judgement without seeing the monstrosity, can you?” Before he has even had a chance to finish his sentence and for it to fully register in my brain, Grant is ripping open the ties on my dress and pulling it off me. In a matter of seconds, I’m standing there in a room full of disgusting men, in just the skimpy lace lingerie Grant forced me to wear. Not only is my tattoo on display completely to the entire room, but so is the rest of my body. The bra is the type that pushes you up, giving you an enhanced cleavage, yet the cups themselves are thin and next to nothing. You can almost see my nipples through the fabric and given that this room is freezing and I am terrified, it won’t be long until my nipples are hard enough to cut glass. I really don’t want that to happen because these perverts will think I am getting turned on. The worst part is the barely there French knickers that are scarcely covering my arse cheeks.

I literally do not know what to do. I wish I had a shit load more hands so I can cover my body with them. Instead, I have two and I have no idea which are the most important areas to cover, but that seems irrelevant right now because I am frozen. I’m not sure if it’s fear or just sheer fucking disbelief that this is happening. I feel heat rising up my body and inflaming my cheeks with embarrassment. My eyes remain firmly on the floor before I squeeze them tightly closed. I know it sounds stupid, but remember when you were a kid and you played hide and seek, but couldn’t think of anywhere good to hide, so you closed your eyes really tight, hoping that made you invisible? Well, I am trying that technique right now because it’s the only one I have left.

I don’t know if it’s because of the fact my eyes are closed and my other senses are picking up more, but all of a sudden it dawns on me that the catcalls and jeering about my tattoo, from before he took my dress off, have all stopped. In fact, it’s so silent in this room, you could hear a fucking pin drop. Tentatively, I open my eyes to see what is going on and I’m stunned by what I see. The room full of disgusting men that were looking at me like a cheap nasty whore when I had my dress on, are now looking at me with a mixture of awe and desire. I can hear mutterings of the words ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’. This gives me confidence to lift my head and try to glance over at Grant whilst remaining inconspicuous. He looks absolutely fuming; his fists are clenched so tightly, they are going white, his teeth are grinding in such a way, it makes his face look misshapen, and his skin is tinged an angry purple colour. Initially, I think his behaviour is a bit over the top. I mean, of course, a room full of men are going to like seeing a lady in lingerie, but then I see there’s more to it. These are the men he selected because he knows they follow him no matter what, they are his sheep. Except right now, instead of following his lead and insisting my tattoos are trashy and need to be removed, they see the beauty I have always seen. Not in me, but in the tattoos.

After much avoidance, I risk a look over at Ryder, although I have no idea why I’m torturing myself with this. He hasn’t given a shit all evening, no matter what they have said or done to me, so why should he care now? I think there is also a secret part of me that wants to see the fire in his eyes, the same as everyone else's. I want him to look at me like all of these disgusting excuses for men are. I know that when they see me, even though their opinions have changed to a more positive one, they still only see me as a sexual object, but Ryder has never made me feel like that. As I finally find him, and our eyes meet, the sinking feeling in my gut becomes heavier. He isn’t looking at me with the same lust from the other night, instead he looks to be almost disgusted and a little pissed. Is he pissed off at me? Like it is my fault I ended up half naked in front of a room full of slime balls. My anger starts to rise and thankfully, it starts to overtake the sinking feeling I had been allowing to consume me. I don’t need that dickhead to save me, I can do it myself.

Grant is obviously not happy with the fact his cronies are not joining in with his plans as expected, they should be telling me to get my tattoo removed, but instead, most of them are pitching tents in their trousers, and the rest are fantasising about what I would look like without the underwear. But it’s not until he notices the change in my demeanor, the way I stand tall again and allow my gaze to reach anyone who challenges me, that's when he realises his plan has failed. He wanted to crush me and break me, for whatever reason, but I will not let him. No matter what he does, no matter how long it takes me to get there, I will always fight back.

“Now, that you have all had a chance to get a good look atmyfiancé's body, you can put the image in your wank bank, men. But for now, let's get back to the issue at hand. If I demand she removes these hideous, slutty images, what do you think she should do?” he asks the room full of men who have now all turned their attention away from me and back to Grant. His little reminder to them that I am his and the best they can ever do is wank about me at night seems to spur them all into action. Desperate to show their loyalty to the psychopath again, the room fills with noise as everyone replies at once. Varying different ways of saying it, but what it boils down to is they are all saying that I have to get rid of my tattoos. Even the ones who, not even five minutes ago, were salivating over me. I keep my shoulders back and my chin jutting out so I am standing up nice and tall. My gaze is pin pointed on one particular spot on the polished wooden wall and I stare at that as though nothing in the world can touch me. I cock my hip to one side to accentuate the natural curve of my body and also show off my tattoo. If they’re going to look, then I will give them something to look at. I see them all staring at me and licking their lips, but at the same time, they are agreeing with Grant, too afraid to challenge him in any way.

“Did you hear that, princess? Are you going to be a good girl and do as you are told? Are you going to get rid of your tattoos to please your future husband?” As he is asking me in a sickly sweet voice that almost rots my teeth, he is grinning at me and making sure his gaze never leaves mine. It’s a challenge. He wants me to submit to him in front of them. This was his plan all along; to degrade me to the point that I feel humiliated and have no choice but to agree with him. I’m not going to lie, for a short while, it really was working, but then I got angry. Now, there is fire coursing through my veins and I will never submit to him.

“Fuck you. My tattoos stay and if you don’t like them, don’t marry me,” I spit back at Grant, making sure I hold his gaze the entire time. I can see the hatred that flares there and it makes me wonder what is it that has him hating me so much. What did I ever do to him?

The room around that was filled with raucous laughter and snide remarks is now deathly silent. All eyes are on us and the looks of shock on everybody's faces is a great sight. I don’t think anyone in this room has ever had the balls to stand up to Grant. Yet, here stands a petite female, who is supposed to be his fiancé and she isn’t afraid to challenge him. I hope they are thinking about that and questioning their entire existence.

Grant’s face scrunches up into revulsion and I can see how much he hates not being in control. He absolutely detests the fact I have the balls to stand up to him, especially in front of his friends. Seeing his pain gives me a sense of pride and an overwhelming feeling of strength. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a look at Ryder. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, my eyes always find him. I am drawn to him, even when he is acting like a dick. We shared one night together and agreed to walk away, but I can’t. I want us to both walk out of this together. This time when I look at him, instead of the look of pride I expect to see on his face to mask my own, he looks scared. His eyes are shifting around the room and he is doing that risk assessment thing that he does. This instantly sets my nerves on edge. If there is something going on that is enough to frighten my strong and stoic Ryder, then that is something we should all be worried about. But it turns out, I was not prepared for the danger quick enough.

Like a flash, I am pulled from the spot where I was standing near the door and the next thing I know, Grant is physically manhandling me and pulling me to a free arm chair. He sits down without even letting go of me and I’m pulled down on to him. My stomach is pressed against his thighs and I am lying face down with my legs dangling down. I shuffle a bit trying to get free, but it feels as though he has a thousand arms that all have a firm hold on me. All I’ve successfully managed to do is to wiggle into a better position for him because now, I am very clearly bent over his knee with my arse up in the air. Fearful as to why he is doing this, I writhe around in his hold as much as I can. Just as I am about to shout out a string of expletives explaining why he needs to get the fuck off me, my breath is taken when I feel a sharp slap against my arse.

Time freezes as I register the sting rippling over my arse cheek where his hand just landed. The ring of flesh on flesh filled the air and was quickly replaced by cheers and celebrations. That's when it suddenly occurs to me I’m bent over Grant’s knee with my barely covered arse in the air while he spanks me like a naughty child. The moment feels almost surreal, but before I have time to even think about my next move, another stinging blow is delivered to my other cheek.

“What the fuck are you doing, you bastard? Let me down right now,” I say, trying to hide the yelp I couldn’t help but release when his hand connected with my skin. He is not pulling back and is hitting me with a force I have no doubt will be leaving red marks on my white skin. The thought of him and all these guys seeing me get spanked and my arse turn pink has embarrassment running through my veins. I can feel the blush creeping up my cheeks, to the tips of my ears and even down my chest.

“You know you are getting the punishment you deserve, princess,” he practically sings to me before delivering two quick successive blows to each of my cheeks. I can’t help it this time, the cry falls from my lips as soon as the second blow hits. I was unprepared for two at once. My humiliation continues further when Grant begins to stroke and caress my cheeks, making sure to pull the panties as far up as he can get them. This then causes the front of the panties to bunch up and slide inside my slit, leaving my pussy lips on display. Dread fills my stomach as my mind begins working overtime, wondering if this is all he is going to do or if he is going to force me to do something I don't want to do in front of these men. My brain is frantically trying to think of a way out of this, but it’s cut short by more blows. Alternating between every patch of available skin on my butt, he rains down blow after blow of slaps onto my increasingly tender cheeks. The more he slaps, the more my whines become cries before moving onto full on sobs. Tears are streaming down my face and at every available opportunity, I try to move free of him, but that never works. His hold just becomes tighter and then his blows become harder or land on more sensitive areas.

I can still hear the men around the room shouting encouraging words at Grant, generally singing his praises, all the while discussing my reddening arse, my pussy being on display, my bad behaviour, and generally how much the slut in me must be enjoying this. These pathetic excuses for men actually think that despite the hysterical sobs, the tears streaming down my face, no doubt mixed in with leaking mascara and snot making me a less than desirable subject, they still think I look like I am enjoying this abuse. I have lost count of how many blows he has delivered and he only stops occasionally to rub and pinch my arse to make sure my flesh is the most sensitive it can possibly be. Although my brain isn’t exactly thinking during this attack, I tried to hide deep in my mind to help me ignore this terrible situation. He can destroy my body, but he can never break my soul. Desperate to know what was happening, in between blows whilst Grant was stroking my skin and boasting to his men, I blocked them all out and searched for the one face in the crowd I needed to see.

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