She closed her eyes, agonizing pain flooding her body. Her wrists bound tightly with twine behind the back of a stiff wooden chair, her ankles tied down tightly to each leg of the chair. The boat was rocking back and forth, the water in the hull of the ship was rising but the men showed no interest in that. Staring at her with either sly grins, or looks up utter disgust; an Ottoman raised his fist in the air and slammed it down against her cheek. Teeth hit skin and flesh was torn away from her cheek. She gagged on her own blood for a moment before she had the chance to spit it out. She looked up at the men, a challenging, threatening gaze greeted then with piercing green eyes. "I don't know what the fuck you are talking about! I am no assassin!" Another blow, yet this time, the impact was so hard it sent the chair flying to it's side. She laid there struggling for a moment before laying still, the echoing sound of the heavy weighted shoes approached as the Turk leaned in close and whispered. "Do not think me daft girl, we know a snitch when we see one." The chair was flipped to the side so she was staring up at the man. He was wearing black robes, belts and weapons hung from his hips innocently, yet the shattering gleam of light that struck the blades sent shivers down her spine. Her back was still tight against the chair as it laid level to the floor of the ship. The seawater splashed against the new wound causing the woman to bite her tongue, her nose was the new injury that was bleeding profusely, and because of the angle blood was slipping back down her throat causing her to cough, and inhale some seawater each time. She was finally pulled up. Her head hung down as blood and water were coughed out. She swore multiple times in her native Turkish before harsh fingers grasped her jaw tightly. A crushing power moved it to meet gazes, the calloused fingers leaving new marks among her olive skin. She looked up at a scruffy man, the horrid stench of garlic and wine wafted from his mouth as she held back her desire to spit her blood in his face. The pressure left and his pointer finger drug down along her jaw bone under her chin and lifted it up softly. "A traitorous bitch like you deserves a face to match I gather." He said, tossing her head back before raising his hand turning it so the palm was opposite to her face and slapped, once, then turn, twice then turn, thrice then turn, each time her neck jerking in the direction of the knuckles coughing out new blood and groaning with agony. Preparing for another slap, she was startled when she felt nothing. She looked up and he was smirking. "Our little Meryem has grown up to be such a woman." He ran his hand down her body, caressing her breast which was quivering with each breathe, such a shock from the cold water to a warm hand. He and the other men reached for her, another way to break her down. Hands slid lower and lower, ripping of wet fabric could be heard, rough hands grasping, caressing, drunken mouths kissing, and the horrid scent of unclean men filled the room, but her eyes did not open. A slight moment of pain, then a giant consuming feeling full of betraylment and disgust. She knew what they wanted, and she would no sooner scream or cry as they abused her body as she would admit her sin. It would only mean that the bastards had won.