Page 45 of Hades

There was only once she’d gotten under his skin, enough to send Hades blood to boiling point.

Overhearing him talking of his hatred for the Renegade Souls leader her blonde head reared up from the floor and she’d blurted “Rider?” a look of joy crossed over her face for a millisecond, it was enough to bring him close to an edge.

It was like a switch going off in his head.

A mechanical crank to his sadistic madness.

He felt it, his gut tightened and for a moment his vision blanked out. He could have killed her in that second and not been aware of the murderous act, his anger was such a roar.

“Rider fucking Marinos? You know him do ya, sweet love? oh well, this just gets better and fucking better, you just became my favorite fucking toy, I’ll have to keep you real close. Now get the fuck here while I show you why you don't ever fucking spit at me. You'll be calling meSir Presidentbefore I'm done with you, sweet love. Beg me, bitch, beg your fucking President to hurt you.”

She’d laughed and taunted him with how great Rider was. How much Rider was better than him at everything. Small world, she would never tell him how she knew that dipshit, but he could hazard a guess and didn’t like it one bit. To say her punishments grew harsher thereafter was an understatement. She never mentioned Rider again.

And now the girl’s screams echoed through the hallways, causing a beat of sound deep inside his chest, the lash of a belt and her voice rose for whoever was taking a hand to her today.

She was the epicenter of rage. Of lust. Of his fucking madness.

His men were as greedy as he was.

Only, they wanted to screw and beat her.

Hades wanted more.

He wanted to completely own her until she listened only to his word. Until she slept, ate, washed, walked and talked when he commanded it.

It came on so powerful and swift that it was an undeniable craving. The noise of his needs grew loud, louder than her sweet baby cries.

Was she hoping he’d stop her torture and save her? He would if she cried out his name. He sometimes stood in the doorway and watched her taking a stick across her back, how her wet eyes would raise and look across at him with revulsion and hatred, but he also saw a flicker of something else …pleading? For him to step in and halt his men stop? He was the one man they’d obey to make her pain go away.

There was no guilt as he watched her suffering, her pain was beauty itself as she bled and cried and swore. He was fascinated in the girl and how she took everything given to her.

He understood the term wilful now. In those first few days she was beautifully docile, terrified of every noise, but as her situation became clear, and she understood she was not getting free any time soon, her spirit rose, strengthened and then she grew a backbone that brought her more trouble than was needed, but until she learned Hades would continue to break the girl down, piece by stunningly broken piece.

He denied her food, clothes and bathing privileges.

She told him to go fuck himself at least fifty times a day. Told him she’d spat in the coffee he ordered her to bring him. Informed if he dared touch her again she’d kill him.

Whatever Hades had expected in taking the girl for a slave, he hadn’t accounted for her tenacity. Stupidity, most definitely, she was hurt for it every day, but on the other hand, he was captivated and hoped she kept it up a little longer just, so her pieces would become that little more brittle.

It was when she staggered back through the door, her shoulders hunched into herself that his appetite was at its most dangerous.

Eyes glazed over watching her tentative footsteps. She knew by now and it was the one rule she adhered to, by coming back to him when his men were through with her. Without her knowledge they had strict rules as well; don’t kill her, no mutilation to her pussy and no broken bones. They were also on a time limit. He might not care about sharing her, but the minutes he did were under strict guidance.

When she walked by him in order to sit on the chair over by the window he noticed red streaks of blood marking the back of her tank shirt.

“Let’s see it.” His voice, excited came out in a rumble. She halted, shuddered and before he could issue a more forceful command she reached down and pulled up her shirt from the back, her wince was silent, bloody welts revealed.

He whistled impressed. “They did a number on you, sweet love. Let me guess, you gave them more lip?”

Silence.

He left his seat, her shoulders stiffened though she showed no other outward signs of fear when he moved closer.

Though he smelled it on her, it was roses in his nose. He approached and stood directly behind her, inspecting his men’s handiwork and when he raised a palm the heat lifted from her skin. “I think you enjoyed it today. Maybe you’re not such a good-girl anymore, sweet love.”

Silence.

Taking his palm, he laid it fully on the middle of her bloody back, and was rewarded by her hiss. “I’m speaking to you. You’d do well to answer your master.”

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