Page 62 of His Queen

“I’m not hungry.” It’s a lie. I’m fucking starving. I’ve only had water since I got here, and I’m not sure when that was. But I refuse to eat his food. I refuse to accept any of this.

“Of course, you’re hungry. It’s been two days. You need to eat.”

Two days? Two fucking days? It feels like I’ve been here for longer. Much longer. Maybe even eternity.

“I said I’m not hungry,” I snap.

“At least you no longer care about the fact that you don’t have any clothes on,” he remarks as his eyes crawl down my body.

He’s right. I no longer care that I’m naked, that he can see every inch of me. He’s already touched me and ruined my body in every way possible. There’s no place for modesty in this hellhole anymore.

Joe returns with a bowl of soup, and the aroma instantly fills my nostrils. My stomach growls as the smell of rosemary and black pepper wafts over me, causing my throat to feel like it has been cut. But I press my lips together, determined to fight my hunger.

“This is a family recipe,” Nunzio says, taking the bowl from Joe. “It’s the best mushroom soup you’ll ever taste. I guarantee it. Come. Sit. Eat.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” I lie. It’s more like a growl, feral and vicious.

Nunzio looks at Baldie with a silent command, and what follows happens in a blur. In a flash, Baldie’s hands are on me, gripping my arms tightly. A deep ache explodes in my back as I kick and thrash, writhing like a wild animal, desperate to escape his grip. I’m thrown off balance and suddenly on my back with Nunzio’s hand pressing down on my chest as he tries to hold me still.

“If I say you’ll eat, you’ll fucking eat. Open wide, birdie.”

“No. Fuck you! Fuck y—” A giant hand clamps down over my nose, pinching shut my air source. I beat at his arm feebly, scratching and clawing, but I’m too weak. It’s useless fighting against them.

Hot liquid fills my mouth, and the first gulp bursts down my throat as so much more enters, too quickly for me to swallow. Chunks of food that press into the back of my throat threaten to choke me, and I’m thrashing, desperate for air. The soup goes down a little too fast, setting my insides on fire. The sound that comes out of me…it’s inhuman, terrifying enough to make every hair on my body stand on end. My spine tenses, jerking against the hand still on my chest while I desperately try to cough the soup out of my mouth, but I only end up swallowing more of it.

“That’s it, birdie,” Nunzio praises. “Eat up. I told you it’s fucking delicious.”

My lungs are on the verge of exploding in my chest, my ribs aching under the pressure of Nunzio’s hand. But the soup is no longer choking me; it’s coming out of my mouth with gurgled gasps, like little wet bubbles popping.

I stop struggling, feeling the life drain from my veins while warm soup spills out of my mouth, some of it splattering on my chest. Hot tears prick at my eyes while Nunzio continues to force-feed me, not caring that he’s killing me.

It feels like an eternity, but it’s only as long as one bowl of soup can last while poured down my throat.

The last bit splashes over my mouth, and the moment air slips past my lips, I suck in a deep breath that hurts as it travels down to my aching lungs. Nunzio lets go of me, and my body moves on its own accord, twisting me on my side as instinct tries to get rid of every drop of food still lingering in my mouth.

“I guess you got some of that in,” Nunzio remarks as he towers over me. “There’s some left on the floor in case you get hungry later.”

A low chuckle echoes as he leaves, and my stomach contracts painfully when the door slams shut. Exhaustion crushes me, and every limb drags me down as my muscles slack.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper to myself, tears freely streaming down my face. “I can’t do this anymore, Momma.”

Promise me you will not stop. You will not give up. Please, Mirabella. Please promise me.

Her voice is so clear, it’s like she’s here with me. So close I can feel her warmth.

Promise me you will not stop fighting.

“I promise,” I breathe out. “I will not…stop…fighting.”

* * *

“Wake up, birdie.”

I’m jolted awake, my movements slow and sluggish as I come to consciousness. I take a few extra moments to turn my head toward the sound of his voice, aware of the dread bubbling inside me. His presence looms over me, and I wish I could shrink away until I’m nothing.

With my eyes shut, I brace myself for what is sure to come next. Pain and torment follow this man like a shadow wherever he goes.

“It’s time,” he murmurs close to my ear, the tenor of his voice grating down my spine with cold chills. “Wake up. I said wake up!” His cold hands are on my ankle, and with a rough yank, I’m pulled from the mattress, his grip leaving brutal red handprints on my skin. I grit my teeth to stop the cry that threatens to spill from my lips when pain lashes through me, my dirty hair clinging to my face.

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