Defaced: A Dark Romance Novel Page 19

  A phone call by the man in the passenger seat had the gate rolling open, and the vehicles drove up to the premises beyond.

  The SUV came to a halt, and the engines switched off. The trunk opened, and another man with a gun jerked the barrel toward her. “Come on, bitch. Get up.”

  With no other choice, she did as she was told and climbed out, her feet hitting gravel.

  The man shoved her in the back, pushing her forward. “Hurry up. The bosses are waiting for you.”

  She didn’t want to cry. She needed to be strong in this situation, though it wasn’t looking good. No one would rescue her now. If all Monster’s men had been killed, there was no one to come after her. She’d not yet finished her treatments on Monster’s face, and he wouldn’t leave the house, especially not for her.

  The property was of a similar style to Monster’s, only not as well maintained. White paint peeled from the walls, and a number of floor tiles were chipped and cracked. She wasn’t given time to take in much more as she was pushed and shoved toward a room at the back of the house. A set of double, dark wood doors barred her way, but someone stepped ahead and opened them, and then pushed her through. She stumbled and fell to her knees, landing heavily. Her hair hung over her face, and she bit back tears as her knees and palms smarted from the fall.

  Laughter made her look up.

  “What have we got here? A white girl?”

  She lifted her head to see two men standing before her, both with the same complexions as the men who had taken her. One of the men appeared younger than the other, and was shorter, though they looked similar, with the same wide-set oval eyes and flared noses.

  Quickly, she assessed the rest of her surroundings. Positioned at the back of the room were two identical mahogany desks. Beneath her hands and knees stretched dark floors, and large, expensive looking oil paintings in ornate gold frames hung on the walls. Thick floor to ceiling drapes decorated the tall windows.

  While the room was filled with luxuries, that was where any hint toward class ended. Empty bottles of spirits lay on the floor, and trash spilled from the cans beside the desks. Plus, she wasn’t the only woman in the room. Two girls sprawled on a couple of couches on the other side of the space. They wore only cheap nylon underwear and appeared high as they watched her through heavy lidded eyes.

  The man who had brought her into the room spoke. “We took her from the freak’s house. She seemed important to him, though we’re not sure why.”

  The younger of the two men approached her. He reached down and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. “Hmm, an expensive whore, no doubt.”

  She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a whore, but what was the point? He released her face, and she looked back down at the floor.

  “And what of the freak?” the older man asked. “He’s dead, I hope.”

  “Yes. He was buried in the explosion.”

  Lily’s heart clenched with pain. No, please don’t let it be true, she cried in her head. If Monster was dead, then all was lost. She’d lost him, and now she’d be lost to these men. They’d do whatever they wanted with her, and if she was lucky, they’d kill her soon after.

  The man standing over her jabbed her with a foot clad in expensive Italian leather. “So what do you think of that, whore? Your master is dead.”

  She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the retorts wanting to burst from her mouth.

  He laughed. “I expect you’re pleased. I can’t imagine what sort of a freak you’ve been fucking. What’s wrong with him, huh? Does he have two heads? Or weird mutant arms?” He grabbed at his crotch and pushed it in her face. “Now you get to pleasure a real man.”

  She couldn’t help herself any longer. “Get that out of my face before I bite it off.”

  The man froze, fury flashing across his expression. Sudden pain seared through her cheek and she fell backward onto the floor. He’d slapped her, and hard.

  “Don’t talk back to me, bitch. If I tell you to suck my cock, then you suck it. And you’ll do it with a fucking gun to your head if you even attempt to put your teeth on me.”

  He began to work on his belt buckle, and dread clawed its way up her throat like vomit.

  The older man looked toward the men who had brought her in. “Get out of here. My brother and I want a little privacy with the lady.” He turned to the women on the couches. “You, too. Get the hell out of here.”

  The girls gave each other a glance and a bored shrug, grabbed a couple of items of clothing, and sauntered from the room. The men nodded and retreated as well, pulling the dark wooden doors shut behind them as they left.

  Lily flipped herself onto her stomach and clambered to her feet, planning on running for the closed doors.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  She tried to run, but a fist punched her in the lower back, right by her kidney, and she fell forward again, crying out as she did so. She hit the floor, and a moment later one of those expensive Italian shoes connected with her stomach. She let out a gasp of pain and curled into a ball, hoping to protect herself from further blows.

  “That’s okay,” said the older brother. “We like it when you struggle. Makes things even more interesting.”

  “Fuck you,” she spat, uncurling enough to meet his eye, and was rewarded with a punch to the face, the knuckles glancing off her cheekbone. White-hot pain exploded behind her eye and she shrieked, her hand clutching her face. A second blow smashed into her left ear and her head recoiled at the impact, her ear feeling as though it was on fire.

  But her worries about her face were quickly forgotten when hands began to tug at the waistband of her pants.

  “No!” she screamed, kicking out with her bare feet. She caught the older of the two men in the jaw, and he reared back, giving a yell of surprise. He turned on her, hatred and fury in his black eyes.

  “Pin down her arms,” he told her brother.

  The other man curled his upper lip. “So you get to fuck her first?”

  “Just do as you’re told. This little whore needs to learn a lesson in pleasuring a man. I’ll take one hole, you take the other. The bitch has got enough of them and we’ll fill every one before the end of the night.”

  “Don’t you fucking touch me,” she screeched, fighting for all she was worth. She kicked, and bucked, and flailed with her arms, but other than catching the men a couple of light blows, she could do no damage.

  “Keep still, bitch,” the older brother said as he grappled at her thighs. He managed to get hold of the button of her pants and he tore it open, and then ripped the material down her legs, the friction burning her thighs. The other brother had hold of her arms and pinned them to the floor above her head. She wriggled and squirmed, trying to break free, but all she succeeded in doing was thrusting her breasts and crotch out toward the men, and she could tell by the dark, hooded lust in their eyes that her struggles were turning them on.

  The older brother managed to yank her pants off her feet, though thankfully had left her underwear in place. Even so, she felt horribly exposed, and even more so when he unzipped himself and pulled his semi-erect dick from his fly.

  “Oh, God,” she choked. She didn’t even want to look at it, the sight causing waves of hot and cold nausea to wash over her body. He was going to rape her, and it wouldn’t just be once either. They’d take her again and again, however they wanted, until they destroyed her.

  The older brother got to his knees and crawled up her legs. He reached out and grabbed between her thighs, his hard fingers pushing against her most intimate parts. Only the material of her panties prevented him from thrusting his fingers inside her. She recoiled and fought against him, kicking out. He grabbed her thighs and used his knees to pin them down.

  The younger brother still had hold of her arms, but he bunched her wrists into one of his hands, and then reached over the top of her to grope her breast.

  “Hey, she’s got good tits,” he said to his brother. �
��Fat and juicy.”

  The other man laughed. “Fat and juicy, just like her cunt.”

  He squeezed her nipple painfully and she howled and twisted her face away, not wanting to have to watch them molest her. The position of her head brought her face directly in line with the brother’s inner arm. Not thinking, just reacting, she lunged forward and sank her teeth into his flesh.

  Instantly, the hand was off her breast and then her arms were free. The man howled in pain, and the copper taste of blood filled her mouth. A chunk of flesh hung free from his arm.

  “What the fuck?” said the older brother, his hand withdrawing from her underwear.

  With her hands free and her legs still pinned down, Lily had only one choice.

  Hit him where it hurt.

  Though she didn’t want to go anywhere near the semi-erect member hanging between his legs, she sat up, balled her hand into a fist, and punched him as hard as she could in the balls.

  A second howl of pain filled the room as the man fell back from her body, but it was drowned out by the sound of distant gunshots.

  Lily froze and turned toward the noise.

  What the hell now?

  She heard more gunshots and the sound of men shouting. They seemed to be getting nearer. The two brothers were tending their wounds, the older one still rolling on the floor and clutching between his legs, the younger one trying to stem the bleeding from the wound she’d given him.

  The shouts sounded loud—right outside the door—and Lily cowered.

  Suddenly, the door burst open and Monster stood, a gun in each hand, and two dead men at his feet. His eyes flicked to Lily and she saw the horror on his face, which then quickly morphed to anger.

  Both brothers scrabbled for their weapons, but they weren’t quick enough. Monster raised an arm and shot the younger brother in the center of the forehead. He slumped to the ground, his damaged arm no longer a problem. The older brother had recovered from the punch in the balls and was scrambling for his desk, but Monster didn’t let him reach it. He lifted the gun in the other hand and shot him twice—once between his shoulder blades, and again in the back of the head. The man fell to the floor, twitched, and then moved no more.

  “Fucking hell, Flower!” Monster put both guns into the waistband of his pants. He ran to her and dropped to his knees beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Did they hurt you?”

  “I thought you were dead,” she sobbed, not answering his question. She was so relieved to see him. She’d never been happier to see someone in her entire life. “They told me you were dead.”

  “No, I’m fine. Jesus Christ, did they rape you—those fucking sons of bitches!”

  She shook her head. “No, they tried, but I stopped them.”

  He kissed the top of her head and held her tight. “I should have known you wouldn’t have let them win.”

  She trembled all over. “They almost did, though, Monster. They almost—”

  Her voice broke, unable to bring herself to give voice to what had almost happened.

  “Hush. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

  He pulled away and gently touched her face, moving it one way and then the other so he could assess her injuries. “Those bastards. How could they do this to your beautiful face?”

  “I’m okay. Please, let’s just get out of here.”

  He nodded and helped her to her feet. Then he picked up her pants and dressed her. “Put your arms around my neck. I’m taking you home.”

  She realized something. “You left the house.”

  He nodded. “Yes. It seemed all it took was the fear of losing the one person I’ve ever loved.”

  Twenty-four

  Lily blinked open her eyes, confused and disoriented. Where was she, and what had happened?

  She suddenly remembered the brothers, the violence and gun fire, and all the memories came back to her in a rush. She lurched to sitting, but a big gentle hand on her shoulder held her down.

  “Shh, Flower, it’s all right. Everything’s all right. You’re safe.”

  She twisted her head to find Monster’s beautiful brown eyes gazing down at her. She let out a sob and reached for him, and immediately he caught her up in his arms. She pressed her face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, and he held her as she trembled.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

  She pulled away, wincing at her injuries as she did so. One half of her face felt swollen, and she imagined a bruise of multi-colors would traverse her skin. Her ribs hurt, and she had a low ache in the pit of her stomach. But she was alive, and so was he, and that was all that mattered.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “You didn’t hurt me. You saved me from those men.”

  “No, I should never have brought you here. I’ve put your life in danger more than once, and I can’t forgive myself for that.”

  She pressed her lips together, blinking back tears. “What you did was wrong on every level, but if you hadn’t done it, how would I ever have met you?”

  “We should never have met.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t care about you, Flower. That was never the plan.”

  “What about me? You think falling for you was ever in my plans? I should hate you—part of me still does, in a way.”

  He frowned. “You hate me?”

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she was going to say. She didn’t want to hurt him, but he had to know the truth. “I hate aspects of you. I hate what you do for a living. I hate that you thought it was acceptable to have a woman snatched from her life by men who sell women for sex.”

  His frown deepened. “But women sell sex.”

  “Some do so by choice, yes. But many are forced to, and it’s normally because a man is behind it.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “I grew up thinking women were only available for sex or servitude. It was the only time I had their company—until you, of course.”

  “See, that’s the part of you I hate—the way you were raised—if you can even call it that. I know it wasn’t your fault—you were as much of a victim as those women—but since your father died, you could have made changes. You could have left this place, given up your father’s business—”

  “It’s my business now.”

  “And it’s a dangerous business.”

  “I know, and I’m so sorry I dragged you into it. But it’s the reason I wanted this gone.” He lifted his hand to touch his disfigured face. “So I could make them see the sort of man they were dealing with.”

  “The sort of person you are has nothing to do with what your face looks like.”

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Flower. My father told me my whole life that people will judge me because of my face. What he did, he did because he loved me in his own way. He wanted to make me hard and strong. He wanted to prepare me to step into his shoes.”

  Her heart rate stepped up, her skin heating in her anger. “You’re wrong. How your father treated you was nothing short of abuse! What kind of father calls his son ‘Monster’?”

  “It was what he wanted me to be. He wanted the men I’d come up against to be frightened of me. He knew if they saw me, they would only pity me.”

  “No, they wouldn’t have.” Except even as she said the words, she remembered her own reaction the first time she’d seen his face. He’d captured and tortured her, but still the first thing she’d felt upon seeing him was pity. But she’d never agree what Monster’s father had done had been right—the man must have been deranged not to have sought help for Monster when he was a child. The irony was that if he’d done that, Monster’s birthmark would be hugely faded by now, and he’d never have needed to stay hidden within this prison. Her heart broke for him. It wasn’t his fault that he was as damaged as he was. The birthmark was never his fault, and neither were the cruel, abusive conditions his father had kept him in while he was growing up.

  “He knew if I’d b
een allowed into the real world, I’d be softened by relationships and compassion. He knew I’d be affected by those around me, only I didn’t need to leave the house for that to happen, did I? I brought you here, and that’s exactly what has happened.”

  “We have a relationship?”

  He stared into her eyes. “We have more than that, don’t we? When I thought you might be dead, I didn’t want to live myself. I couldn’t see any point in having a future if you weren’t in it.” He reached out and slipped his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her forward till her forehead pressed against his.

  She winced and his expression twisted at her pain. “I’m sorry. I hurt you.”

  “It’s fine. I’m just bruised.”

  “Where does it hurt?

  She lifted her fingers to her cheekbone. “Here.”

  He moved slightly to place a soft, gentle kiss against the bruise.

  “And here,” she said, touching her forehead.

  He kissed her again.

  “And here …” She put her fingers to her mouth.

  A slow smile spread across his face and he touched his mouth to hers. She parted her lips and their tongues met, slow and tentative at first, and then the kiss deepened. She laced her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down to lie beside her. He’d never allowed her to touch him before, fucking her without ever allowing her to be the one to initiate things. Now all she wanted was to get her hands on his body, and she tugged at the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one to reveal his torso. She pulled the shirt from his shoulders and gasped. His beautiful body was covered in bruises and scrapes, a patchwork of blue, green and yellow. The bruises were far worse than his birthmark had ever been, though of course these would fade in time.

  “Oh, my God, Monster,” she gasped. “What happened?”

  “I was caught beneath the rubble in the explosion, but I managed to get out and come and find you.”

  She realized something else she didn’t know. “Where is Tudor?”