Page 103 of Dirty Salvation

"You want it hot and black and on time." she replied quietly and saw his flat gray eyes pin her deadly.

That look could tear the pride from grown men.

It certainly scared Zara.

Hades smiled and that scared her even more. A smiling Hades was a man to fear. She wasn't fooled by his handsome smile; she could smell the aggression lifting off him like steam.

"That's correct, so why is it late?"

"Is it late?" A tremor to her voice. She wasn't permitted a watch, you'd no more give a caged dog a watch than you would a bike to a monkey, any personal items she'd had on her that night were long gone, even the clothes she wore were not hers, leftovers from club sluts.

She didn't deliver Hades an excuse, he despised excuses of any kind, he was likely to lash out without thought and she was still covered in bruises from the backhander that stinking overweight small dick Smite had given her for laughing in his face.

Instead, she stood with her spine tight in the doorway looking his way waiting for the gavel of his judgment to fall.

Because it would fall. It always did.

Any punishment was his catnip.

The evil fucker was a sadistic freak who preyed on the weak foraging out their flaws like a pig with truffles and flicking at them until they broke apart.

No chance of that with Zara, she'd cracked a long time ago, she was a fucking drone for the Raging Rebels, this was her life now, a life in slavery to the sickest pigs on this earth. Escape attempt after another and all the lessons she'd learned is the beating afterward hurt like hell.

She hated those bastards, dreamed often of killing them.

"Get the fuck over here." He demanded deceptively quiet.

Hades was a big man, bigger than most, all muscle, not an ounce of fat, his blonde hair cut short around the edges and swept back neatly on top, he had tattoos and even white teeth and a close-clipped beard, it made his twisted tyranny all the worse that he was not ugly at all, somehow you expected evilness from ugly people, even if his soul was blacker than midnight, she'd witnessed women fawn over the MC president like he was the incarnation of Elvis.

If that bastard hadn't already sold his soul to the devil it was poison to the core.

She absolutely believed she was looking at evil, monsters existed and its name was Hades. Her emotional torture so crippling, so ingrained in her psyche now, she was shaking as she approached where he sat, expecting the worse, so expecting the worse, his one jean leg crossed over the other as if relaxed, he cradled the cup she'd just delivered along with a plate of chicken and waffles. The food lay untouched on his desk. Day in day out with no end in sight had become testament how strong Zara was or not, because she truly wanted to die, to end this.

Hades' specialty was terror without laying a finger on you.

Physical pain in a weird sense was lessened if she could see it, feel it if it was an actual bruise in her skin. Zara had lived in dread every single day of the what ifs. What will come today? Who will hurt her today?

The emotional abuse had been incredibly debilitating for so long, it was in her every breath and waking moment, it robbed her of the little self-esteem she'd had, the ability to think rationally, confidence in herself and her independence and autonomy.

Captive like an animal with the pretense she was free to roam as far as the door and not a step further, her invisible leash so very tight around her neck, each day she lost a little more of herself.

She craved death.

Kill me already, motherfucker.

Hades was the biggest Narcissist she'd ever hate to know. Not only with her and the other women he used and abused on a rotating cycle, he truly didn't seem to care for anyone other than himself, if he had loyalties she'd never witnessed it, never saw anyone he cared for.

His men had stood at his shoulder, bullies in arms against anyone else, pigs all dressed in the same coat, but even they didn't come away unscathed from Hades' temper if they fucked him off.

A narcissist, even in pretty packaging, was still a self-serving bastard, the pretty face might fool for a moment, but the ugly truth deep down comes as a bigger blow, the narcissist wants to remain in control by keeping you confused, anxious, scared and apologetic.

Always so sorry. Oh, I'm sorry for letting my ribs hit your fist like that, how can I make it better?

It's the narcissist's way of maintaining control of the twisted situation he conducted in his environment.

Narcissists thrive when attempting to make people crazy. It's called psychological warfare.

And no one wielded that weapon better than Hades.

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