Page 32 of Wrathful King
And I… I lost myself further with each passing day, and each denied dose drove me to madness.
I’d killed again. At least I thought I did. It was hard to distinguish reality from the nightmares. Everything was blurred in my mind because of the drugs they kept pumping into me. I was an addict now, I supposed. Not that it would matter in the long run.
I lost track of it all and, honestly, I wasn’t sure I cared.
But I could still remember the first night a man tried to rape me when I was brought here. I fought him, gouged his eyeballs. Just as he was about to overpower me, Cortes came behind him and killed him. Shot him in the head, his brain splattering all over me.
Bile had risen up my throat, my skin crawling with revulsion. I screamed and screamed until my throat turned raw and I couldn’t scream anymore.
The only thing I knew with certainty was that he’d shot me up with more poison. The effects of it kept scraping inside me like fingernails against a chalkboard. Somehow, my brain had sent a message through the fog of pain to breathe. To live. To survive.
After that, Cortes assigned a doctor and one trusted guard to watch over me. They understood I was “his” and so far hadn’t attempted anything. Not that anyone wanted to touch me—for the most part—but once in a while, a brave or foolish man tried. The last one I sliced with his own knife, gutting him from neck to groin.
I no longer screamed when I saw death or when the blood flowed like a river.
Horror’s shadow—the doctor or my guard—appeared at the cell door.
“Is she on birth control?” It was the guard’s voice. My eyes locked on the door, praying Cortes wasn’t there too.
The doctor answered, “Her medical records show she has a birth control implant. Why?”
Their conversation made me want to vomit. Rage. Kill. Except there was nobody else in the room with me. Not a soul within my reach. Maybe the conversation was happening in my head. God knew there was enough other crap going on in there.
“He wants her knocked up.”
There was no fucking way. I’d sooner slice my own throat.No, no, no.
“He can’t knock her up if he keeps drugging her.” Knock me up? Why would he want that? He was nuts. God, I was so fucking helpless and I hated it.
“She keeps attacking Jefe.” Jefe. Didn’t that mean boss? They must have been talking about Cortes. A string of curses followed, and a thought struck me. They were speaking English, not Portuguese. Since I’d been kidnapped, most conversations occurred in Portuguese. Why didn’t this one? “Heroin is not working.”
A heartbeat passed.
“It looks to me like it’s working. If Jefe wants to get her pregnant, he needs to get her off the heroin and just put her on sedatives. That will make her an easy lay.”
Someone chortled from the darkness, sending a terrifying echo through the cold, damp air. How much longer could I resist? Deep in my drugged heart and hallucinating mind, I knew the man would rape me. It was just a matter of when.
“I heard she bit his dick. He’ll be out of commission for a while. Maybe we should play with her and break her in for him.” I didn’t know where this rumor started, but I was grateful for it.
“You two stupididiotasdo that at your own risk, and when I’m not around. Need I remind you what happened to the last guy who tried to sample her?” one of the men said. I remembered. His blood still stained the floors of my prison cell. “We just have to find a drug that keeps her lucid.”
A snicker echoed. “Does it really matter whether she’s awake or not?”
“No one wants a drug-addicted whore who can’t even suck a cock properly. He doesn’t want to fuck a limp corpse. Once Cortes breaks her, it won’t matter if she’s lucid or not.”
My heart shriveled as I listened to them. I shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point, but even with the addiction, a fresh dose of panic twisted my gut painfully.
“You, get lost. And you, stay with me.”
Footsteps faded.
“So are you going in, Doctor, or are you scared she’ll end your miserable life?”
I shot to my feet. My teeth rattled, sounding like ice clinking in a glass. God, just the thought reminded me of my thirst. They slid one glass of tepid water and one plate of slop through the door once daily, and never at the same time.
The door creaked open and footsteps tapped on the filthy stone floor. Holding my breath, I eyed him as he approached me. He stopped a foot away from me, then slowly unzipped his bag.
I remained still as I watched him pull something out of it. A surgical knife.
