Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Three dead women lay in the hole only a few feet away with ungodly bruises covering their thighs. I now knew exactly how they’d acquired those injuries. With every agonizing second, I felt the skin, tendons, and vessels in my own legs smash and break against the barrel.
He’d hurt those women here. Just like this. He’d hurt them until they’d died.
Every moment beneath him devastated more flesh, thrusting me deeper, further into a place where the spirit stopped living. The pain was of the lowest, most wretched kind, the anguish so constant and complete it became the only thing that existed.
I took a breath. Breathed again. It was all I could do, and so it was all I focused on. I breathed through intervals of him finishing and starting again. Each inhale was a grapple for sanity, each exhale a stumble to retain it.
My tears gradually dried, my body too exhausted to produce them. But I didn’t stop breathing.
I was a pirate captain. The ferocious daughter of Edric Sharp. If my tormentor meant to break me, he would need a sharper, stronger, more significant weapon than his body.
That was what I told myself.
Amid the pain, time moved at an agonizing pace. Sometimes it didn’t move at all. But eventually, he gave a final heave and walked away, his footsteps retreating up the ladder and beyond the hatchway.
If there was any relief to be had, I didn’t feel it. He’d left me on the barrel, drenched in his sweat and other fluids. I couldn’t move, couldn’t see, the rag in my mouth softened by spit and tears.
I lay there for an infinite eternity, forced to think about every inch of flesh he’d touched, every muscle he’d bruised, every opening he’d stretched and bled. Time became a torture on its own, until I lost track of it, sinking in and out of consciousness.
At some point, the two lieutenants returned.
They removed the gag and blindfold and pushed me to my knees on the planks. Eatables were offered. Salt fish and water.
Nausea rose at the sight of it, my stomach refusing to accept sustenance. But I didn’t know if or when the offer would come again. So I choked down the food and drank the fluid without tasting it.
Then they returned me to the black hole, locked my chain to the wall, and left me with the rotting, nidorous corpses of my predecessors.
I curled up on my side as much as the shackles allowed, shaking in the rancid heat. And I slept.
Until they came again.
Again and again, the officers pulled me from the hole and restrained me on the barrel. Over and over, the man who reeked of onions returned and defiled my body. Sometimes his visits were quick. A few thrusts and done. Other times, I thought the never-ending torture would rip me in half.
Whenever the officers came, I fought and screamed and begged for news about Ashley. Had he returned? Was he well? Did he find his feral pirate? How long had it been? I pleaded for answers until they stuffed the gag into my mouth.
They never spoke. Not a word between them and certainly not one offered to me. But I didn’t need conversation to understand the intentions of men.
Women existed to them as nothing more than vessels for pleasure. Worthless slaves for whomever they answered to. It didn’t matter how much pain they caused me. My health was of no concern as long as I was breathing when we reached England. If I died incidentally… Well, they would still have a body to deliver. Ashley would still receive his promotion.
They would never be punished for the horrendous murders of my fellow captives. The laws of Englishmen didn’t protect African slaves or rebellious pirates. There would be no justice.
Every time they returned, they restrained me, gagged and blindfolded, to the barrel and scrubbed my body with vinegar water to kill the stench of death. Then the other man would come, and it would be only him and his terrible cruelty. Afterward, I was chained in the black hole with the decaying bodies.
As the days passed, the air became absolutely pestilential. How many days? How often did they come? The displacement of time had a way of fracturing the mind. Some days, I struggled to hold onto a thread of rational thought.
They fed me bites of fish after every violation. My hunger pangs remained the least of my torments, and my throat never felt parched beyond what I could handle. They came often enough to keep me hydrated.
Daily visits, I decided. The constant pain between my legs suggested that some of those visits occurred multiple times a day.
I’d been in here long enough that my stitches needed to be removed. When the tight, itchy skin became unbearable, I spent hours twisting unnaturally in my shackles and using the broken edge of a fingernail to pick the threads from the underside of my foot.