Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
“Rico—” Mom started, but I was done.
I’d had enough.
My control fucking snapped.
I yanked the gun I always carried from the small of my back and pointed it at my mother, putting a bullet right between her brows. Blood splattered all over the wall behind her and the pale blue, dirty sheets on her bed right before she slumped, half her body hanging off the mattress. I arched a brow at the fucker standing in the doorway, blocking my exit, looking at the scene in front of him in disbelief. “You want the same fate?” I asked him impatiently. I waved the gun for him to move. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
He quickly stepped aside, letting me pass. I snatched my bag up and stormed out of the room. The gunshot had woken up everyone else in the house, but I didn’t care. I passed by all of them, daring them to fucking try me.
They didn’t.
I guessed putting a bullet in my mother’s skull was warning enough that I didn’t care what bodies I dropped. I’d kill every single last one of them in that fucking house if it meant I finally got the fuck out of there.
When my feet hit the sidewalk and I began heading toward the Greyhound station downtown, a cold, twisted smile tilted my lips.
Freedom.
I could finally fucking taste it.
CHAPTER ONE
Anurak
My arms trembled, and pain shot through my hands and fingertips as I pressed them against the flooring. My knees were beyond bruised and were bleeding as I put one leg forward, crawling toward my master. Every part of me ached. I was hurting so badly. Tears were threatening, but I knew crying would just bring on an even worse punishment.
I’d spilled my milk at breakfast when Master had started shouting at Marie, the cook, for his yolk not being runny enough in his eggs. It’d frightened me, jerking me out of the headspace I liked to sink into every morning, and my arm had hit the glass of milk, spilling it all over me, the table, and the floor.
Master had stripped me bare, beaten my ass with a wooden spoon until my skin broke and blood ran down my thighs, and then, he’d forced me to my knees, telling me I’d be crawling for the rest of the day.
He’d been making me crawl for over twelve hours now.
One of Master’s guards stopped in front of me, the overhead light of the living room making his black, polished shoes gleam. I swallowed vomit. If one of the guards was bothering me, it was because Master wanted me down in the basement.
The basement was where the true torture happened. Where he let other men touch me and rape me and violate me. Where I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t cry. I just had to take it all and will myself not to fall apart until I reached the safety and comfort of the cage beneath Master’s bed.
That’d been my “room” for years now. I didn’t remember what freedom was like. I’d forgotten what the outside world was like. All I knew were the walls of this mansion and pain. So much pain. But beneath Master’s bed with the lock on my door, I knew he wouldn’t bother me until morning time.
I figured that was as close to freedom as I would ever get.
“Boss wants you downstairs,” the guard growled. “Let’s go.” He nudged my sore knee with his boot, and I bit back a whimper. I hurried after him, even though the pain was excruciating, knowing what would happen if I didn’t follow at the guard’s pace. He’d report me to Master, and Master would punish me much worse.
I couldn’t handle more. I definitely couldn’t handle worse, even though I was headed straight for it.
The reminder had bile rising up my throat at an alarming rate. I barely swallowed it back down.
The guard pushed open the door to the basement, and the strong scent of blood, cigar smoke, and liquor assaulted my nostrils. I swallowed vomit. “Go,” the guard growled. “He’s already pissed with you.”
I swallowed thickly and eyed the wooden stairs in front of me before forcing myself to crawl down them, which was already treacherous. When splinters began biting into my palms and knees, tears rolled down my cheeks. I bit back a sob, my shoulders trembling with the effort.
“Ah, there’s the boy,” Master crooned. “Still crawling like the obedient little boy he is.”
I wasn’t a little boy anymore. I was nineteen. But to Master, I would always be his “little boy”. It made my stomach roil, knowing he wanted me to still be a child. He was nothing more than a pedophile. So sick and twisted and fucked up.
A pair of dirty, scuffed boots entered my vision, and then, the owner of said boots was crouching, his fingertips pressing beneath my chin to tilt my head up. I blinked through my tears, my breath stalling in my chest.