Saving Her - Eden Summers Page 0,1

right. I cling so tight.

Anger is all I have.

I hoard the emotion deep in my chest, using it as armor. I rarely show my fear anymore and never, ever weakness. I stopped giving him insight to those parts of me long ago, back when I figured out he detests fragility.

What he enjoys is the battle.

It’s what he craves.

And as much as I hate to hand him his filthy perversions on a silver platter, it’s far better to live under his roof than inside the haunted walls of the place where he houses the majority of his sex slaves.

Here, in his Greek Island mansion, I’m only forced to do unimaginable things once or twice a week.

If I was sent to live with his less fortunate captives, I’m led to believe I’d have to perform once or twice an hour. The beating and torture would be unending instead of intermittent.

Permanent, not cyclic.

He releases my hair and grips my chin, his fingers digging into skin. “Don’t worry. One day I’ll grow tired of you.”

I swallow, the deep chill of fear increasing.

It’s such a twisted, nauseating reality to want to be here. To fight to remain under this roof where I have clean sheets and a comfortable bed. I’ve made friendships in this gilded cage. I have relative freedom.

I’ll do anything—give anything—to remain as far as possible from the revolving door of Luther’s personal harem. And so far, my tactics have worked. I’m the longest-standing woman in residence, having seen innumerable victims—sisters—come and go during my time.

I can’t lose my position.

I’ll never survive if I’m forced to leave.

“Go.” He shoves me backward, chin first. “Make yourself look pretty. We’re going to have visitors soon.”

I stumble, quickly righting myself, the voice of curiosity tingling at the tip of my tongue.

Visitors are never a good thing. New faces mean new perversions. Fresh instruments of torture.

“I’ll make sure I’m at my best.” I turn and walk for the door, my stride confident before I grab the handle and twist.

I should be relieved to have survived another night in his bed. But that emotion is never present. Not when I’m dead inside.

No, not dead.

Death would be a blessing. Pure nirvana.

Instead, I’m constantly plagued by life. Every breath is a punishment.

I step into the hall, my anger spiking when I see Robert standing in wait, his back against the wall, his mouth curved in a sickening grin.

“Afternoon.” He licks his lips, his gaze riveted on my bare chest. “Did you have a good night?”

I maneuver around him, determined not to engage.

“It sounded like you were enjoying yourself.” He pushes off the wall and follows after me, his bulky frame hovering close at my back, raising the hair on my neck. “You know your screams make me hard.”

I keep walking, keep eating up the distance to my room.

“How does it feel knowing you’ll soon be mine?” he taunts.

I stop, not just my steps, but my breathing.

“You heard right.” There’s humor in his voice. “Luther agreed to hand you over once he’s finished with you. Isn’t it a relief to find out you’ll be saved from the whorehouse yet again?”

Everything kicks back in—my fractured heartbeats, my panicked speculation, and so much stifling anger. It takes all my strength not to let my emotions show.

Luther is a monster. Always has been. Always will be. But Robert’s violations will be an even deeper layer of hell seeing as though I’ve been an untouchable temptation to him for so long.

I raise my chin. Square my shoulders. “I look forward to our time together.” I don’t wait for a reply. My numb feet carry me along the hall, his laughter haunting me as he leaves in the opposite direction.

When I reach the door to my shared bedroom, the slightest sense of relief warms my chest until quickened footsteps carry from the kitchen.

“Penny, wait.” Tobias, Luther’s son, runs along the hall, his tiny frame barreling toward me.

I force a smile. I force so much fake bravado for this boy that it physically pains me. “Hey, little man. What are you up to this morning?”

He beams up at me, not acknowledging my nudity or the myriad of new bruises and scratches now marking my skin.

The sight before him is normal. The brutality an everyday occurrence. This beautiful little boy, with his sleek black hair and his deep blue eyes, is immune to the horrors surrounding him.

“I finished the writing task you gave me.”

“Already?” I ruffle his hair. “That was fast.”

“I’ve been awake forever. Dad took me out