Sociopath's Obsession(35)

Then another thought entered my mind, making me feel even colder.

“You killed him?” It was a valid question. The man was a sociopath. Who knew what he was capable of? That picture on the piano proved he did have a twin.

I didn't want to think about that.

He pushed back, his face transforming to anger. Damian picked up the chair nearest to the bed and threw it against the wall, and he shouted, “Don’t ever say that again. I would have died for my brother.” Then his voice lowered as he tried to regain control. “You are not here to ask questions, Sapphire.”

“Then what am I here for?”

“For me to finally claim you as mine.”





“Get in, piece of shit.” Dominic was tossed inside roughly. I was already there after another session of fucking by the great S. My brother was bleeding, and he had several fresh bruises. Fuck, he probably got Alfred again. The fucker liked some pain with his fucking. He usually made us kneel in front of him as heavy chains shackled our wrists and feet, making it impossible to move. He would pick up a leather belt, wrap it around our throats, and push his dick into us until he got off. John’s people made sure to watch so he wouldn't choke us to death, and since Alfred got off more while someone else was in the room, they considered it a perfect arrangement.

“He is bleeding.” My voice was harsh. John, the man who kept us prisoner all those years, raised his brow and smiled his snake’s smile that used to send chills down my spine when I was a kid, but not anymore. The only thing I wanted to do to him was kill the motherfucker, and I would.

Someday.

“You wanna say that again, toy?” His favorite nickname for us. I hated it with all my being. We were nothing but pawns for them. As much as I hated the times when we were kids, and he took care of us because we were pretty and sold well, I wished he would give a damn now. Dominic looked worse with each day, and I wasn't sure he would last much longer without help.

“He needs help.” John shrugged and then laughed. The two other guards—who he changed every week, so no one would get attached to us and try to help us—laughed along with him.

“And you think I give a fuck? The clients aren't pleased with you two anymore. They don’t like your height and those bones you have, not to mention you aren't that pretty anymore.” He laughed again, and then he lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke in my face. “Be grateful someone still wants your used asses, or both of you would be dead.” They kicked Dominic before I could do anything about it, closed the cage, and left.

Again.

I heard Dominic’s cough, kneeled in front of him, removed the only normal shirt I had, and put it under his head so he could lie down and breathe a little easier.

His neck bore the print of the belt with red bruises. His wrists were covered in dried blood, and by the way he tried to adjust his back, the fucker had given him a rough fucking, probably without much lube. Dominic was skinny, exhausted, and wouldn't last much longer if I didn't think of a solution.

I took some clean water from the sink we had, put it in our bowl, took a cloth, and removed some sweat and blood from his body.

There was semen too. It made me furious, because, once again, he was taken without a condom. For the right price, John allowed the clients not to use condoms on us. It wasn't as if he cared about our health that much.

“Damian,” he whispered, and I just shook my head.

“Don’t talk. Let me clean you up, and then you can put some clothes on and lie down. It’s Sunday tomorrow. No one comes on Sunday, so you have a day to rest. They probably spend those days as perfect family men in their houses. Those fuckers.”

At least, I hoped so. He couldn't take another rough fucking from someone, and he was the more popular of the two of us. Apparently, his smile made them harder than mine did, and I hated it. I preferred to experience all the pain, but couldn't help him in those moments. I was stronger than he was; he was too much like our mother, and it was hard to watch him break.

He was all I had. We didn't have our parents anymore. No one who would give a fuck about us. John let us know how grief destroyed them.

There was a whisper of a smile on Dom’s lips at my words that was quickly gone, and he groaned in pain when I cleaned his foot.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He swallowed some water I brought him, and then his amber eyes, which were a mirror image of mine, focused on me with a question in them. I just raised my brow. We rarely needed words to communicate with each other, but in places like this, it was a damn necessity to talk. Otherwise, we both would have gone crazy. Even the smallest human contact or a few shared words could save our sanity.