Chapter Five

Jacob

If I could have ripped my father apart with my bare hands, I would’ve. If I could have pulled his balls off with my teeth and left him to bleed out while I stood over his body and laughed, I would’ve. Anything but stand here, tied to the door, gagged so I couldn’t make a single sound while I watched him take the girl who was meant to be mine. She was so amazing. With soft, pink nipples, her breasts were starting to fill out. Her waist was so small, I bet I could wrap my hands around it if I tried hard enough. She had long legs that went on forever. And her ass. Oh, it was so pretty and white, like the rest of her.

Until he messed her up.

Until he put his decrepit sex inside of her and marked her.

Now she was battered and bruised, filthy with his cum all over her. And she couldn’t see me. She didn’t know I was going through it all with her. That I knew so well what it was like to have him take what shouldn’t have been his.

But she fought back.

With her tiny fists, she raged against him. Because she knew it too. She knew who she belonged to, and she hadn’t wanted him inside her. I laughed maniacally in my head. We were both fighting to be together. I wanted to hate her for letting him inside so easily, for not fighting back. I didn’t want her to be a perfect slave for him, only for me. But she gave in, sucked him and laid down to open her legs for him. Then she came alive, and I knew, I knew it was all a ploy to trick my father into believing she would be his. But she wasn’t strong enough.

I would make her stronger.

I would find a way to give her the strength she didn’t have. To survive his punishment and live only for me. I would reward her love and loyalty with my own, and she would never have to be afraid again. It was odd, really, finding her. She freed me. It was because of her that I even opened my eyes and understood the man my father was. The despicable being who took everything because he was meant to have nothing.

Now my name meant something. I understood it in a way he probably hadn’t wanted me to. I truly was Jacob, the one who was prophesized to be blessed because it was me who was meant to rule. And my father was nothing but a pitiful Esau, an impersonator in sheep’s clothing who wished he were me because I had more than he ever would. I was the one who was truly dark and twisted. The one who was meant to hold the power over life and death. Her life and death. He could have Celia and the fucking rest of them. I didn’t give a shit about them. It was about finding the perfect toy. That endless supply of pleasure and knowing that at any time I could destroy her. Alana was perfect.

Always.

When my father crawled from the bed and left her there, I waited. Waited until he came back for me. I wiped the expression of anger and retribution as best I could from my features and mimicked awe. That he was so great. That he’d done so much to her, for her. When the door swung open, I didn’t make a sound. I kept my eyes on her the whole time she was in the room, and that was all I saw as he closed the door once more and stood behind me. I memorized every bruise, every cut and break in her skin, and the way her lips trembled as she cried, even in sleep. Then he was taking me down from the door, leaving the ball gag in place, and pushing me up the stairs.

I didn’t fight him. Instead, I nearly ran up to the kitchen where I sat in the seat, folding my hands in my lap, and waited for him. When he walked through the door from the dungeon, he was covered in muck, but my eyes adored him, envied him. I kept doing so until he finally looked at me and smiled that cruel smile I thought mirrored my own but was only a shadow of what I could be.

“You liked that, did you?”

I nodded my head vigorously.

My father frowned, looking at me. “I thought you’d be angry with me.”

The look on his face didn’t fool me. He wanted to see a crack, a fissure he could exploit. I would give him nothing ever again. I shook my head again and pointed to my mouth. Father stepped forward, unhitched the ball gag from the back of my head, and dropped it on the table.

Taking a few moments to rub the ache from the sides of my mouth, I gathered my thoughts. “Is that how training begins? For all of them?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to go. She’s special. She’s got fight in her. Most of them are scared. Been told by the television it’s better not to fight back. To give in and rely on your captor’s good side to let you go. That it’s easier to heal from a trauma than be dead. She didn’t care about that.”

“But that made it better for you, right? She deserved to be punished, and we are made to punish women. To teach them their rightful place,” I croaked.

“It’s what I’ve been trying to teach you all along. They can cry and promise you the world. They will spread their legs for you and leave without a care. They say they love you, but they don’t. They only love themselves. They only care about what they want.”

“But her fighting means she’s got a strong will. Good enough to pass to a boy, worthless on a woman.”

My father sat across from me at the table, smiling again. “That’s why I’m going to breed her. Every chance I get I’m going to fill that little bitch with seed until she gives me a son, and then, I’m going to get rid of her. Don’t want her thinking she’s special just because she pushed a child out of her cunt.”

I forced myself not to grit my teeth at hearing that. Alana would not die. “I wouldn’t have been able to control her. You were right. I wasn’t ready, and it’s because I didn’t want to take those steps.”

“Are you saying you are now?”

I had to be careful. I didn’t want him to think I was feeding him the crock of shit that I was. I was going to take everything from my father. Bit by bit. Learn what I needed. Take on the darkness. And then I was going to kill him and save Alana. Make her mine. Make her more than the rest.

“No,” I said. “I’m not ready because I am learning. There is so much I need to learn. I don’t want to just know it, I see that now. I want to understand the ways of the world. I know you will have to punish me to teach me, and I’m ready for that.”

I bowed my head, not quite hiding my eyes entirely—my father wouldn’t believe that—but I could at least show some contrition. Holding my gaze up was the only reason I saw the hit coming, but I didn’t try to dodge it. His fist connected with the side of my head, a throbbing pain spreading immediately through my skull as I fell to the floor. I got to my knees and kept my head down, balling my fists at my side.

“You think you can lie to me? You’ve got bitch in you. No fight. No power. Give up and die.”

No. I wouldn’t. I came up swinging. My dad wanted a fight? He wanted to see if I would roll over or if I had that killer instinct? I’d show him. I’d fucking show him. My first two hits were wild and missed, but he backed away from me. That was enough room for me to run back to the other side of the table and push it forward. I rammed it into his gut, knocking him into the counter behind him. Glasses fell from the dish rack and smashed into the ground. I didn’t care if everything broke apart. I pulled the table back and went to hit him with it again, but he got his hands behind it. He was stronger than me, so much stronger, and flipped the table. I fell back, wrapping my arms around my skull to protect it as I hit the ground. My father gave me no mercy, and he was there, kicking at me under the table. I grabbed one of his feet and held on for dear life.

“Get off!”

He yelled at me and tried to shake me, but I didn’t let go. I used my free fist to punch his shins. Something crunched, but I didn’t stop swinging, not until he went down to the floor. I scrambled from under the table to get on top of him. I punched his chest and stomach, his face, anywhere I could get my hands, until he reached back and swung. One hit from his meaty fist sent me sprawling, but he was laughing as he sat up.

“You scrappy bastard, I did fucking help make you.” It was the first thing Father had ever said to me that was kind.

“You taught me to be.” I still hated him, but I knew I needed to dance with the devil to overthrow him.

“I’ll teach you so much more. But that toy down there? Alana? She’s mine. You lost your chance at having her and will have to wait your turn again.”

“I know.” I let some of the disappointment and jealousy cover my voice. It wouldn’t do good to have him thinking I was completely where I needed to be. And I didn’t know if I would have been able to swallow all the agitation over him touching her in the first place. Thinking about it made me sick to my stomach. Father got to his feet with a groan before helping me off the floor.

“Go get that Celia bitch to clean all this up. I’ve got to take care of Alana for a bit, after I have her again.”

“Yes, Father.”

My heart stuttered when I walked down the stairs to the basement. I could hear her crying. My love. My girl. She was crying, and I couldn’t go to her. I couldn’t lick the tears away and teach her how beautiful she was in pain because it made me love her. Made me crave her pain and her sweetness. Her blood and her heartbeat. But I walked by her, ignoring her, and kept heading down the stairs to the dark-haired toy I didn’t give a shit about, to make her clean up a mess that was fucking stupid, all so I could convince my dad I wasn’t going to betray him.

Maybe he should have named me Judas instead.

I slipped into the basement holding area quietly while my father snored away in his bedroom. My heart pounded so loudly I feared it would wake him, but I had to check on her, to make sure she hadn’t lost her will to fight. My shoulders ached, and I held my arms across my stomach to support them. But it didn’t matter; battered and bloody, she still needed to see me. To know I was going through hell too. That she wasn’t alone. That we were together in this. At the bottom of the stairs, Celia jerked in her cage, her eyes wide with fear.

“I’m not him,” I whispered.

“Jacob? What happened?”

“Dad’s punishment.”

“You want to hurt her too?”

“Never,” I said in a harsh whisper. But maybe I did. I wasn’t sure. She confused me. Right now, I wanted to pull her into my arms and run my fingers through her hair to soothe her. I wanted to kiss her and rock her to sleep. I wanted her protected. But I wanted to be inside her. With me inside her, my father’s touch would be replaced. I’d erase him from her psyche the only way I knew how. But I wanted to stretch her over my knee and beat her ass blue for letting him in, for not fighting hard enough.

“You want to do to her what your father does, Jacob. What do you think that means?”

“I’m not my father, but I don’t know anything else.”

Celia pulled back in her cage, dragging her knees under her chin in the faded light. Only a singular bulb lit my way to Alana. I had no way to open the cage. My father never let the key be away from him, and breaking the lock would let him know I was here, or get her hurt before I was strong enough to get her out of here.

“Alana?”

She tensed but didn’t turn around.

“Please, Alana. Let me see your face,” I begged.

Slowly, gingerly, she rolled over, and I sucked in a pained and angered breath, resting my head against her cage. Her face was puffy and red, bruising already turning blue around her mouth and right eye. Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving dirty trails in their wake, and her hair stuck to the grime on her skin. He’d pounded her, leaving bites and scratches down her bare back. She hadn’t earned the right to wear clothing yet, and she covered her breasts with bruised arms and hiked up her knees to her chest.

“Talk to me,” I said.

She looked at me, her gaze scanning over my swollen face, split lip, and mussed hair.

“Yeah, he hurt me too,” I whispered. “Are you okay?” I sighed roughly. “That’s stupid, of course you aren’t okay. I don’t know how to do this. Help me.”

I closed my eyes, pressing harder against her bars, wishing I could get to her.

“Does it hurt?” she croaked.

“No.” I didn’t hurt like she did; there was no comparison.

“It’s agony,” she said. Her eyes were hollow pits.

“I wish I could hug you.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have to touch you. I …”

She bit her lip. “Can you hold my hand?”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

I stretched my arm, pain and all, as far as I could through the bars, ignoring the screaming rush of fire spreading down my back. I didn’t care that holding my arm at that angle made tears clog my throat. I didn’t give a shit about any of it. I turned myself sideways and forced my body partially into her cage until all she had to do was reach out and I was there. She didn’t even have to get off the mattress. I bore the brunt of the pain, and it didn’t matter. Her cold, slender fingers wrapped around mine, barely a grasp, but enough, and I held her. I let her close her eyes and slip into restless sleep. And when Celia tried to call me away from her, I ignored her. Alana needed me, and I was here. I could do this at least.

“A little longer, then I’ll leave.”

I don’t know who I was trying to convince, Celia or me, but I still held on. My heart jerked with the way she gripped me, and it felt different to be an anchor. Without pain or violence, just touch. My father had never shown me this, and a flash of my mother warmed me—a moment of her arms around me, her kissing my skinned knee.

“There, all better.”

“There, all better,” I whispered to Alana and released her.

It took everything inside me to leave her behind and find my way back to my bedroom. Right then, I would have gladly switched places with a toy, and it terrified me.

“That fucking bastard. That insignificant, piece-of-shit bastard!” I raged in my shower because it was safe.

The water made noise as it pelted my body and the walls, keeping my voice muffled even though I faced the door. I didn’t close my curtain so I could see if my father was trying to sneak in. He took Alana, not once but twice, while Celia cleaned up the mess we’d made in the kitchen before I dragged her back to her cage. And then the fucker had her too. He made sure I couldn’t see Alana when he cleaned her up and was far enough away after he was finished that it wouldn’t have made any sense to go back downstairs. He may like the way I was changing, but he didn’t trust me yet.

Not that I would have expected him to, but it didn’t make the situation any better. I hated that he touched her, that he knew her taste. That she had to accept him or he would kill her. That he knew I hated it only made him enjoy it more.

“I’m going to kill him, Alana, I swear. One day, I’m going to lay him at your feet, cut open from neck to gut, and it’s going to be my gift. I promise you.”