Abused and Bought

Broken Hearts Bleed Red

Why...

Why did this happen?

Why did God hate her?

Many say, or so, Grace had heard, that God only gave obstacles they knew we could face...

Was it true?

...Funny. It doesn't feel that way.

Lord, please forgive her. She wasn't sure she could take this obstacle.

What a way to go; betrayed by what she thought was a close friend, beaten for God knows how long. The scars on her back would never heal. They would always be there to mock her.

If she even survived.

Why didn't Hunter do anything? Standing there with Francis- no- that bitch pressed against him like long-lost lovers. Let her kiss his neck and bruise his skin in ways Grace had thought only she was allowed; kept Francis's hands beneath his clothing and trace his body like she had every right.

Why wasn't he doing anything? Were the thoughts true? That he didn't care? That Grace was just a toy? A pawn? A piece of entertainment?

God, did she feel like one. A broken sob escaped her. It wasn't from the pain; no, it was from her mind, the memories she tortured herself with. Sweet smiles, hearty, beautiful laughs. Tender touches against hot skin, chilled so deliciously by his pedigree.

All shattered in a millisecond.

Grace could hear the whip hissing as it dove at her skin, ready to create yet another bloody stroke on the scarred canvas of her back. Limpness sank into her limbs and body. To accept such a fate as this was disgustingly unbefitting of a Queen, but Grace didn't care. She didn't care anymore.

The hissing of the whip stopped with a crack against skin. The whip didn't touch her back. Even as numb as she was, she would have lurched with the contact. A gasp strung through the air, shocked with a terrified tint. Was that from Francis?

A shiver flinched through Grace's skin. Behind her, a low, dangerous snarl began to grow, menacing, so dark and angry. Her back jumped when cool lips pressed delicately against her shoulder, where the growing pain was less.

"I'm so sorry, beloved." Words brushed through the snarl, soft and comfortable against the jagged rumble.

Grace couldn't stop the sob that punched its way from her throat. Did she even want to? Even as the pain began to scream at her in so many pitches, sweet, delicious relief pooled in comfortable warmth. Teardrops stung the wound on her cheek, but she couldn't stop them.

She wasn't going to die.

Soft cloth fluttered onto her back, chilled against the whip marks. Such relief.

"Trust me for a little longer, my love." Hunter's voice whispered, another kiss flitting across her shoulder. "I'll get you out of here."

As the words brushed through her skull, chilled wind rushed past-a garbled choke.

Before Grace's eyes, with his bandages exposed, Hunter had Francis by the throat, her feet dangling uselessly in the air. The snarl from Hunter's throat shook Grace to her soul, and even as she knew he would never hiss so savagely at her, fear danced in the corner of her stomach.

"You..." Hunter growled. "You dare touch my beloved. Your future Queen?!"

Another garbled choke played in tune with Hunter's tightening grip, the skin speaking its protests in creaks. Despite her throat clasped in a fist, Francis managed to laugh.

The unhinged giggle exploded into hysterical laughter, short and choked and ugly. Grace shivered.

A voice screamed in her brain, panicking in her mind's eye. It was a voice Grace had heard, once years ago and again only days or weeks ago. A voice she stupidly ignored.