Chapter 8

“You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, princess,” the scarred man said, his grin widening to reveal more yellowed teeth. He raised a hand, gesturing to the two men lurking in the shadows behind him. “Boys, hold her. Let’s see how much bite she has when she can’t move.”

The two hulking figures stepped forward instantly. They were massive, their shadows swallowing Lydia’s small frame as they closed in. One grabbed her shoulders, his grip like iron, while the other pinned her legs against the cold stone floor.

“Let go of me!” Lydia snarled, thrashing against them, but it was like fighting a mountain. The man on her shoulders leaned his weight down, forcing her back against the damp wall. “I’ll kill you both! I swear it!”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard it all before,”

The two men laughed, a harsh, grating sound that filled the cramped cellar. “She’s a feisty one, Jax! I told you she’d be fun!”

The man holding her shoulders leaned in close, his breath hot and smelling of tobacco against her ear. “You think you’re so tough, princess? Let’s see how long that attitude lasts.”

His hands moved from her shoulders to the collar of her tunic, his fingers hooking into the fabric. With a violent yank, he ripped the material downward, the sound of tearing cloth loud in the small space. Lydia gasped, her body tensing as the cold air hit her skin.

“Stop it!” she screamed, thrashing wildly, but the man pinning her legs pressed his knee harder into her thigh, bruising the bone. “Get off me!”

“Shhh,” the second man whispered, his hand sliding roughly over her waist.

“You’re gonna learn real quick that nobody’s coming to save you,” he murmured, his palm pressing flat against her stomach, sliding upward with a sickening familiarity.

Lydia’s nails dug into the dirt of the floor, her muscles straining until they burned. “I’ll kill you,” she spat, her voice trembling not with fear, but with pure, unadulterated rage. “I’ll find everyone of you and make you regret the day you were born.”

The scarred man laughed, stepping closer until his knees were inches from her face. He reached down and grabbed the hem of her remaining clothing, tugging at it with a cruel slow deliberation. “Big words for a girl in chains.”

“She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that,” the one with the silver dagger said, stepping into the light. He leaned over her, his eyes roaming her body with a predatory hunger.

“You need to learn your place, princess,” the scarred man growled. His hand swung fast—a heavy, open palmed slap that cracked against Lydia’s cheek like a gunshot.

Her head snapped to the side, the force of it rattling her teeth. She tasted copper immediately, a warm trickle blooming from her split lip and running down her chin.

“There,” he said, his voice low and satisfied. “Now you look like you belong to us.”

He knelt between her pinned legs, his face inches from hers. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in and ran his tongue slowly along the cut on her lip, savouring the metallic taste of her blood. Lydia shuddered, a sound of pure disgust ripping from her throat.

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed, her eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall.

“Disgusting?”

He chuckled, a dark, wet sound in the back of his throat. “I think you’re gonna find I’m a lot of things, princess. And ‘disgusting’ is just the beginning.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear as his hand slid lower, gripping her hip with bruising force. “You know what we’re gonna do to you? We’re gonna take our time. Every inch of you. By the time we’re done, you won’t even remember your own name, let alone that Alpha boyfriend of yours.”

Lydia’s body shook, not from fear, but from the sheer need to fight. “He’ll find you,” she rasped, her voice cracking. “He’ll tear this place apart.”

“Let him try,” the man with the silver dagger chimed in, stepping closer.

“By the time he even thinks to look for you, you’ll be nothing but a memory.”

The scarred man grinned, his hand moving from her hip to her throat, not squeezing yet, just letting her feel the weight of his palm. “See? Even your own men agree. You’re alone, Lydia.”

He said her name like it was something dirty, something he owned. The two men holding her down tightened their grip, their knuckles white. One of them leaned his weight into her chest, making it hard for her to draw a full breath.

“Now,” the scarred man said, his voice dropping to a hushed tone that made the hair on the back of Lydia’s neck stand up. “Let’s see how loud you can scream.”

He reached for the fastening of his belt, his eyes never leaving hers.