Torn:Dark Legacy Duet, Book 2

By: Natasha Knight


Her lip curls. “You want to see disgusting?” she asks.

I don’t reply before she starts to undo the top buttons of her dress and turns so her back is to me. She pushes the dress off one shoulder and I gasp at the deep scars there. Like my aunt’s.

“That’s what Scafoni men do to their women. And you still call for him to come to your rescue.”

“Sebastian didn’t do that to you.”

“No, he didn’t. But he did take a turn.” She turns to face me again, buttons her dress back up. “Now get on your hands and knees, Willow Girl.”

I shake my head, glancing from the cane to Ethan. “If you hurt me, Sebastian will kill you.”

“Ethan,” she calls out.

Ethan steps toward us.

“Make her.”

But at that, he hesitates, looks at me, then at her, confused.

“He said I can’t touch her again.”

Sebastian.

He’s talking about Sebastian.

Lucinda looks at him, rage in her eyes. “Make her, Ethan.”

He’s shaking his head, fear in his eyes. “He said no. He said I can’t touch her.”

“And I say you can. She’s yours too. You have a right. Take what’s yours.”

“Don’t, Ethan. He’ll be mad at you,” I say, desperate to buy time.

But the instant I do, I feel the sharp pain of the cane across my middle. I double over, clutching my belly, the line hot to the touch.

“You stupid whore. You think you’ll turn my son against me?” She strikes again, landing a stroke on my side. I turn away from her, try to protect my face, my belly, and she uses it to her advantage, laying three strokes across my shoulders, making me scream.

She fists a handful of my hair and tugs my head backward. Her face is an inch from mine when she spits her order.

“Lie down and take it or I swear I will break your back.”

She pushes me forward and I don’t doubt she will do what she says. I lie down on the decrepit mattress and grip the edges of the cot as she rains down stroke after stroke on my back, ass and thighs, each one harder than the last, until I’m sure I’ll pass out from the pain.

I feel the warmth of piss between my legs. I’ve lost control of my bladder and she’s still beating me, and I think I’m going to die.

God, I want to die.

I’m limp by the time she stops. My arms hang from the sides of the cot. The floor is gritty against the backs of my knuckles and I remember the angel over the mausoleum.

The Watcher.

I remember how her hands were carved into the stone, curled into the ground, not even holding on, defeated and yet watchful.

But I’m not carved from stone.

And I am only defeated.

I have nothing left.

Her shoes click as she walks across the room, and I hear her whisper, giving some order to Ethan. He comes toward me and I pull away, but can hardly move and where would I go? He stands on the side of the bed and I can feel his eyes on me and a brand-new wave of fear turns the blood in my veins to ice.

No.

Please not this.

Not this.

The beating I can take, but this?

I hear him unzip his pants.

God. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Please God don’t let him do this.

Don’t let him rape me.

Please.

Please.

Please.

I wretch then, half on the cot, half off. I’m waiting to feel his hands on me, waiting for him to pull me apart.

And then I hear him. I hear his grunts. Feel the weight of his knee on the bed.

“I’m not touching you,” he says.

I try to drag myself away.

“Sebastian says I’m not to touch you.”

I don’t watch him.

I bury my face and, after a few more minutes, I feel the first spurt of cum on my back. I hear the sounds he makes as he pumps his dick with his hand, covering me, my hair, my back, my ass, careful not to touch me, not with his knee, not with any part of himself.

When he’s done, he stumbles backward. I open my eyes and look at him looking me over, taking in his handiwork.

He zips his pants and walks out the door and this time, I hear the lock turn and I lie there, in my own vomit. In my own piss. Covered in cum.





2





Helena





I don’t know how long I lie there. I fall asleep and when I wake up, I’m sore and freezing cold. I turn my head, wipe my face off. I stink of puke and piss and the smell of stale water permeates this forgotten place, and all I hear is that constant drip, drip, drip.

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