I couldn’t move. The foul smell of the dark room and rot made me want to gag, except I had nothing left in my stomach. This was a nightmare. I had learned to breathe this fear of not knowing when the next whip would come.
Dante Willard thrived on taunting me.
This was the taste of the terror that Isla endured for the duration of her life. Minutes turned into hours. Hours turned into days and nights.
My shoulders screamed from the pain, my head pounded and my vision blurred.
I might die here. Silent tears mixed with the sweat on my face.
Exhaustion was heavy in my lungs and my bones, but I still found strength to curse at my own stupidity. Isla made her sacrifice for my life worthless because at the end, I was too weak to fight. I had no idea where we were. In the cellar. Somewhere in the Caribbean I thought.
Tick. Tock.
I lost the sense of time. The basement was dark, without any glimpse of light. No windows. Desperation replaced my fear of darkness. I grew weaker and more desperate by the hour.
Dying would be a welcome reprieve.
But I kept fighting. I kept on breathing, my mind revolting at the idea of giving up.
I bit into my lip anticipating another lash of the whip. It didn’t come. But my body refused to relax. My mind knew the pain would come. Maybe I had reached the numbing point and nothing would hurt anymore. I lost count after twenty.
Crack.
I cried out as the whip slashed across my back. Yanking on my hair, he wrenched my head back. His breath made my stomach churn. I struggled to breathe and desperately attempted to jerk away from him.
I needed space to breathe.
Dante’s mouth crushed down on mine. Bile rose in my throat. I hated his touch. I hated everything about him. I bit him. Hard.
He yelped, jumping away from me like I had burned him.
My head flopped forward and a hard punch followed. Pain exploded in my skull. Black dots swam in my vision. I blinked them away.
“Maybe we get your son,” he taunted. “How fast will you break then?”
Panic in my chest suffocated me. Lack of oxygen in my lungs made me lightheaded. Or maybe it was from lack of blood flow.
Screams in the distance. Some poor soul enduring something that I was certain would come my way.
“Soon it will be your turn,” Dante promised, confirming my thoughts.
My head throbbed. My vision blurred. Fear exploded in my chest, but hope still lingered. That Jungkook would protect Nevio. Maybe he didn’t care about me, but he cared about Nevio. They’d never get their hands on him. Isla’s legacy would live on through him.
“That fucker Jeon had you first.” The bitterness in Dante’s voice was unmistakable. “You were my repayment and there you went spreading your legs for Jeon scum.”
Crack.
Another whip slashed across my skin. “He might have fucked you, but I’m going to break you.”
A choked sob burst from my throat, but I quickly swallowed it. Isla never gave Father the satisfaction of crying. I wouldn’t give this asshole the satisfaction either.
It was then I felt it. His meaty, disgusting hands between my thighs, shoving them apart. His pelvis grinding into me.
I shook my head. No. No. No.
My mouth moved, but no sound came out. Please, no.
His fingers inched closer. Bile rose in my throat, a disgusting shudder rolled down my spine and goosebumps rose on my skin.
No. No. No.
Another inch and he brushed against my entrance. I jerked away, but there was nowhere to go. There was no running away from his dirty, disgusting fingers. There was no Isla to save me.
He forced my legs further apart and I fought him. Hard.
Not hard enough.
His other hand grabbed my hair and whipped it backwards, making pain explode through my scalp.
“Stop,” I whimpered.
He refused, pushing his fingers inside me. A scream tore from my lips, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. I screamed until my lungs burned, until my throat turned raw and all the while tears rolled down my face, the stinging a welcomed pain.
He thrust his fingers in, pain swelling through me, consuming me. I could feel his stale breath against my neck and his hard length pressing against my back. He breathed loudly, in and out, rubbing his cock against me, grunting.
I stilled and he thought he won. I heard this victorious chuckle, but my body remained immobile. Until he was exactly where I needed him to be. His head behind mine, his mouth against my ear.
I jerked my head backwards, our skulls crashing together. Stars swam in my vision and he cursed, his fist smashing my head against the wall. I felt warm liquid. His or mine, I didn’t know. I struggled to see. Dots swam in my vision, blackness danced, tempting me to oblivion.
Then his hand curled around my throat. “No wonder your daddy didn’t want you. Fucking whore.”
“I don’t give a fuck about my daddy,” I gasped out, holding on to my consciousness with desperation. His grip around my neck tightened.
I’m dying. I was suffocating. I prayed for oblivion. For relief. To end this suffering. But not while he was in the room.
Isla endured years of torture. It had only been days for me, maybe, and I was ready to succumb.
Fight! I could almost hear Isla’s voice. Fucking fight!
His grip loosened and air came rushing back into my lungs. And so did more tears. They rolled down my cheek without my permission, and stinging followed in its path. I didn’t need a mirror to know my face was covered in cuts and bruises.
“A whore,” Dante spat out the words in disgust. He took two steps forward, then gripped my chin, squeezing my jaw too tightly as he jerked my head to the left.
“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be screaming my name.”
And all I could do was wait.
End of Y/n pov.