I shift.

I can’t move without my muscles protesting.

They’re angry and rabid.

There’s a burning sensation that seems to be coursing through my veins, in every part of me. I feel as if I’m on fire. But when I’m still, the scorching heat isn’t there. So I lie there, my eyes closed. Heavy from something.

I can’t recall what happened, my head is foggy with blurry images not remembering where I was or even who was there. I know it was a birthday party. The girls from school, those who I called my friends told me to go along for the ride. And I did. For the first time in my life, I broke my father’s rules. They weren’t really friends, but they were the popular girls and I wanted to feel what it was like in their world.

Being the daughter of a well-known multi-billionaire, I’ve always been kept within the confines of my father’s rules and regulations. His face is always plastered in the newspapers; his name is mentioned online more times than I can count.

I’m meant to keep myself on the straight and narrow. Nobody would know I’ve smoked a joint. And I enjoyed it. No one would ever guess I’ve kissed a boy. And tonight, at least, I think it’s tonight, I was meant to have sex.

My first time.

There’s an icy ache in my limbs that causes tears to sting behind my lids. I don’t know where I am, but when I finally crack my eyes open, I can’t see anything in front of me, only darkness. There aren’t even shadows to promise me a sliver of light in the space I’m in. Perhaps I’m locked in a box.

Blood has dried and cracked on my skin. When I woke up moments ago, the cold was so harsh it caused my teeth to chatter loudly. I try to move, to roll over, but it’s pointless.

My body is rigid, almost paralyzed.

It’s cold. Bitterly cold. It’s as if I’ve been left in a freezer without any clothes or blankets to stifle the temperature. My arms prickle, as if a thousand pins are being shot into my flesh at resounding speed. I blink. The tears that burn my eyes dry before they reach my ears. I’m on my back, looking up into blackness so thick it threatens to choke me.

A click echoes in my ears like a foghorn warning a passing ship. A clank. The scrape of steel on the cement floor, or what I’m guessing is concrete.

“There she is,” a deep rumble comes from somewhere in the darkness. I expect my visitor to say something more, but he doesn’t. Silence falls around me again, enveloping me in its stifling madness. No words, not even a scuff of a shoe. Another switch clicks, and I’m bathed in a faded yellow luminescent glow.

“Wh-what am I do-doing here?” I croak, my throat protesting at the measly utterance. Five whole words voiced from my lips and they sound like sandpaper grating against wood.

Raspy. Harsh.

I blink. Once. Twice. When my vision finally clears, I’m met with a steel gray glare of a man I’ve never seen before. He’s older, far older than I am at my eighteen years. He may even be as old as my father. His hair is silver, matching his cold eyes. There’s a dusting of beard on his face, it’s dark, yet there’s gray streaks through it as well, hinting that he must be in his early forties, perhaps even older.

He has a smirk on his face, evil, almost devilish. When he leans in closer, I try to make out who he is, but he’s a stranger to me. The corner of his mouth kicks up, a smirk curls his vile mouth. He looks satisfied that he has a girl, a young girl tied up in a dungeon.

What will he do to me?

I can’t think about that right now. The only thing I need to focus on is the asshole before me.

“Your daddy sure does love you,” he whispers across my skin, causing goosebumps to dot my bare flesh. The deep baritone of his voice vibrates through me, reminding me that he’s in charge. He doesn’t need to tell me, it’s clear on his expression.

I shiver, both from the cold, and his ferocious stare. He looks angry, but there’s another emotion brewing in his stormy eyes.

Lust.

“What?” I croak once more, only to earn myself a chuckle so deep and rumbling it sounds like thunder rolling in.

“He wanted to give me to give him five million for you,” the stranger informs me. “But I believe you’re worth so much more than that.” This time, he coos.

His hand reaches for me, his knuckles trailing a white-hot path down my icy cheek. The warmth of his skin against my almost frozen flesh is a welcome comfort and I find myself leaning into his touch.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers in a husky tone. “I’ll be your daddy now.”

“No, no,” I whimper, pulling away from him, but he’s too fast. Thick calloused fingers grip my face harshly, turning my head to face him. His eyes glow with feral rage. His voice may have been the thunder, but his actions are the storm. He forces me to look at him, and I know there’s no way I can fight the blizzard of this man. I’m ready for the lashing of lightning to burn me alive.

“Listen to me,” he commands with fury burning through his words, igniting fear within my very core. “I don’t care if you say no, in fact, I want you to say no. When you fight and wriggle against me, I’ll fuck you harder. I’ll make you fucking bleed all over me, all over my cock, and when I’m done, I’ll ensure you clean me with your pretty pink tongue.” His laugh is manic, vibrating off the walls as it tumbles from his slim red lips.

“Sir,” a voice at the door draws his attention. “We have contact,” the man says. When my captor moves, I get a glimpse of the stranger at the exit to the hell I’m locked in. His eyes land on me for a split second before averting his gaze to his boss.

“And they know what we have?” my captor questions. His answer is a nod. “Good. Get her ready.”

The stranger walks into the room. He has a confident stride, as if this is the most natural thing for him to do. His body is large, foreboding with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I take him in, wondering if I could fight my way free. If I can get my hands on a weapon, I’ll be able to do something other than lie here like a fucking toy.

The dress shirt he’s wearing is a dark color, but not black, perhaps charcoal. His slacks match but his boots are black leather with worn cracks. He doesn’t speak, but I take my time watching him move around the room.

He fills a bucket from the sink in the corner, the sound of water causing my bladder to ache.

“I need…” When I utter the words, he spins on his heel to pin me with a glare. “I uhm, need to pee,” I tell him as embarrassment flushes through me, heating my cheeks, traveling down to my chest.

“Piss yourself on the mattress. The next girl won’t be here till it’s dry.”

My mouth falls open, gaping at him in shock. Horrified at having to do what he said. I turn away, attempting to not listen to the trickle of the tap.

“Don’t mind me, doll, I’ve seen much worse.” This time he chuckles. “Working with him, I’ve cleaned piss, blood, and shit when he’s finished with one of you, so you’re definitely not special,” he continues, not looking my way.

He picks up the bucket and strolls over to the icy metal bed I’m bound to. My wrists ache, pins and needles pierce me as I tug and pull to get free, even though I know it’s a pointless exercise. Standing over me, he takes the bucket and tips it over me and the mattress I’m lying on.

A squeal of surprise is wrenched from me, bouncing off the walls. I tug on my restraints only to have the twine bite into my torn skin, and I feel the trickle of water and blood as it oozes its way over my flesh.

The cold has nothing on what I feel now. My body is frozen. My limbs lose all feeling and my teeth chatter loudly against each other.

My tormentor captures me in his arms and I realize he’s unbound me from the headboard. Even though I’m loose, I’m free, I’m still bound in another way. I’m so cold I can’t move unless he’s lifting me. My arms flail, one at my side and the other on my lap.

He turns us to leave the cell I’ve been in, but as he squeezes me through the doorway, my stomach lurches and my bladder releases warm liquid over his stomach and arms.

“Are you fucking pissing on me?” he shouts, dropping me on the cold concrete floor. I land with a harsh thud on my hip which causes me to cry out in agony. I grab at the side of my body, attempting to ease the pain that’s shooting through me to no avail.

His hands swipe at his shirt and slacks but they’re drenched in my urine.

“You little bitch!” His foot makes contact with my stomach with a resounding thud. My lungs lose all air, my hands fly to my abdomen in an attempt to protect myself, but I know it’s futile.

“Stop playing with the toys,” the captor’s voice comes from behind me. My vision is blurry, but I can make out the man who has just knocked the breath from my lungs.

He leans in, his face close to mine in a sneer so cold it turns my blood to ice. “I’ll make you pay, little dove. That pretty white hair is like the wings of a bird and I’ll pull and tug until you have nothing left. And then, you’ll fly no more,” he grits out angrily.

Before he turns to leave, he spits on my face, saliva splattering on my cheek.

“Enough!” my captor orders him. “She’s worth more alive and looked after.”

Then I’m being tugged to my feet, dragged and thrown into a room which resembles a horror movie bathroom. Blood pools on the floor, the walls have the word help painted in the crimson liquid and my stomach convulses when I think about what happened.

“Clean yourself. Clothes will be set out for you when you’re done.”

The older man turns, leaving me in the room with no privacy as the door is no longer on its hinges.

I open the tap, cupping my hands and splashing the frigid water on my face. The toilet that sits to my right is stained with black marks which makes my stomach roll with convulsions.

I shove my panties down, hovering over the seat. Once I’m done, I wipe myself with the hard paper that’s used for cleaning kitchen counters. The scrape of it against my sensitive flesh only makes the torture worse. My skin, normally sensitive to abrasions, I can only imagine is bright red from the burn over my core.

As I head out of the bathroom, I look around, praying I find a doorway, an exit, but as I feel along the dark wall, I find nothing.

I’m a prisoner and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sighing, I give up after my third attempt at trailing my fingers over cold, smooth concrete.

Making my way back toward the room, I find a white cotton dress on the bed, noting the mattress is no longer on the metal frame. He must’ve moved it since he decided to soak me, along with the thin mattress, in water. I pick up the dress; the feel of the fabric is soft between my fingers. It’s pretty, but far too big for me. I slip it on, thankful for the chance to cover my modesty. Not that it will help. I’m sure the men have already seen me naked while I was passed out.

I sit on the bed frame and wait. My tormentor, whom I earlier relieved myself on, arrives once more with a look that tells me not to try anything. He stalks closer and I notice he’s dressed immaculately. The suit he’s wearing hugs every muscle of his lean frame. He’s tall, probably over six-feet. There’s dips and valleys in the shirt, and I realize he must be extremely toned to look that good in a suit. My eyes drop to the front of his pants, finding a hard bulge against his zipper. It’s so close it catches my eye.

“You look pretty all cleaned up,” he smirks, causing my gaze to lift back to his.

His mouth tilts into a smile which causes me to catch my breath. He’s handsome. Devilishly so. His square jaw is smooth, the dimples that dip on either cheek are deep, making him look far younger than I think he is. He turns to the sink in the room again, ignoring me as he fills the bucket, and I wonder if he’s going to drench me again.

“Why do you do this?” I question, suddenly anxious to see if he has any human emotions left from working down here. I don’t know where my confidence comes from, but I want to stifle it back down when he turns to regard me with a penetrating blue glare. The color of his irises are almost see-through, reminding me of sunshine streaming through a window on a bright morning. Sadness washes over me when I realize I may not see the sunshine again. There’s tension in the air, reminding me of when my father would tell me that I shouldn’t do things, or he’d admonish me for wanting to go out with a boy.

“If you ask questions, you’ll not make it through the night,” he warns, his gaze piercing me. It’s so harsh, I’m bruised by the mere look he offers.

His words are a cold reminder that he’s not my friend and I shouldn’t think he’s here to save me. He isn’t. He’s as much of a monster as the man who wants to hurt me.

He leaves the bucket on the floor of my room and pulls me up by my arm. Then, he shoves me in front of him and warns, “Behave and you’ll get out alive.”

I don’t ask what he means. I don’t even look away from the path in front of me. Instead, I focus on each step I take. We silently make our way down a long dark hallway.

At one point, he maneuvers his way in front of me to open a door. My eyes adjust to the darkness, but my tormentor is hidden in the shadows. His dark suit makes it difficult for me to see him and when he comes to a stop, I slam into his solid back.

Muscles tighten and tense when I place my hands on his shoulders. Every inch of him taut with… Frustration? Anger?

“Get your hands off me,” he barks angrily, causing me to stumble backward.

“I… I’m sorry,” I mumble, dropping my gaze to the floor, but he can’t see me because the space we’re standing in is pitch black. It’s then that a beep echoes around us, dinging loudly as a hiss of a door that’s been locked for some reason slides open.

Light streams from the entry and music comes from the other side. There’s laughter that travels from where the muted yellow light is beckoning — men’s chuckling, which sets me on edge.

My tormentor hands me an object in the darkness, then leans in closer. “This is the only option you have. Use it, don’t use it. That’s all up to you,” he informs me.

When I turn to look at him, he’s gone.

Straightening my shoulders, I step through the doorway and gasp.