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Chains of Deceit

He slowly released his grip.

"You must be famished after a hard day's work."

"Yes, master."

The words tasted bitter on my tongue; each syllable laced with resentment. I followed Captain Blackthorn to the small table in the corner of the dimly lit room, instinctively trying to cover my body as the chef brought in plates of food. The aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air, but I barely noticed.

Captain Blackthorn took his seat, gesturing for me to sit across from him. I hesitated, my stomach churning with a mix of hunger and dread.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, I obeyed, lowering myself onto the hard wooden chair. My gaze fell on the plate in front of me, though I had no appetite. The weight of his stare was suffocating.

"Eat," he commanded, eyes locked on me, watching every movement.

With trembling hands, I picked up the fork and forced myself to take a bite of the succulent meat. Its flavor was rich and savory, but it might as well have been ash. I chewed slowly, trying to quell the nausea rising in my throat. He watched me in silence for a moment before speaking again.

"You did well today," he said, his tone almost casual.

"Your work will not go unrewarded."

I nodded stiffly, afraid to let my voice betray the disgust simmering inside. When I glanced up briefly, our eyes met. His gaze unsettled me, sharp, cold, and appraising, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You have potential," he mused, leaning back in his chair as though satisfied with his assessment.

"I see strength in you, a fire.”

“If harnessed properly, it could serve me well."

I kept my head down, staring at the food I couldn’t stomach. His words, meant to flatter, felt like a trap.

"Thank you, master," I replied, forcing the words out, though they tasted like poison.

His lips curved into a smile, predatory and pleased.

"Finish your meal.”

“You've earned it."

I swallowed hard, struggling to keep the food down as the oppressive silence stretched between us. His eyes roamed over me; a twisted satisfaction evident in his gaze. He stood suddenly, the scrape of the chair against the floor jolting me from my daze.

Before I could react, he was on me, pushing me against the cold stone wall with brutal force. A gasp escaped me, but he silenced it by yanking my hair, his lips crushing against mine. His tongue invaded my mouth, aggressive and possessive. My body went rigid, shock freezing me in place.

His hands roamed my body, each touch a violation. Pain shot through me as he ruthlessly twisted my nipple, a groan of agony tearing from my throat. His hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my cries as he bit down hard on my neck. My vision blurred with the sharp, searing pain.

Without a word, he unfastened his belt, the metallic jingle sending a wave of dread through me. He shoved me onto the bed, the dark, silky sheets cold against my skin. In one swift movement, he restrained my hands above my head, tightening the belt around my wrists until the leather bit into my flesh.

I whimpered, struggling against the bonds, but he only laughed. His kisses trailed down my body, each one a cruel reminder of my helplessness. My body betrayed me, shivering under his touch as he rubbed my clit with his thumb. I hated myself for the involuntary moan that slipped out.

"Admit it, pet," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice.

"You crave my touch.”

“You're begging for me to fuck you."

I shook my head, my eyes squeezed shut, but he wasn’t listening. He shoved his fingers inside me, the intrusion sharp and painful. I squirmed, trying to escape, but my body, traitorous and unwilling, responded, arching into his touch.

"You're soaking wet already," he sneered.

I wanted to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words caught in my throat. He withdrew his fingers, quickly stripping off his clothes. Before I could process what was happening, he was inside me, thrusting with brutal force. I screamed, the pain unbearable, his size tearing through me like a blade.

"Get off me!"

I choked out, tears blurring my vision. He grinned an ugly, twisted expression.

"Your body can’t lie, pet.”

“I’ll take you however and whenever I please."

He slapped me hard across the face, the ring on his finger cutting into my cheek. Blood dripped down, hot and metallic on my lips. In a defiant rage, I spit in his face, but he only chuckled, wiping it away with a casual swipe of his hand.

His thrusts became harder, more violent, each one sending waves of pain through my body. I fought against the bonds, wrists raw and bleeding, but there was no escape. He shoved a handkerchief into my mouth, muffling my screams as his nails scraped down my hips, leaving angry red welts in their wake.

Finally, with a shudder, he reached his release, his body collapsing against mine. I was gasping, barely able to breathe, the world spinning around me. I felt the cold press of a blade against my throat, freezing me in place.

"Listen, you little brat," he hissed, his voice low and menacing.

"I spent a fortune on you.”

“You’re mine.”

“My property.”

“You do what I say, or I’ll make you regret it."

The darkness crept in, threatening to pull me under. My wrists ached, and my body was broken, but I fought to stay conscious. His words faded into the background. My mind fogged with fear and exhaustion.

When I woke, I was alone, locked in a cage. The cold metal bars pressed against my bruised skin, and the air reeked of salt and rust. Every part of me hurt like I’d been ripped apart and left to rot. I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through me, making me groan in agony.

I blinked against the sudden light pouring into the cramped room, eyes adjusting slowly. Relief flooded me when I saw it wasn’t Blackthorn. It was James.

The keys rattled in the lock, the grating sound cutting through the tense silence. I curled into myself, clutching the rough blanket that lay at my feet and wrapping it around my trembling body. My nightgown was thin, useless against the chill creeping into the room. I didn’t want anyone near me, not now.

James stepped inside slowly, his movements cautious. He approached the bed, lowering himself onto the edge with careful grace, the mattress dipping under his weight. I recoiled, scooting back until my spine pressed against the cold bars of the cage.

“I know you’re scared,” he said softly.

“I’m here to help you.”

“I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

I searched his face, desperate for any hint of deceit. His gaze was steady, sincere.

“My brother’s gone.”

“He’s drinking at the tavern.”

“We’ve docked at a port, so it’s just us here.”

He hesitated, then added, “You’re safe with me.”

I tightened my grip on the blanket, still wary. James reached out slowly, his hand hovering in the space between us, careful not to touch me.

“I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You don’t deserve this,” he said, his words firm, almost angry.

“No one does.”

“I can’t just stand by and watch my brother become this.”

His eyes darkened, and I flinched as he gently touched the raw skin of my wrists with a cloth. The sting made me wince, but his touch was careful, almost tender.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

I nodded; my throat was too dry to respond. Silence hung in the room, broken only by the soft rustle of bandages and the distant creaking of the ship. James worked with practiced hands, wrapping my wrists with a skill that surprised me. His fingers brushed my skin, not harshly, but with a strange, comforting delicacy.

When he finished with my wrists, he moved closer to tend to the cuts on my cheek and lip. His face hovered inches from mine, and for the first time, I saw the wear etched into his features. The faint lines around his eyes and mouth speaking of hardship.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

I rasped, my voice weak.

“My father was a doctor,” James said quietly, his tone softening at the memory.

“Before our ship was captured by pirates.”

He paused, his hand still as he stared into the distance, lost in thought.

“He was killed right in front of us.”

“The captain showed mercy if you can call it that and took us in.”

His gaze shifted back to me.

“I learned a lot from my father before he died.”

“He always said knowing how to heal was just as important as knowing how to fight.”

James resumed tending to my wounds, dabbing the cuts on my face. The sting was sharp but brief, the relief was worth the discomfort. His hands were steady, almost comforting, as he wrapped the bandages with care.

“I never wanted this life.”

“Sometimes, you don’t get to choose.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“For helping me.”

He gave me a small, sad smile.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

The room felt quieter then, almost peaceful in the aftermath of his words. James broke the silence first, standing up.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said, his voice returning to a practical tone.

“You need to stay hydrated.”

He left for a moment and returned with a wooden cup filled with cool, clear water. I drank it greedily, the liquid soothing my parched throat and bringing a slight strength back to my limbs. James watched quietly, his expression softening as I emptied the cup. The quiet didn’t last. The door burst open with a sudden, violent force, and Captain Blackthorn staggered into the room, the stench of alcohol thick on him.

“What the hell is going on here?” he slurred, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto James.

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