Slap. A heavy open hand connected with her cheek, her head whipping to the side from the forceful contact. A dull ache was already chasing across her face before his hand had even withdrawn. Vincent's finger wrapped through her hair, his fist gripping tight on her loose auburn hair as he pulled her up from the bed before flinging her harshly to the ground.
Vincent walked over to her body, crumpled on the ground, and kicked her hard in the stomach. She let out a gasp of pain and struggle; the breath sucked out of her lungs.
"I'm in no mood to play games with you, Riley. I've waited far too long for this." Vincent grabbed the outfit off the bed and flung it at her body on the floor.
"You're going to put on the fucking clothes I've given you and do what you're fucking told you, little shit."
Riley pushed her arms against the concrete floor, forcing herself up to a sitting position as she clutched onto her stomach while Vincent headed back to his desk.
It was surprising how much damage he could inflict on her body in such few movements. One slap here and one kick there was all that was needed to make her body feel like someone had tossed it in a washing machine and turned it on a high spin cycle. Her wrist was aching from being dragged, her cheek felt like it was already swelling from the impact of the hit and her scalp had a painful burning sensation running through it that pulsated into a killer throbbing headache.
She did not want to test him again. He was already in a pissed off mood. Grabbing the outfit that was thrown at her, she picked it up and carefully stood up, leaning her weight on the nearby bed for support. Beads of sweat trickled down her neck as she struggled to stand, shaky and out of breath.
There was no privacy in the room as Riley stared down at the outfit in her hand, wondering how to proceed. It wasn't like Vincent hadn't seen everything before, but it still made her nervous and uncomfortable for her to be exposed to anyone, let alone the man who was the source of her past trauma. Yet she needed to get this over with before he did worse than slap her in the face.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced over at Vincent, who remained distracted, typing out something on his laptop while reading a document in his hand. She turned around, facing away from him before undressing, keeping as much hidden as she could, although it was pointless. The outfit took a while to get on as she buckled the black straps around her body and across her neck, but in the end she got the last strap clicked into place.
She felt like a whore.
There was no other way to describe it. The fabric barely covered anything, and she was essentially standing there in her underwear.
"Much better," said Vincent from behind her as his breath landed on her neck.
Her body flinched as she felt his hands grasp on the top of her shoulders. She didn't even realise that he had moved from his desk and a shiver went down her spine, wondering how long he had been there, how long he had been watching her.
His hands trailed down her back, tracing across the fading scars he had once inflicted as a grunt of disapproval left his lips. "I don't like how these scars have faded, though. I think it's time we do something about that."
Placing a hand up to her throat, his fingers curled around her neck, restricting her breath as he pulled her backward and guided her roughly to the desk. A hand pushed her down with her head slamming into the desk as she was forcefully bent over the desk.
She tried to get back up but was slammed down again as Vincent reached over to a nearby drawer, pulled it open and took out a sharp-looking knife. Tears pooled in her eyes as she gripped the edges of the desk. It was no use fighting him. He was too strong. So she closed her eyes, her breath coming in tiny gasps as she awaited the pain.
The blade of the knife pierced her skin and sliced in a fast downward motion. The second and third slices came in quick succession. But when she felt him retracing the word "Slut" edged in her back, something came over her. A rage that she had never felt before. Anger coursed through her body, disgusted that he forced her to go through this again. She hated her scars. She hated what he did to her and at that moment, she didn't care about any consequences.
Gathering all the strength she could, her elbow flew back, slamming into the side of Vincent's face, which caused his grip on the knife to loosen and fall to the floor. As he was stumbling back, she scrambled off the desk. Landing with a thud on the floor, she picked up the fallen knife, scurrying backward and away from Vincent.
A knock on the door caused both of their eyes to dart in the direction of the sound. She remained clutching the knife in her hand, a panicked look in her eyes as Vincent regained his composure, straightening out the cuff on his shirt. After one glance in her direction, he walked over to her, grabbing the knife forcefully out of her hand before heading to the door.
The door opened before Vincent got even halfway there and in walked a man slightly older than him, maybe in his mid-50s. With grey streaks running through his wavy hair, donning a navy tailored suit, the man displayed confidence and an aura that was partially terrifying in a way.
But what surprised her most was Vincent's actions towards the man. She had only ever seen him as the top dog before, with no-one standing up to him or even looking at him the wrong way. But here he was, shoulders slightly hunched and not going off at the man for barging in unannounced.
Yet there was something about this man that looked familiar. Something she couldn't quite put her foot on. She felt as though she had met this man before, but that couldn't be possible. Perhaps she had seen him come by the house at some point. She had seen some very sketchy faces come by on a rare occasion to see Vincent. However, the way they interacted was something she would have surely remembered. It was unusual to her, odd in its own way.
The man's eyes glanced over at her. She didn't move from the floor, only stayed in position, crouched down on the floor, ready to back away at any moment should he pose a threat or advance towards her. But he didn't. He merely stared for a moment in silence, curiosity glazing over his eyes before whipping his head away in what seemed like a forceful motion, back to Vincent.
"You need to solve this issue, Vincent."
"I'm already on it, boss."
The man approached Vincent, placing a harsh hand on his shoulder, and leaned in closer. The grip must have been painful as she saw a flinch in Vincent's eye as the man leaned in further next to his ear, anger lacing his voice.
"We have a serious problem on our hands, Vincent, and it looks to me like you're fucking around with some whore instead." A knee came up, crashing straight into Vincent's stomach, causing him to grunt with pain as he leaned forward with a gasp. "Get your shit together and do your job before your body is the next one to be found in a dumpster."
And with that, the man turned, walking towards the door while giving one last glance at Riley before disappearing.
Well. This changed things. Not necessarily anything about her unfortunate situation, but definitely about the way she viewed Vincent. No longer was he the top dog, but merely a pawn being pushed around a chessboard. A smirk curved against her lips.
Vincent stood up straighter, although not completely upright, holding his arm across his stomach before cursing under his breath. He glanced over at Riley as she sat crouched on the ground, having barely moved a muscle since she landed on the cold concrete floor. Her smirk fell away instantly.
Walking over to her, she shuffled backwards in a subconscious motion, afraid of the volatile nature he seemed to be in until her back hit against the wall. She was afraid he would simply pick up where he left off, but to her luck, he grabbed her by the arm and lifted her off the floor before walking to the door.
Opening the door, she shouldn't have been surprised to see two guards positioned outside. Then again, she was sure they weren't there when she entered the room. Or perhaps in her frighten state she simply didn't notice the two large guards posted at the door.
"Take her back to her room," said Vincent, shoving her towards the one guard who caught her with ease as she stumbled over her footing. Just as he was turning away and about to close the door, he turned back around.
"Actually," said Vincent, as a devious grin formed at his lips. "Put her in with Jason and her boyfriend."
Riley's eyes widened. Dressed like this? She didn't want to see Jason. Not now. Not like this. Not after Vincent's hands touched her, even though she knew it could have been worse. And not to mention the slap to her face that was still stinging. She was positive it had already left a mark. Jason would go insane.
"Please don't," called out Riley. "Just put me back in the other room, please."
Vincent walked up to Riley, still being held up by the guard, and placed his fingers across her cheek. "I want Jason to see what a failure he is. He can't even protect his little sister." And with that, a fist collided into her face, whipping her head to the side in pain before it landed again against her stomach, curling her over in agony."
"That'll teach him to fuck with me."