Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 6

She loathed how helpless and pitiful she sounded, whining at him as he dragged her toward the corner, the otherwise innocuous tile now seeming entirely more sinister.

“You need cleaning. You’re filthy,” he said, forcing her under the spray of water.

She’d drawn a lungful of air, preparing to cry out as the stream struck her welts. But rather than burning pain, the lukewarm temperature of the water sluicing down her back was actually… almost soothing.

For a minute or two, she simply stood there on the cold, smooth tile, trembling, both slightly chilled and struggling with the knowledge he was actually standing there watching as she showered, completely nude.

That shouldn’t have mattered all that much considering he’d just flogged her to tears, and degraded her in that cursed glass enclosure, showing her body off to him as if some prize heifer he were evaluating for her value at auction.

But it did matter. Very much.

A fresh chill settled deep in her belly at that imagery, of her up on an auction block, sold off like any other commodity. Prized for her body, nothing else mattering in the least but what her sexual attributes could do for the lucky winning bidder.

No. Stop it.

And, really, as she thought about it, discounting such a notion did make sense. He wouldn’t have gone to the lengths he had just to get rid of her, to sell her off… and to whom, she didn’t even want to contemplate.

Still, she had no idea whatsoever why this man had taken her.

The only thing she knew in her heart, was that he was definitely an HKU.

Ravager. You’ve been kidnapped by a fucking RAVAGER!

And not a soul—including her—had the first clue where she was.

The touch of the sponge, the soft, slightly tickling suds running down her skin made her hiss, surprise and relief rocketing through her.

“Shhh, just be still.” His voice was so quiet, she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t imagined it.

But she had no problem obeying, losing herself in the blessedly soothing sensation flooding her body.

“This will help with the marks. They’re going to swell, and this will soften your skin. Just relax.”

“Th-thank you,” she murmured, putting her bound hands against the tiled wall, leaning against it as he rubbed circles down her back.

When he clutched her buttocks, squeezing them gently as he sponged them, she winced, sighing as he relented, the soap working its magic, too.

The heat bloomed once more—even stronger now—between her thighs.

Shit. Shit!

It was purely physical, of course, her body’s quite natural reaction to the pleasing touch, transforming the hurt to something much, much more pleasant.

Right?

The male towering over her chuckled softly. “I can smell it, you know.”

“S-smell what?”

She wanted to slither down into that grate below her, so powerful was her mortification.

“Your cunt, of course. I’ll bet if I were to check it, my fingers would be positively sticky with your wetness. Am I right?”

“I don’t know… what you’re talking about.”

“Does that mean you want me to stop?”

The sponge ceased its movement against the back of her thigh.

“No!” She swallowed hard, chancing a glance at him over her shoulder despite her flushing face. “Please… more?”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

It was a statement, more than a question.

“Y-yes… but this… is making it better.”

“I thought so.”

The smug satisfaction would have incensed her at any other moment, but she was so desperate to soothe her hurt that she let it go without so much as a single peep of protest.

There would have to be another time to rail against that male arrogance.

And she would never have admitted to herself that that same arrogance was… part of her little “problem” here. A piece of the puzzle as to why her body was reacting the way it was.

A big one.

The worst part though, and it was a square she simply couldn’t circle—at least not yet—was the unsettling gentleness about his touch.

This was a Hunter-Killer Unit. They were made—designed from the ground up—to be the absolute antithesis of “gentle.”

She didn’t really know much beyond that, but she had heard some of the soldiers, overheard her father speaking with his lieutenants on more than one occasion.

The picture was quite clear.

They were hated and feared both, but they were—at least her father had hoped—few in number.

He’d called them “a nuisance, and quite a nasty one—but not much else.”

Now, she wondered if the HKUs were much more complex than they’d ever believed.

And she feared what else about these mysterious figures the rebels had read completely wrong.

Yet another reason why you need to keep your fucking head together, stop thinking with your pussy, and get your ass out of here at the first opportunity.

The water shutting off brought her back to the present, and inside she thanked the Gods he hadn’t made her wash everything before him.

He pressed a towel into her bound hands. “Dry off. I’ll be right back.”

Any hope she had of him leaving her alone was dashed instantly, as instead of leaving the room, he simply opened a tall cabinet alongside one wall of the tiled shower.

“You’ll wear this.”

“Um, what is it?”

It seemed little more than a pitifully small swatch of fabric, off-white and threadbare in the extreme.

“Put it on. It’s your uniform while you’re with me.”

With me.

Inside, she groaned at the grotesque passive terminology, as if being held by him as his prisoner was simply another way of living, of being. Unremarkable, as pedestrian as a stay in a hotel.

He unclipped her wrists, allowing her to put the uniform on.

Dropping it over her shoulders, she stretched it out as far as it would go, but even after doing that she found it was a shift so brief, that if she even bent over a little, it would expose her pussy to anyone behind her.

It was so thin it was practically muslin, hiding nothing—which was apparently the intent. He beamed at her as she straightened up.

“It’s… too small.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

It was so revealing that her areolas were clearly delineated, dark surrounds quite obvious around the points of her nipples, themselves on blatant display under the sheer fabric.

Her pubic hair was a delta-shaped shadow, also quite visible underneath.

She tried to get back on the offense, not liking the way she’d been lulled into so much compliance.

“Why didn’t you rape me? I know what you are.”

“Oh?” His brow arched the tiniest bit, but he leaned a shoulder against the wall of the shower stall, crossing his massively corded arms. “What am I then?”

“You’re… an HKU. Aren’t you?” She gulped, willing herself to have the courage to keep going, despite the fear suddenly overtaking her again.

It was as if verbalizing the cold, hard reality of the situation brought it all home for her, once more realizing how much trouble she really was in here.

“And if I am, this so-called HKU? So?”

“What do you mean?”

Did he really expect her to believe he wasn’t a Ravager?

“I saw the way you ran, the way you moved. No man could…”

He pushed away from the wall, advancing slowly toward her.

“What do you know about me, hmm? In your sheltered existence, just how much experience do you have with the male?” He drew close and she backed up—until her heels touched the cold steel of the cell. “I think you’re not much more than a naive girl.” His eyes coursed over her. “Most definitely not the body of a girl, but I think you… know a lot less than you think you do.”

“About you? Or about men?”

“Aren’t they one and the same?” He touched her face, and she flinched away from it, suddenly not wanting to be near him.

There was menace to him now, and yet, part of her wanted to see what exactly he might do.

Yeah, the dumbfuck part of you.

“You’re not a man,” she whispered it, looking away.

“But your body seems to think I am.”

She stared up at him then, almost snarling the words. “You know nothing about what my body wants.”

He wrapped a huge hand gently around her throat, and she made a tiny sound of fright as he squeezed ever so slightly.

“I know, girl. Oh, I know far more than you realize.”

“Stop calling me that,” she said, her voice a petulant murmur.

She was deathly afraid of angering him, and yet she couldn’t help but resist, even if they both knew it was little more than symbolic.

She was utterly, completely helpless against him, and while they both knew it, her body seemed to understand it on a whole other level… and perhaps even like it.

You’re insane.

“Your body was built for one thing, and it does it exceedingly well. To attract a man.”

“That’s not at—”

He laid a finger over her mouth, his hand squeezing her throat more firmly now.

“You keep that mouth shut for now, I think.” He tapped that finger against her lips as he said it. “I know this, Yulia. I will never rape you. But one day soon you’ll ask me, beg me, to take you. And when that day comes? I will, very hard indeed. I’ll make it hurt for you. The way I know makes your little cunt drip even now.”

She met his gaze then, despite the firm grip of his hand. “I’ll never—ever—ask you for that. You know this.”

He drew very close, squeezing her throat still more, threatening. His grin was confident, triumphant. “Oh, I know you will. I’m more confident of that now than ever. The only question is how long you keep denying the truth.”