Elena sighed, hugging her knees as she sat in the back of the cage. She hoped the three stocky guards weren't on duty; the two taller ones rarely bothered her and Katherine, but those three...
A shudder of disgust ran through her as she recalled their rough hands, their thick but short dicks forcing themselves inside her. As they were not very skilled lovers, those dicks flopped out of her pussy and men were blaming her. Their words echoed in her mind—insults about how loose and used their pussies were, how they were rutted like animals.
The memory rendered her speechless, the sheer brutality of it overwhelming. Her breasts were still bruised, her nipples sore from being pulled and twisted; she could still feel those dirty hands all over her. Feel their coarse pubic hair rubbing on her, or listen to their lust-filled panting on her back as they mounted her.
She didn't want sex—not now, not ever, not until they escaped. No sex, no touching, nothing. She didn't feel like a woman; she felt violated. The drugs lingered, keeping her sluggish and unable to fight back. The collar around her neck chafed, and she could smell her own blood whenever the men pulled on it, or when they chained her to the wall by that damned collar.
Katherine seemed to be asleep, her face relaxed, her breathing calm. Elena wished she could sleep too—a normal sleep, not a drugged haze. Time had lost all meaning; there were no windows, no clocks, no way of telling what time it was. The drugs—animal-grade sedatives—left her messed up for days afterward.
When she emerged from her drugged state, she'd be sore, sticky, used, with a bad taste in her mouth, sometimes even with coarse hair—pubic hair—stuck between her teeth. Initially, it made her vomit, but now she was too numb to care. She knew what the taste of urine, sweat, and damp skin meant. Sex was becoming increasingly repulsive.
Despite Von Herringberg's plan, she and Katherine continued to hate him, even when he'd occasionally intervened to stop the guards. They recognized his manipulation for what it was—blatant.
He'd simply walked away, telling them they would soon learn that the only way to stop the rape and violation was to acknowledge who held the cards. Treat him with the respect he deserves. He would be fair master for his little bitches and not share them, but they would have privilege of serving him and his needs.
"Would you stop that ranting about not wanting sex? I'm trying to concentrate, and it's not easy when I'm doped to the gills," Katherine's calm voice said.
She didn't even open her eyes, and Elena understood she was in the hive, or at least trying to be. Feeling stupid and slow, Elena found herself, as usual, blaming herself, ranting and raving, and feeling sorry for her state. She felt fake, like most of her life, as her status as a doppelgänger had been revealed to her. She had met Damon, and then shit had taken over, or at least that version of her. She hoped to be better, but now she was less sure of her state.
Meanwhile, Katherine, her doppelgänger, was actually doing something about things, or at least trying to. Across the hall, Elena saw Bran sitting, holding Mimi in his arms and wailing. It was cruelly ironic that even Mimi was going to revive; they had tortured and interrogated her, then tossed her back into that damn cage.
And as Bran held her, Mimi usually died in his arms, causing Bran to wail. He, too, was drugged and betrayed, literally holding the consequences of his actions as he witnessed her dying again and again, powerless to save her. It wasn't pleasant to feel someone die, not even if they could wake up; Bran could clearly sense Mimi's pain and weakness. Dying is a lonely thing, no matter who is holding you.
Despite Katherine's words, Elena sighed again. Desperation paralyzed the spark within her, leaving her unable to act. She felt utterly lacking in initiative, and Katherine seemed too engrossed in her task to pay attention to Elena. Elena felt so weak, not like a vampire linked to Damon, his royal concubine, but almost human. Her eyes stung, tears soon flowed down her cheeks, and she was too tired even to sob, yet the tears kept falling.
Katherine focused, trying to hold it together. She cursed inwardly at her previous laziness at neglecting the hive, but at least she was making an effort now. It was hard work, but she channeled her power into the hive, directing her anger toward Mimi.
Mimi felt empty; her rage, it seemed, had been somehow suppressed, showing no signs even in brain scans—a serious problem, as Damon had explained that Mimi's rage fueled her, her very motor. Without it, she was paralyzed, emotionally numb.
Katherine's idea had stemmed from a dream: she was in a shop, flirting with a few guys who mentioned their soulmate, a woman with fierce rage—a spark waiting to ignite. They explained that such rage was impossible to completely extinguish, though the connection to it could be severed, and other emotions could prove useful.
A tall blonde man, while browsing vegetables with Katherine, had emphasized the usefulness of anger, advising her not to suppress it completely, only to keep it hidden from those who believed they held the upper hand. Katherine didn't initially think much of this dream; older than Damon, her millennia of experiences and dreams had occasionally yielded epiphanies, so this wasn't unusual—just her mind offering solace and a path forward.
She had never met Jake and Rob, so she was unaware of the special ghosts visiting her dreams, desperate to help their soulmate, Mimi, the one and only for them despite their marriages to human women and children (Tim was Jake's son, Taylor Rob's, and they each had daughters and grandchildren).
Their true love, their souls, belonged to Mimi. They had been her confidantes, closest friends, caretakers, and, at one point, lovers. They'd been part of her organization and willingly sacrificed their lives without regret. They had seen Mimi at her worst and her best, and both of them had been there for her, no matter what.
Losing them had been a devastating blow to Mimi, the greatest pain she had ever felt, a pain she refused to acknowledge or discuss. Yet, their love transformed them into her guardian angels.
They could almost manifest themselves for her, They had originally gotten Wulfe into Mimi's life properly. They literally sometimes open doors; once, her special twins briefly gave them back their bodies so they could save her from a dangerous place, allowing for one last kiss. This same love, however, had also ignited her rage when they bit her neck, leaving two heart-shaped scars as permanent reminders.
Now, Tim and Taylor, the boys, were part of Mimi's pack, a fact that made their fathers immensely proud, even from heaven. They still cared for her, sometimes letting her feel their love or disapproval.
Katherine focused, pushing her anger toward Mimi, but since Mimi was dead, it remained stagnant. Katherine hoped it would wait, flooding into her upon her revival. Bran, a sniveling idiot, elicited Katherine's hate, her bitter sarcasm, and her furious energy; this anger fueled her.
Mariella, despite her claims of strength, was weaker than Elena in Katherine's mind. Drugged, she crawled on the ground, believing the lies of the tall, black-haired bastard.
Katherine, observing the monitor, noticed the footage was looped—no longer live action. Something had changed, but what? Katherine's long, hard life included many rapes, making the experience commonplace.
She typically rolled her eyes as men violated her, cruelly commenting on her body and lack of reaction; she refused to cry, beg, or plead, simply enduring their abuse as if she were a sex toy. This lack of response only angered them further, leading to beatings and groping.
Now, however, Katherine channeled her inner Mimi, attempting to act instead of succumbing to despair. Collapse could wait; her vampire body could withstand a great deal.
What disgusted her was the treatment of Mimosa and Shadow, girls or women she considered friends. Their wolfish nature didn't make them animals, yet they were forced into animal form, brainwashed, and repeatedly raped by actual animals. This nearly made her vomit; she had her limits.
She desperately wanted to explode, to act, but her rage wasn't the same as Mimi's. She felt those limits painfully clearly. She swore that once this was over, once she was safe and everything returned to normal, she would take Mimi and order her to give proper lessons on hive operation.
She'd also devise a way to stop men from being such easy targets for witches. She knew a few tricks herself, and Damon's laziness and arrogance had been a major flaw of the witches had exploited. His age and power didn't make him invincible. She would give him a piece of her mind and demand action to prevent this from ever happening again.
Taking a breath, she focused her irritation, channeled it into the hive, and felt it absorbed. Though unsure of her actions, she directed her anger at the men torturing Mimosa, Shadow, and it spread into a hive to the other pack members, meaning males who'd attended the party while being trapped under the witch's spell of forgetting love.
It had been a potent spell fueled by, surprisingly, jealousy, as witches knew Damon and his jealousy, so they had tapped into it, making sure the spell would keep on going. But now, it had taken a life of its own, still fueled by jealousy, but men did not realize it at all.
This potent surge of irritation and anger amplified the torture, making it far bloodier. The darkness emanating from Mimi intensified, feeding the men's dark thrill. The black witches remained completely oblivious to how warped the spell had become and its ultimate consequences.
Katherine, seeing Elena crying again, said, "Stop it! Listen to me. Let's see if this helps. We need to wake something inside Mimi. I'm trying to channel my anger into the hive, but she's dead again! If we can spark something within her—her powers seem shut down, weakening her body—we can jumpstart her. Get angry! Get irritated! About anything!"
Elena, wiping her face, said in a broken voice, "I'm so tired. I don't know if I can hate that much, or be that bitter. This is awful. And Bran—poor guy—he has to witness Mimi's deaths again and again."
Katherine rolled her eyes and hissed, "Bran's not a 'poor guy.' He sold us out! He's an idiot who believes in every damn liar. Spare me the pity, or do you want to be a sex doll for the guards forever? Get angry! Forget the self-pity and show me you deserve to be my doppelgänger, not some sniveling girl who just happens to look like me! Get pissed off and properly, show my how Gilbert does it, how we can deserve to be in this pack too!"
"I am your doppelgänger, whether you like it or not," Elena retorted. "And don't think it's an honor to look like you! At least I have different hair. Fine, I can get angry, but what good will it do if the guards notice and drug us again?"
"Don't go there," Katherine countered. "Focus on this moment. Good, I feel it. Send your feelings to me; I'll push it further, to spark something."
Elena's eyes flashed as she connected with Katherine, the doppelgänger link intensifying the feeling. She sent her anger, feeling Katherine grab it.
A dark smirk twisted her lips as she said, "Good. Keep it going."
Closing her eyes, she channeled her irritation into the hive, sending some to Mariella. Mariella muttered, and sparks shot from her fingertips, shattering the monitor and startling the men. Von Herringberg entered, furious. Weeks of work had been undone; these "bitches" hadn't broken as planned, and his revenue would suffer from the delay.
His irritation mounted, leading to sloppiness. He barked orders without thinking, instructing men to increase the drugs on Mariella while ignoring Elena and Katherine. He coldly watched Mimi finally gasp for air.
Then, General Dillinger's heavy footsteps approached. Sneering, he accused the doctor: "She isn't talking! We've tried waterboarding, electric shocks, beatings, but your drugs aren't working. You promised results, and all we got is a cave full of whores and our target messed up by your drugs and manipulations! I expected useful information for my superiors, but you deliver nothing!"
The doctor, displeased, hissed back, "Your rage blocker messed her up! Without current physiological, pathological, and metabolic information, I was flying blind. Don't say I don't deliver when your secrecy hinders her treatment!"
The General puffed up.
"That information is need-to-know, and you don't have clearance." The doctor scoffed and walked away. The prolonged rape of the women had grown tiresome, yet he continued, hoping for some return on his investment. Nothing worked as planned, so he decided to escalate.
In a crisp voice, he revised the drug orders and handling procedures. Four women, including Mariella, would now be dissected alive—no anesthesia, only muscle paralysis to ensure they remained conscious and felt every cut. He wanted to see when they would break.
He also ordered increased beatings and rapes for all, including 789610 and 826810, who were to be treated with particular cruelty while less drugged. Anger fueled his reaction—a classic, familiar mistake.
His impulsive nature had caused problems throughout his life, and therapy had never been considered. Rage management? Unnecessary. His footsteps faded as he left the women to await their next ordeal. He was certain they would break.