The Bloodmoon Claim

Chapter Two

Trigger Warning: s****l Assault and Abuse

Maya’s POV:

Soft whimpers, uneven breathing, and whispered prayers surround me. I press my forehead to my knees and try to make myself small.

The sudden crash of a door being thrown open shattered the silence. Fear sharpened my senses until even the groan of the hinges pierced my eardrums.

“Up!” A man barks.

Chains rattle violently. I feel rough hands grabbing my body and yanking me to my feet. My balance falters immediately. Fear freezes me in place. I recognize this man’s voice.

“Hello, little girl.” He whispered into my ear. I tremble at the sound of his voice, and my throat begins to fill with bile. His hands once again slide my nightdress up above my knees. I can feel his hand sliding further up my inner thigh, once it reaches my womanhood. I suddenly come alive and shut my legs instinctively, grasping his hands tightly between my thighs.

He grabs my throat, “Fiesty little whore.” he grumbles. His hand slams around my throat. The air begins to vanish from my lungs. With my last bit of strength, I claw at his grip, my bound wrists making the effort useless. I’m struggling anyway; darkness envelops me as my strength begins to fade.

“You will open your legs when told. When I give something, you will take it. And if you fight, you will wish you were dead instead.” He screams in my face.

I try to respond, but all that leaves my mouth is a choking sound. His grip loosens, and I fall to the ground.

“Move!” I feel him lifting me by the back of my nightdress. I am shoved forward, and I stumble. I drag the chains between my ankles. I can feel the metal biting into my calves. The other girls shuffle alongside me. I can tell, without looking, that they have been broken.

The hallway smells different.

It feels different. It is almost warmer, and the atmosphere is thicker. Music pulses faintly through the walls, low bass vibrating under my feet. Men laugh, and doors are opened and shut. Somewhere, in the near distance, I can hear a girl sobbing.

In this moment, my stomach twists violently. I feel sick to the bone.

Suddenly, the blindfold is ripped off—the light stabs into my eyes. I quickly squeeze them shut and force them open again. The corridor stretches ahead with dim red lights lining the walls. Doors on either side are slightly ajar. I can hear faint moans and see silhouettes of bodies, molding together. Men walk past casually, as if this is nothing more than a bar.

One glances at our line. “Fresh ones?” He asks the guard?

“Not for you,” he mutters, yanking me by my hair and shoving me forward.

Suddenly, I realize, I am in a brothel. We are being forced into s****l slavery. My chest tightens as the horrible realization dawns on me.

The door to my right slams open, and a girl steps out. Her makeup is smeared, and she looks barely conscious.

The man exiting behind her adjusts his cufflink and shoves an envelope of cash into one of the guards’ hands.

I struggle. I twist against the ropes, and my legs ache from the cuffs.

“No,” I whisper.

My heart is pounding in my chest. I lunge forward, dragging myself with all my strength, and before I can think, my bare feet are slapping against the cold floor.

“Hey!”

Shouts erupt from behind me. I try to push forward, almost trying to force myself out of my restraints. Someone steps directly into my path. His hand shoots out, closing around my throat. I gasp, choking and twisting uselessly.

“Enough,” he says, calmly.

I kick, struggle, try to pull free, but he only tightens his grip.”

“You fight,” he says quietly, tightening his grip briefly on my throat. “That will be corrected.”

I gasp, my chest burning, panic surging through me.

Then suddenly, the back of his hand forcefully meets my cheek.

Pain explodes across my face. I taste metal. My skin breaks, warm blood mixing with sweat and dripping down my neck.

“You will learn,” he says quietly, forcing me down to my knees, while maintaining his grip on my throat.

“Go to hell.” I hiss, choking and spitting.

One of the guards steps forward.

“Cole, should I take her back with the others?”

"No,” Cole says. “Leave her with me.”

Cole wipes my spit from his face with the back of his hand.

“I have some work to do.”

The guard drags the girls away. One glances back at me with wide, terrified eyes before the door slams shut.

Now I am alone with him.

“Move,” he says, walking forward.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I protest.

“You can walk,” he says flatly, “or you can be dragged.”

I give in, slowly dragging my feet behind him. The chains make it impossible to move fast. I have no idea why I thought I could run.

We enter a colder corridor lit by harsh white lights. The music fades completely.

Cole stops at a metal door, pushes it open, and shoves me inside.

The room is tiled from floor to ceiling. A drain sits in the center. A heavy hose hangs coiled on the wall. Two women stand waiting, one blonde, one brunette.

“No…” I whisper as I attempt to back out of the room, only to be met with Cole’s hands wrapping tightly around my shoulders.

He shoves me violently. I fall forward onto the floor in the middle of the room. My head hits the tiles, and pain surges through my skull.

Cole closes the door behind us.

“You made a scene,” he says calmly. “That means you get prepared early.”

“Prepared for what?” I demand.

Cole ignores me. The blonde girl kneels before Cole and begins unbuckling his pants. She looks up at him, but his gaze never leaves me.

“Jessica,” he says, looking down at the girl on her knees.

“Yes, Master Cole?” she says, almost begging him with her eyes.

“Please give me my belt and tie this w***e down.”

He gestures to an out-of-place beam with an O-ring attached.

Jessica follows Cole’s instructions, taking his belt off, handing it to him, and walking toward me. I try to back away, but the dark-haired woman appears behind me and grabs my shoulders with force.

Jessica proceeds to cut my cotton nightdress off my body, leaving me naked and exposed.

I fight her. I fight the dark-haired girl, and she loses her grip on me. I try to run, but the chains keep me in place.

Before I can think of my next move, Cole has his grip on my hair, dragging me toward the beam. He ties my already bound wrists above my head as I squirm helplessly beneath it.

Once the last knot is tied, Cole steps back, looking at me as if I were a piece of art he created.

“Now, little girl, I want you to dance for me.”

He picks up his belt and swipes it across my body. The burn on my skin is sudden, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

This does not stop him.

He gives a sinister smile, pulls his arm back, and whips me again. Another raw scream tears from my throat. He does not stop. He continues his torture as if he were playing a game, each strike giving him the utmost satisfaction.

After countless lashes, my throat is dry, my eyes are swollen, and I am barely standing beneath the beam. I am too tired to cry or scream. My head hangs in defeat.

Cole, seemingly finished with his torture, gestures to the girls.

“Clean her.”

They move immediately.

Without warning, the hose roars to life. Freezing water slams into me. I cry out, shivering.

Jessica scrubs my arms while the dark-haired girl works through my hair, their hands precise and impersonal. My cheek stings from the backhand Cole delivered, and now the cut bleeds freely again. Blood runs into the icy water, mixing with soap, turning the white tiles a pale pink.

The liquid swirls at my feet, flowing slowly toward the drain.

Cole leans against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curls around his face as he watches me, his gaze unreadable but cold, almost as if he is enjoying my fear.

The hose roars again. Water slams across me. Soap and blood mingle, pink rivers flowing into the drain.

Jessica grabs a towel from a nearby bench and starts drying me off. Every touch sends fire across my skin where the lashes struck. My body feels heavy and drained. My knees buckle beneath me, too weak to stand, leaving me hanging from the ropes binding my hands above my head, struggling to hold myself up.

A small black bag lands at my feet.

The dark-haired girl unzips it, and black lace spills out. My stomach twists violently.

Unable to scream—

“No,” I whisper.

She sighs. “Don’t start again.”

Cole steps forward, the air seeming colder with every step.

“You were taken. Brought here. And now you’re being prepared,” says Cole. His gaze locks onto mine. “The sooner you accept it, the easier this becomes.”

“I would rather die,” I say.

Something flickers in his eyes.

Then it vanishes.

“Most say that on the first night,” he adds.

He turns toward the door, exhaling smoke slowly. Just before he leaves, he steps back and presses the still-burning tip of the cigarette against my shoulder.

Pain explodes through me, sharp and searing. I cry out, jerking instinctively, but he is already gone, the door shutting with a heavy click behind him.

Alone. Dripping. Trembling. The air is heavy with smoke.

I realize that I cannot escape this hell.

I feel fear and hopelessness for the first time in my life.