Days. Weeks. Months.

I have no idea how much time has passed since Dante stole me.

Time means nothing anymore.

I thought I was a force to be reckoned with. I thought I would fight every second of every day for my freedom. Dante taught me how mistaken I was.

Most seconds I can’t even lift my head up off the ground. I can’t stand. I can’t see.

Seconds are how I measure my life. I can’t think beyond that.

This second, I’m lying on the cold floor of the torture room. I haven’t left since I arrived. There are no windows. No bathroom. No light.

It’s a dark room, but I welcome the pitch-black. It helps me sleep at all hours of the day, which is the only reason I’m still breathing.

Sleep has been my savior.

I hear footsteps outside my door. Dante said he had a surprise in store for me when he returned. Was that hours, or days, ago?

Dante’s surprises aren’t surprises. He’s given me half a dozen surprises already, and they all involved bringing in more men to share in the ‘fun,’ as he calls it.

Dante talks like he hasn’t broken me yet. Like I still have a fighting spirit he hasn’t figure out how to tame yet.

He’s wrong. I’m broken. Physically I know I have dozens of broken bones. My left wrist flops when Dante ties me up, my right knee shattered when Dante whacked me with a bat. I’m not sure I have any ribs left intact after Dante kicked me numerous times in the chest.

I have nothing left to fight for.

Even if I did survive, I would be a hollow shell compared to the woman I was before. I would go through my days staring into the abyss, my mind most definitely stuck in the dungeon my body is trapped in now.

Yes, occasionally I gather enough strength to spit in someone’s face, bite a finger, or give a swift kick to a groin, if I’m really in a fighting mood. But it’s not fighting. It’s revenge.

I don’t care if I die anymore. I just need Dante and Roman to suffer.

The door crashes open, rattling the doorframe, as steady boots stomp inside my cage.

I used to shutter at such sounds, but I no longer do. I don’t care if Dante is here or if he’s gone. It makes no difference. I no longer feel pain. I feel nothing.

Lights flick on, and I close my eyes. The light too bright for me to keep my swollen eyes open.

“Such a good whore. You are exactly where I left you.”

I don’t answer. Where did Dante expect me to go? I have a broken leg, and he tied my legs with shackles to the post behind me. I didn’t have any options but to stay exactly where he left me: naked and slumped on the floor.

“Stand, whore.”

I can’t stand, idiot.

I feel Dante’s eyes burning into me. I expect the kick will come soon, but I don’t brace myself for it.

“No,” I spit back. Maybe I’m feeling more defiant than I realized.

The kick jerks my body backward and hard against a wall. Other than my body moving, I don’t feel the pain I would expect from being kicked with solid boots at full force. It’s all the same pain to me.

It benefits me. I no longer whimper or groan. I give Dante none of the sounds that turn him on. Now, he tries harder to evoke those sounds from me. He’ll keep attempting until I’m dead.

Maybe today will be that day?

No.

That word has hovered around in my head and heart every time I’ve wished I was dead.

No.

I don’t know why. I don’t know where the hope or strength comes from, but it floats through my body, filling my soul, all the same.

No.

“Stand, whore.”

“No.”

“I told you she had a spirit, unlike any woman I’ve ever had. She’s been here a month, and she never breaks. In fact, she may have grown stronger. She controls her whimpers for the most part, but today, I think that will change.”

Another kick to the ribs. This one doesn’t send me flying back. I’m already against the wall. I hear something cracking in my body. What was it this time? More ribs? My leg? Or my skull cracking?

No. No. No. Don’t focus on the tiny slivers of pain creeping in. I’m dead. Nothing can hurt me.

I feel the tears starting in my eyes. I don’t know how they formed. I’m dehydrated from crying so much when I first got here. I thought all my tears were empty.

One month, Dante said. Have I really been here that long?

It seems like longer and shorter at the same time.

One month. Has Matteo or Arlo realized I’m gone yet? I told Matteo I would be gone for a month. After not hearing from me, or my security team, for this long, would he come for me finally? How much longer do I have to hold on?

Another kick.

A low growl.

Wait…a growl? Did I make that sound?

My puffy eyes flicker open, as wide as I can bring them. I don’t have access to a mirror, but I don’t doubt I look bad. My face has to be all sorts of shades of reds, blacks, and yellows, as different parts of my face are in different phases of healing. And my cheeks, in particular, are at least twice the size they usually are.

I see men. At least five standing over me. I don’t bother to count the exact number. That should scare me. It doesn’t.

One more kick.

And this time I definitely hear the growl. It’s not mine. My head darts in the direction of the sound. My eyes are too clouded to see clearly, but I swear I see an angel.

“Mr. Conti, would you like a turn?” Dante says, lust dripping off his voice.

Mr. Conti. A vision creeps in, one I’ve played over and over in my head. Mr. Conti barges into the dungeon with my brothers. He apologizes profusely, telling me he never wanted to turn me over to Dante. He had to, to save me later. But now that Conti’s here, standing over me, I realize it was a stupid dream that will never become a reality.

Mr. Conti moves forward, and he still looks like an angel in my eyes. A cloud of fog forms around his head, shining brightly in the darkness of the world I’m trapped in. I know it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me, but he was the culprit. He was the one who growled. He didn’t like what Dante was doing to me. This man won’t hurt me. I don’t care why he’s here; he won’t hurt me.

A sly grin forms on Conti’s face, and it warms me a second.

Then I’m kicked. Hard into the wall.

And the illusion of Conti being an ally shatters. He’s as much of a monster as any man in this room.

“Now stand, whore,” Dante says.

“Don’t you think if I could stand, I would? I want nothing more than to look you all in the eyes so that when I do get free, I will know who to torture and kill.”

Men chuckle. Not Conti. His eyes never leave mine. His jaw twitches and I swear his eyes are trying to tell me something, but I have no idea what.

He’s not on my side. No one is. It’s just my imagination.

Dante snaps his fingers, and I’m on my feet. Hands grip my arms too tightly, and I try to balance on my uninjured leg only to realize it’s just as useless as my other leg. When did Dante break my other leg? How did I miss that?

“Oh whore, today I share you, but tonight, you’re mine alone,” Dante says in my ear before biting my earlobe.

He’s never gentle. Not even for a second. He’s relentless in his pursuit to cause me harm. It never stops. I don’t know how he has the energy to hurt me while still keeping up with his job.

“On the bed,” Dante orders.

Hands drag me to the bed. Shackles release from my legs. No longer needed with five powerful men in the room. Not that it was needed before. I couldn’t walk, but I guess Dante thought I would crawl.

I’m spread open, something that used to embarrass me now seems like nothing.

Look at my body you disgusting cunts! Look at what a beautiful woman you are breaking, and tell me how you would like your karma handed to you for what you’ve done. The words form in my head, but I don’t think I have the strength to make them leave my mouth.

“The guest of honor can have his way with her first,” Dante says.

I don’t care who the guest of honor is. They will all rape me. Defile me. Break me.

No.

I won’t let them break me.

Conti moves in close, settling between my legs, grabbing them with his hands. He’s going to be the first to rape me. I pull hard once. It’s all the energy I have. One of my legs gets free, and I kick Conti in the side. He doesn’t move. It was a weak kick. I’m surprised I even had the strength.

The grips on my arms and legs tighten as I’m spread wider for him. His clothes are still on, but the men don’t usually reveal anything but their cock to me. While I’m naked. Always.

I watch as Conti begins to undo his pants and a single tear trickles down my cheek. I hate the damn tear. And I don’t even have arms to wipe it away. Every man here can see my weakness.

It’s been a long time since I cried. Or felt anything. But watching as my angel turns back into the devil has done it.

I close my eyes tightly. I won’t open them again. I need to find a happy place to survive. But there is no memory or dream left which can take me away from here. I need to sleep. But I can’t.

I open my eyes again. I can’t help myself. I need to see Conti turn into the monster I knew he always was. I need to make sure he’s added firmly to my revenge list, instead of living in my fantasies.

Smack. A hand shoots fire against my face. One of the hardest assaults I’ve ever experienced. My head is spinning, and I can’t open my eyes.

Conti punched me in the face. He’s too much of a coward to rape me fully conscious. Asshole.

I start drifting in and out of consciousness, but I won’t fully let sleep consume me. I’ll remember every moment of this, while I play brutal images of what I will do to Conti when I get free. He’s a bigger monster than all the rest. And now I know I’m really on my own.