Brutal Rape and Beating

Girls POV

My fractured legs pulsed with dull, rhythmic aches as I shoved the metal cart forward. The rusted wheels squeaked against the polished hardwood of the pack house dining area, vibrating up my bruised arms. We had been working since five this morning, scrubbing floors and polishing silverware to prepare for King Vance's annual visit. Every female between seventeen and twenty-five was ordered to attend the banquet. I hated working in the pack house. The males always found excuses to grab me when I walked past.

I pushed the cart, heavy with crystal glasses, near the long oak table. Colette strutted into the room. She wore a pristine silk dress, looking every bit the spoiled brat she was. She thought she was destined to be the next Luna, banking on her relationship with Corbin, the future Alpha.

She snapped her fingers at me. "Get me some water."

I gripped the handle of my cart, my knuckles turning white. "No. You can get it yourself."

Her eyes narrowed. "You are a slave. You do as you are told."

"You are not my boss," I shot back.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I made a fatal mistake. Colette spun on her heel and stormed out. Minutes later, heavy boots pounded against the floorboards. Braddock, the head slave master, marched into the dining room. He didn't say a word. He lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked me backward.

My scalp burned as he dragged me out of the pack house and down the stone steps toward the dungeon. My broken legs dragged uselessly against the rough stone. He hauled me down the dark corridor and threw me hard into a damp cell. My shoulder slammed into the iron bars.

"I'll deal with you later," Braddock sneered, locking the door.

I curled into a ball on the cold floor. I wanted to escape. I had been a slave since I was twelve, dumped in the Cold Stream clan's orphanage as a baby and forced into hard labor the moment I came of age. We lived on stale bread and water, surviving only on the rare extra rations Corbin sometimes sneaked to us.

Footsteps echoed outside the cell. Braddock returned, uncoiling a long leather whip tipped with jagged silver.

"No, please. I'm sorry. I won't do it again," I begged, pressing my back against the damp wall.

"Too late, girl."

"I'm so sorry!"

My tears meant nothing to him. He stepped into the cell and backhanded me across the face. The force snapped my head to the side, making my ears ring. Before I could recover, he grabbed my arms and shoved me face-down onto the dirty cot. He yanked my skirt up and tore my underwear.

Without warning, he shoved his cock deep into my vagina.

I screamed out in pure, agonizing pain. The friction tore at my skin. He grabbed my hips, slamming his body against mine, forcing his dick deeper into me with every brutal thrust.

"Please stop!" I cried out, my voice cracking.

"Shut up, you bitch!" he roared.

"Please stop. That hurts!"

I kept begging. I tried to pull away, but he slapped the back of my head, dizzying me. He clamped his heavy, calloused hand over my mouth, muffling my cries. I stopped fighting. I went limp against the mattress, tears streaming down my face, sobbing quietly as he kept fucking me until he finished.

He pulled out, zipped his pants, and grabbed me by the hair again. I stumbled and tripped as he dragged me out of the dungeon and up into the courtyard toward the whipping tree. He bound my hands to the rough bark.

The silver-tipped whip cracked against the air, then bit into my back. One. Two. Three. Ten deep, bleeding lashes tore through my skin as punishment for talking back.

When he finished, he cut me loose. "Get back to work."

Blood soaked my shirt, but I stumbled back to the main dining area. Colette stood near the table with her friends. She pointed at my bleeding back and laughed. I ignored her and started placing the crystal glasses onto the table. Colette stepped forward and purposely bumped my elbow, sending a glass shattering onto the floor.

The kitchen doors swung open. The head cook stormed out, her face red with rage.

"Quit breaking things!" she screamed, raising her hand and slapping me hard across my bruised cheek.

I didn't respond. I knelt, picked up the broken glass pieces, and finished setting the table. My body screamed for relief. I slipped out the side door and headed into the garden for a quick break. The courtyard was empty, and the afternoon sun offered a brief moment of warmth against my shivering skin.

I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath, but the heavy crunch of boots ruined the silence.

I turned around. Braddock’s fist slammed directly into the side of my head. I crashed into the dirt, stars exploding in my vision.

"Why are you out here?" he demanded, standing over me.

"I was taking a break," I whispered, clutching my throbbing head.

He knelt and slapped me hard enough to split my lip. "Get back to work."

"Yes, sir."

I dragged myself up and limped back to the kitchen. The cook shoved another heavy cart of dishes at me. I pushed it down the hallway, the wheels squeaking loudly. As I passed the Alpha’s office, the heavy oak door stood slightly ajar.

I heard the Alpha shouting into the phone, his voice laced with raw panic.

"What do you mean King Vance knows? If he finds out what we did... if he discovers who we have as a captive, it means war! We cannot let him find out!"

My breath hitched. A hidden captive? War?

I tried to push the cart past the door quickly, but the Alpha stormed out of his office right at that moment. His eyes locked onto me. Without a second of hesitation, he swung his massive hand and slapped me square in the chest, throwing me backward. I hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

He stepped over me without a second glance. I scrambled to my feet, put the carts away, and headed straight to the slave barracks on the edge of the territory.

There were three rundown structures: the female barracks, the male barracks, and the elderly barracks. The old orphanage sat dead in the middle. The conditions were horrible, and most of the elderly slaves were dying. We would all end up there eventually.

I walked into the female bunkhouse. My back burned from the whip lashes, and my skin felt sticky with sweat, blood, and Braddock's scent. I wanted to stand under a hot shower, but slaves weren't allowed that luxury. I walked to the rusty metal sink and washed up as best as I could with freezing water.

I limped over to my bunk—a thin, hard wooden board laid on the dirt floor, covered by a moth-eaten blanket full of holes. It wouldn't keep me warm tonight, but it was all I had. I sat down, every muscle in my body aching.

The wooden door to the barracks slammed open.

Braddock stood in the doorway. He pointed a thick finger at me. "Come with me."

Tears instantly welled in my eyes. I knew exactly what he wanted. But I stood up and followed him, my legs trembling with every step. He led me outside, deep into the dark woods behind the bunkhouse, where no one could hear us.

The moment we were out of sight, he turned and punched me square in the stomach. I doubled over, gasping for air as I fell into the damp leaves.

Before I could recover, Braddock was on top of me. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and ripped it open, exposing my chest. He yanked my skirt up to my waist. He didn't bother with any preamble. He unzipped his pants and forcefully rammed his thick dick into my dry vagina.

I screamed, the raw, tearing pain making my vision go black at the edges. He grunted, thrusting his cock in and out of me with savage, bruising force. I clamped both hands over my mouth to stifle my cries, my nails digging into my own cheeks as I let him finish. I lay there in the dirt, staring up at the dark canopy of trees, feeling like an empty, broken shell.

When he finally finished, he stood up, wiped himself, and threw my torn, ruined shirt at my face.

"Get back to the bunkhouse," he ordered, before turning and walking away into the darkness.

I couldn't move right away. I pulled my knees to my chest and cried in the dirt. Begging didn't stop him. Pleading didn't stop him. Nothing worked.

I stood up, wrapping the torn fabric around my chest. Instead of heading back to the barracks, I walked toward the edge of the woods, where the river dropped off into a massive waterfall. It was the size of a ten-story building. I stood near the edge, looking down at the jagged rocks and the crashing white water below.

I wanted to jump. I wanted to end the endless physical agony, the overwhelming despair, and the sheer helplessness. It would be so easy to just step off the ledge.

I couldn't take this life anymore. Tomorrow was going to be another grueling work day preparing for King Vance's arrival. The pack was busy covering up their slave operations. They would dress us in nice clothes and force us to act like guests taken in by the clan. Sometimes, they made us lie and say we were visiting from neighboring territories.

Last year, I was kept hidden in the barracks during his visit because Braddock didn't want the King to see my bruises. I was sixteen then, maybe. I didn't even know my real age anymore. It had been peaceful for that one night, free from the beatings and the rape.

King Vance came every single year, supposedly searching for his fated mate. But he never found her. As I stared down into the dark abyss of the waterfall, the lingering anticipation of his arrival tomorrow mocked me. I stepped back from the ledge.

He wasn't going to save anyone. Truthfully, I didn't think the King even wanted to find his mate at all.