Chapter 4: How do I forget this? (Allison's POV)

Our car swerved sharply into the compound, the tires crunching over the gravel as it came to a halt. The car parked near the entrance, just next to the circular driveway, where a majestic lion statue stood in the center, its fierce gaze directed toward the grand steps leading into the mansion.

I stepped out and immediately felt the icy chill settle over me—the kind that was more than just a breeze, the kind that sank into your bones. It was the same compound they had brought me when they first kidnapped me—those memories felt icy against my skin, clinging to me. Dontrell’s hand pressed gently on my back as we walked forward.

“It’s okay if you want to go back,” he murmured beside me, his voice soft but concerned.

“No, I’m good,” I lied; my heart was thumping. The truth was, I wanted to be here with him, despite the dark memories tied to this place.

As we reached the entrance, Dontrell stopped to pull me closer into his arms. "You know I love you, right?" he whispered, his breath warm against my face. "And I’m glad you’re here with me.”

I nodded, feeling the tension in my chest loosen slightly. “Yeah, I know.”

We turned back to the mansion, the towering structure looming over us as we approached the entrance. The heavy wooden doors, designed with ornate carvings, marked the frame, and the silence of the place was almost suffocating. As soon as we stepped inside, the faint hum of voices reached us, and Dontrell’s expression shifted from loving to businesslike.

Before I could say anything, Dontrell’s best friend, Andrew, appeared. The two men shook hands before pulling each other into a brief but warm embrace.

“You didn’t need to be here, brother. We could’ve handled it,” Andrew said, his voice low but firm.

“No,” Dontrell replied, shaking his head. “The lives of our men are on the line. I almost lost you. Give me the names of the men who dared to rob our warehouse, and they’ll wish they never did.”

Andrew chuckled darkly. "Well, I wish I could give you their names, but they're dead."

They both laughed, and I stood there, puzzled. What was funny about dead men? Then it hit me—this was power. In their world, killing a rival gang meant power, and power meant dominance, and dominance meant survival.

Just as their laughter died down, the grand stairs at the center of the room creaked, and suddenly, everything went still. The air in the mansion shifted. Mr. Blade appeared, descending the stairs slowly, his presence commanding the room. Even the thought of looking directly at him made my knees feel weak. The men standing around the hall froze, their gazes locked on him. He held his dragon-shaped pipe in his hand, puffing on it as he made his way down. Even though I knew his attention was on Dontrell and Andrew, I felt his gaze linger on me for a moment too long.

As I stood there, frozen, Andrew’s voice echoed in my mind. It was from that night when I seduced him, hoping I could use him to escape. Maybe he’d take pity on me after we had sex and show me a way out. But Andrew was smarter than that. He only gave me information in return for my body. A complete bastard, just like the rest of the Blades, though I learned he wasn’t biologically one of them. He’d been with them since he could walk, and that made him family.

I have learned a lot since then, piecing together fragments of information from Andrew. Mr. Blade had abducted me to teach my father a lesson for losing one of their trafficked girls. The knowledge of it echoed in my mind as he dropped from the last step on the stairs, walking to the center of the living room. He sat down, eyes boring into me, his disgust for me clear in his expression. Maybe he was angry about the raid and the goods he lost, or he was expecting pleasantries from me first; I didn’t know. But I stood paralyzed by fear. A twisted thought crossed my mind: what if I grabbed a gun from one of his men and shot him right there? I chuckled to myself a bit; the thought of that gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

Before I could dwell on the thought, the elevator dinged at the far side of the room, and my breath caught in my throat. Clayton walked out, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on me. Fear. Sadness. Everything hit me at once. I could barely keep myself from collapsing, his presence as suffocating as his father’s. I struggled to compose myself, trying not to let the tears that threatened to spill over take control. I struggled harder to keep my composure as the memories rushed back. But just as quickly as he looked at me, he turned away and walked to have his seat beside his dad, also without saying a word to me or his brother.

Just when I thought I might pass out, a familiar voice called from behind.

“Allisoooon!”

I spun around, my heart leaping in my chest. It was Doris, standing in the doorway with the biggest smile on her face. Relief washed over me. My friend, my bridesmaid, my savior, what would I do without her?

I turned to Dontrell, who gave me a soft, approving look. “I had to call her. I’ll be busy with business here, and I didn’t want you alone in this place with all the bad memories. She’s here to keep you company.”

He pressed his car keys into my hand and leaned in to whisper, “Dave will drive you anywhere you want. Just be happy, my love.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, I looked up and kissed him, my lips lingering on his. He kissed me back softly, but a cough from across the room interrupted the moment. Mr. Blade had frowned upon how we were wasting his time; him clearing his throat was a reminder that business awaited. I didn’t turn to look at him, too afraid to meet his gaze or that of Clayton again.

Doris walked up to me as I turned away from Dontrell and ran into her arms, hugging her tightly. She was my comfort, my rock in this whirlwind of chaos.

As we stepped outside, I sighed, the tension easing away. “I don’t even know where to start with everything.”

Doris waved me off as we got into the car. “Shh. Not here,” she said, gesturing with her eyes toward the driver and guard up front. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know... just somewhere we can relax,” I responded.

How about Delilah? I need a drink,” she suggested.

I smirked as the car geared out of the compound. “Now you’re talking.”

———————-

We arrived at Delilah, an upscale lounge and restaurant known for its exclusivity and elegance. After settling into our seats, we ordered drinks, and shortly they arrived. The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat, and soon enough, the conversation flowed as easily as the liquor.

“So you survived your honeymoon?” She teased, her eyes glinting with mischief. I laughed, brushing my hair out of my face.

Doris started, grinning. “Give me something, please,” she pleaded playfully.

"Tell me you got to suck his dick. That’s the best part of the wedding night.”

I choked on my drink, laughing despite myself. “It scared me more than anything!”

Doris raised an eyebrow, leaning in. “Tell me more.”

I nearly choked on my drink, laughing at her bluntness. “You want to know about Dontrell’s dick? No way, that’s for me to know and for no one else.”

Doris leaned back, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Well, at least you enjoyed it,” Doris giggled. “God, I envy you. I just hope when I find someone to pay off my debts, I get traumatized by their size too.”

“If I tried to run, Mr. Blade would catch me. And if he does, my head would end up splattered on his table. Most of the men I meet in the club don’t want to fully pay for me; they just rent me for a few weeks or months. Once they’re done, they move on, renting the next girl from him and leaving me behind.” Doris lamented her mood slightly changing sour.

"I’m sorry you have to go through this, Doris," I say, a hint of sympathy in my voice.

"Nah, it's fine, baby. At least I get to enjoy different cocks—wherever I can fit them—mouth, cunt, nose, anywhere. Meanwhile, you’re stuck with just one," she replies, her mood shifting from sad to playful.

“I’m stuck with a big one,” I respond, and we both laugh.

“And you made it out of the room alive; I’m proud of you, baby girl,” she chortled, but her words, “At least you made it out alive," hit me like a punch to the gut, triggering something deep inside me.

Her voice faded into the background, and suddenly, I was back in that van, fighting for my life—my body kicking and screaming as men threw me in and slammed the doors shut. I could still see the fight—the desperate struggle of my father’s men trying to save me from my abductors, but they were outnumbered. There was nothing they could do.