CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“I’m enjoying shattering your will, sweet love.” – Hades

 

 

 

      "What have I told you about my coffee, sweet love?" the voice was a dangerously low rumble that caused Zara to quake from the inside out. She knew that voice well, the calm before the storm, even if Hades rarely raised that voice, his violent temper would erupt nonetheless if she wasn't careful.

      So careful.

      She paused in the doorway, a deer caught. Inching back, she turned to face him. What had she done to deserve that tone today? Like a madman needed a reason, there was no logic here and she was wasting her time as she raced back in her thoughts, cataloging everything in the last twelve hours.

      Chores. Done. Meals. Done.

      She'd served beers and chips to those pigs until they'd grown drunker and fatter by the minute while they watched the game, all those dirty hands pawing and groping at her as she walked by, as for what she'd done in this very room four hours ago on her knees, her belly clutched.

      She couldn't think what was wrong.

      "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.

      That jerk-off mind fucking asshole.

      She forced her face to show no emotion, a monster gets off on fear, they can taste it in the air like candy and she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She moved and stood directly in front of him, revealing nothing but the obedient stance he demanded from everyone.

      A fucking narcissist would want people to bow to him next.

      Zara hated him.

      She didn't need to quantify how much.

      She simply, irrefutably, loathed every breath the man took, and wanted him so dead.

      For someone who had once liked to be prepared for everything, with her ten-year career trajectory, nothing could have pre-warned her for him.

      There had been no class in her history of schooling to teach just what happens when a monster makes you his toy.

       Lacing her fingers in front of her, her threadbare white tank top gave her no warmth and the sweatpants too big trailed on the floor even though she'd turned them up four times at the hem, she was barefoot as always, shoes would give her freedom, he'd once told her, earn your shoes, he'd smirked, and though she'd done everything those shitheads wanted, she was still without footwear, he had no intention of giving her a pair, either.

The control of a narcissist. Petty little man, she accused only in her own mind, the last free thing she owned.

      "I can see the defiance in your eyes, such fire, you hate me, don't you, sweet love?"

      She abhorred him calling her that name. There was nothing sweet in the endearment and she'd puke if there was ever a day she was so brainwashed that she wanted the name to become an endearment, gun to her head moment.

      Her belly clenched every time he used it, and he used it because she'd once spat in his face and told him her name was Zara. She'd felt the force of his hand that day, it had felt like a shovel, and then as though he'd flipped a switch he'd smiled and told her she shouldn't anger him again.

      Zara ignored the name ever since.

      "No." she answered because he'd expect one. No one ignored Hades. "Should I bring you a fresh coffee?"

      "Obedient little slave wants to please me, does she?" His cocky grin would be called handsome, she supposed, she'd seen women swoon over that smile. Fucking idiots.

      Zara shrugged. "I thought you said something was wrong with yours.".

      He was up in a second, towering beastly over her, she shrank back, expecting a strike of some kind. Instead, it was so much worse.

      So very worse she felt bile charge into her throat. She swallowed and recoiled inside as he cupped the side of her face tenderly, tipping it up to look at him.

      Hit me instead, she implored silently. The pain she could deal with.

      Not this mindfuck. Never this.

      "Why so tense, sweet love? Didn't I relax you enough earlier?"

      That same bile she'd swallowed threatened to make a re-trip back to the surface.

      You disgust me, she wanted to spit in his face. If she stood at the doorway he used for his shady dealings of guns and drugs and prostitution, she could see the main exit door, freedom was right there and yet Zara had never felt so far from it.

      This is my life. She reminded. As if she needed it.

      Her days were bleak with no end in sight. She’d passed woe is me One hundred and sixty-four days ago. Kill me, already.

      God, she longed for that end now. Three years was too long to endure, she couldn't go on, already she planned to end it and soon. And she knew just how she'd do it.

      "I'm not tense." Her voice brittle. Defeated. She'd say anything he wanted at this point, but she wouldn't validate his delusions, let him beat her if he wanted, please, beat me to death.

      "Hmmm ... one day, my sweet love, you'll look at me with adoring eyes, If I must continue to fucking break you, I will, piece by piece, you will surrender everything to me until there's nothing left except the shell of a fucktoy and you'll thank me for it, for making you into something better, something that belongs to my club."

      So dark was his voice, so true was his threat a giant shudder racked her body.

      She believed him.

      He'd break her will and spirit eventually if she didn't end things herself.

      "I think you need a reminder who you belong to, girl, who the fuck you obey when you're standing there with defiance in your eyes.  Go close the fucking door and get back over here." He stood so much taller than her, wider than the door frame, every vein standing on the surface of his skin.

      A good-looking monster with a vile soul.

     There was no logic to a sadist, she'd barely said a word, knowing how to be cautious around him, and still he'd deemed her guilty of something. Resigned, her insides cold, her heart dead already, soon her body would follow, she turned to close the door, his smirk was frightful, and Zara took the steps back to where he wanted her, the clang of his belt was a noise she hated, he'd wrap the leather around his large fist until it was good and tight.

      She'd plead before he was finished.

      She'd beg for him to stop while he laughed and she bled.

      Just as he predicted he broke her a tiny bit more each time.

      "Ahhh…sweet love, I think you're gonna like this. And, girl..." something dark slithered into his voice, like a snake finding its home. "You'll call me master, got it?"

      His laugh peeled the air as she nodded her head blankly

 

      And it was that noise that dragged Zara from her nightmare.

      The silent scream stung her throat.

      Wild terrified filled eyes, her heart thumping she flung herself out of the bed before she realized what she was doing, standing startled in the middle of the floor shivers traveling down her spine, darting her gaze around the dark room cataloging every piece of furniture trying to ground herself with the truth.

      Not there. I'm not there again.

      Not there. Not there. Not there.

      Frantic breathes, the shakes racked her naked body until she had to grab a shirt from the floor, it swamped her down to her thighs, billowing out on either side of her body, she recognized it was Rider's.

      Rider! Still asleep in his bed. Thank god, she hadn't made a sound trapped in her dream and woke him.

      Just a dream.

      God. Sinking down into the leather chair before her weak knees gave out, her teeth clanged together, she cradled her knees up to her chest, refusing to submit to the tears pricking her eyes. One step forward and her nightmares were right there reminding her she was never going to be over this shit.

      Zara sat huddled in the chair watching Rider sleeping for an hour until dawn crest and then she showered, dressing quietly she left him there to head to the kitchen.

     Sadness shrouded her.

      The next day and the one after that she hung around the bike shop with Rider, fetching coffees for the men, phoning in pizza orders, talking to Capone, avoiding the dark stares from Hawk, and in their lunch break she followed Rider over to the office, watched him swear his way through paperwork, she happened to look over his shoulder, curious to what had him calling someone a cocksucking fuckbrain she grinned and chimed in "Um…Rider, do you know you're forgetting to count those overheads in the net total? that's why it's off by four thousand?"

      No more nightmares, she was keeping herself busy.

     "What?" his eyes narrowed and cursed again. "you know this shit?"

      Zara shrugged. By this shit she assumed he meant math. Didn't everyone? "I thought Texas was your money guy?"

      "He refuses to deal with people and invoices after one of the customers insulted his sense of dress."

      Zara grinned. She liked Texas, he stuck out like a sore thumb, not your average biker.

      "Well if you take another look you see where you're going wrong with it."

       "Here." he thrust the green papers at her, she took it instinctively, her brows pinching together with confusion. "You do it. You're hired."

      And just like that Zara was the new in-house admin to the Renegade Souls MC.

      Life was ticking on one day at a time.