If there's one thing I'd noticed about Punk so far, it was that he was a man who used too many swear words. On top of that, he was a spoiled brat. It was true that he was bigger than me, and it was true that he scared the shit out of me, but he was a spoiled brat. He had proven that much by forcing me to take my pants off. And even more than that, he hadn't given me the common courtesy of privacy to change my clothes in.

As soon as Joe intervened, I was silently grateful. I didn't want to be around Punk any more than I possibly had to be. In the space of two short hours, he had not only shoved me down and given me scrapes, but he had threatened to rape me. Whether or not he actually would have done that, I didn't know, but the threat was there nonetheless. I knew his reputation, and I wasn't about to find out for myself if it was true.

"This is where you'll be staying for now," Joe told me as he pushed open a door down the hall from the bathroom. I gave him a dubious look. For some reason, I had been expecting to be housed in some dungeon-like space with concrete floors and minimal lighting, not a bedroom with a reasonably comfortable bed and a dresser. "There's not an attached bathroom, but the one down the hall will work just fine for your purposes. I'll have one of the other girls bring you up whatever you need for the bathroom. You'll get some food in an hour or so, but after tonight, you'll be expected to eat downstairs."

I didn't say anything as I walked into the bedroom. Joe told me a few other things that I didn't pay attention to, and I walked around the room to get a feel for the place before I walked over to the bed and lay down. I didn't know what in the hell I was supposed to do with my time. I didn't like not having control of my own life. It was why I had decided to leave Chicago in the first place, and now, here I was. I recalled that Joe had said something about another girl coming into my room the next morning to bring me anything I might need for the bathroom, and I decided that I wasn't going to be there when that happened.

I thought about it for a few minutes, and then smirked when I got an idea. I hadn't seen much security in this place, and I considered myself pretty good at getting out of places that I didn't want to be in. I got out of the bed again after setting up a couple of pillows underneath the blankets to make it look like a sleeping body in case someone came in to check on me within the next few hours, and then I started my plan.

I groaned when I realized that my backpack was no longer with me and silently cursed Punk's name when I remembered that he'd kept it with him. He had probably thought I wouldn't try to make an escape without it, but he was wrong. There was nothing in my backpack that couldn't be replaced later on if need be, which was apparently what was going to have to happen.

I walked over to the windows and looked down, trying to figure out where I was looking out at. I saw a street not too far from my window, and with the sun starting to set over Chicago, it would be relatively easy to hide behind a tree or something if I actually got outside. I didn't see anyone standing outside guarding like they would be in the old Hollywood mobster movies, which was a definite advantage to me.

After I figured out a few decent hiding spots in the yard that I was looking at, I decided to just wing it on figuring out a way to actually get outside in the first place. I'd never been what people considered a planner, so I wasn't about to start now. I went over to the dresser to try and find some more escape-friendly clothing, and groaned when I saw that the only clothing in the dresser were skimpy lingerie and impractical things like shorts and tank tops. I decided to just go with the pajamas.

I had just walked over to the bedroom door when it opened, and I stopped when I saw yet another man walk into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Unlike Joe, Punk, and the shorter guy that had been in the living room, this guy wasn't as toned, and he wasn't as tall as Punk or Joe. He had a short black hair and wore a handkerchief around his neck. Though his brown eyes were definitely attractive, I didn't want him anywhere near me. I didn't wantanyof them near me.

"Hey, baby," he murmured, raising his hand up to touch my shoulder. I rolled my eyes at him, shoving him away from me as I stepped away from the door. He was slurring his words, so he was quite obviously drunk. I didn't feel like dealing with that right now.

"I'm no one's baby," I snapped at him before moving to sit on the bed, hoping he'd get the hint and leave the bedroom. Instead, he just walked over to stand in front of the bed, a small smirk on his lips as he looked down at me.

"Aww, c'mon," he slurred, reaching to touch my hair. "I know Punk was a jackass to you before, but I can make you feel so much better."

He used his hands to push me onto my back before he moved to straddle me. He was heavier than me by a lot, so when I tried pushing him off of me, he just chuckled as he lowered his lips to touch my neck. His hands grabbed my wrists so I couldn't hit at him, so I did the only thing I could think of and brought my knee up as hard as I could into his crotch. The man immediately fell off of me onto the side of the bed, groaning and pulling his knees to his chest before he shot a dirty look at me.

"What the fuck?" He asked angrily before he moved over me again, looking down at me. Unlike before, his brown eyes didn't have an easygoing look to them, and I wondered if I'd seriously pissed him off like I had with Punk earlier on. I didn't get a chance to find out before the bedroom door opened again, exposing none other than an angry C.M. Punk.

"What the fuck are you doing now, slut?" He grumbled as he looked into the room. His eyebrows arched when he saw Homicide crouched on the mattress, still grumbling about how I had attacked him for no good reason.

"I didn't do anything," I shot back at him, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. He grumbled under his breath before he walked over to the bed and yanked Homicide to his feet before leading him towards the door.

"She belongs to Joe, Homicide. Don't fucking touch her," he growled at the brown-eyed man as he walked out of the bedroom. Punk didn't leave with him however, and just glowered at me. "If you weren't such a fucking whore, that wouldn't have happened."

I stood up off of the bed, unable to keep my tongue even more. There was a lot I could handle being called before, but being blamed for what had just happened with Homicide was not something that I was just going to sit by and take. "How the hell was that my fault? How was I being a slut? He's fucking drunk!"

Punk didn't respond to me right away, but instead grabbed my arm tightly before shoving me up against the wall. My breath hitched in my throat when he trailed his other hand down my side to rest on my hip, but it wasn't because I was turned on. I'd had enough of being manhandled today, and I was getting sick and tired of it.

"Let me go," I growled at him, trying to push him off of me. Like last time, he stayed put and his grip didn't flinch, and he pushed my pajama pants just low enough to expose the side of my panties.

"This," he told me in an angry voice as he grabbed the panties before pulling them away from my skin. "Is how you are a fucking slut. You wear this shit around here, and that same thing that just happened is going to keep happening."

I pushed his hand away from my hip, not feeling comfortable with the way he was touching me, and then raised my hand to slap him again. Before I could do that, he stopped me and twisted my wrist back, holding it by my head as he looked into my eyes. Like mine, his eyes were a dark green, though there was something dark about his eyes that made them seem more malicious than anything else.

"If you'd give me something than fucking lingerie to wear, I'd happily put something else on," I told him, holding my chin high as I looked at him, not blinking. My façade faltered for a few moments as he breathed hot on my ear, once again sending shivers down my spine, though he wasn't turning me on. Being this close to him was only causing me to feel anxiety and fear.

He didn't get a chance to respond before the bedroom door opened again, this time Joe walking into the room. I found it almost ironic that every time Punk and I had gotten into an argument so far, he had come to play referee. If I didn't know better, I would almost find it amusing.

Joe didn't say anything, but when he looked at Punk, he let go of my wrist and stepped back from me immediately before shooting an angry glare at me as he left the bedroom. Joe looked at me and blinked once before shaking his head, walking back out into the hallway before he looked into the bedroom at me.

"Didn't I warn you not to piss him off, Skylar? I'm not going to be around every fucking time to stop him from hurting you. Just fucking do what you're told and keep your damn trap shut."

He didn't say anything else to me before walking out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him. I heard a key turn in the lock, and I couldn't help but kick the baseboard with my foot. That door being locked meant there was no way I was getting out of here unless I went out through the window. And unless I was planning on pulling off some kind of Harry Potter escape with tied sheets and a flying car, there was no way I was going to make it to the ground without breaking my leg, or worse. I was stuck here, and it pissed me off.

I walked back over to the bed and lay down before pulling a pillow over my head to let out a scream. I was so frustrated it wasn't even funny. Not twenty-four hours before, I was planning on leaving Chicago forever. These men never would have known my name, and my Dad…well, I didn't know what they would have done with him, but I didn't particularly care.

I decided that I might as well get some sleep while I was locked into the bedroom, because tomorrow I was going to try again. And if I didn't get out tomorrow, I was going to try it the day after that. These assholes might think they owned me, but they'd figure it out that Skylar Carson wasn't someone who could be traded to pay a debt.