Y/n pov

Danny opened the door, revealing a disheveled looking Matt, now with a new pair of pants. The man nodded towards me, a scared looking lump on the floor.
"What did you do?" Matt glared.
"Don't act surprised," Danny retorted, "She's a fucktoy, it's her job."
Jeez, thanks, I scornfully looked away.
"Go ahead and take her... I know you want in on the fun, too."
Matt shoved passed him, carefully moving towards me as if I was a wounded animal.
"Come on," he coaxed, holding his hand carefully out. The action made me think of a dog, which made me want to growl and snap at his hand. Unfortunately, I didn't, hesitantly taking it. He pulled me up, gently pushing me towards the door. I listened, head bowed in shame and... submission. The thought made me bristle, head snapping back up, meeting Danny's eyes. They were hard, cold, I lowered my head again, rushing past him.

Matt took me to his room, I flinched when the door clicked shut, panic suddenly gripped me.
"Hey," he came closer, laying a hand on my shoulder. I jumped back, smacking his hand away. He hissed, anger flashing in his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know wh-why..."
"It's fine," his eyes softened, "Are you okay? Was he rough?"
I nodded slightly, unwanted tears welling in my eyes. Pity shown in his eyes, "Do you want to-"
The door flew open, Dylan crashing in. Matt sighed, "-lay down." Dylan pointed, "You! Come here."
I sneered, "Fuck off, pindick."
He frowned, "That's not very nice."
"It's not nice to rape people either."
"Okay, you got me there. But pindick?"
I shrugged, knowing I'd probably regret saying that later, but hey, it felt great. I was already throwing up defensive walls, promising myself I'd bite the shit out of him if he tried doing the same thing Danny did.
"Get out," Matt spoke up, finally deciding to gain control over the situation.
"But George wants her."
"Sure he does. Now get out."
Dylan shrugged, "Okay, when George comes in a rage, don't say I didn't warn you!" Matt shooed him out, shutting the door afterward, locking it.
"Pindick? Really?"
Matt attempted to be stern, however he couldn't help but grin, making me do the same. He shook his head, "He'll get you for that."
"Then I'll deal with it when it happens." I replied, feeling very tired all of a sudden. Matt took note of this, nodding towards the bed, "Go ahead, you need it."
I went towards the bed, but only barely touched the sheets when the door banged. Silence filled the air, I turned around, fear gripping me as I stared at the still door.
"Go away, Dylan."
"Open the door."
Demanding, sheer rage, not Dylan.
"George-"
The door shook violently, but the lock held.
"Open the FUCKING DOOR!"
As soon as Matt turned the lock, the door swung open, hitting the wall hard and bouncing off, barely missing him. George pushed him aside, eyes locking with my own terrified ones. I watched as he crossed the room in a few quick strides, I was unable to move. He grabbed my arm, dragging me through the room, through the house, he only stopped to throw open the basement door, shoving me down the steps. He kept walking, to a door I hadn't seen before. Of course, when I had been thrown down here, it was dark, I was scared, much like I am now, I couldn't think straight. He didn't drag me this time, he stood by the open door and watched me. Head bowed, I forced my legs to move, through the door. But that's where I stopped. The room looked the same as the previous one, but there was what looked like a dental chair tucked in a corner, a thin, metal table Sat beside it, various tools beside it, also looking as if from a dental office. Dark staines covered it, the floors, the walls... I looked back at George. He came closer, kicking the door shut behind him.
"Get on your knees."
I frowned, "Wh-what?"
He snarled, brandishing a gun, "On your knees."
My eyes widened and I backed up. He clicked it, making me flinch and slowly lower myself onto my knees, staring up at him. George swallowed, his mood shifting, "Don't... don't look at me. Turn around, stand facing the wall."
I stood up with tears spilling from my eyes, but I didn't turn. The gun started to shake in his hands, "I told you not to look at me." I could see him trying desperately to remain in control, but he was crumbling before my eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" I whispered. Pain showed in his eyes as his arm went limp, as if his weapon weighed ten pounds more.
Silence.
Sobbing.
Shock and confusion washed away the fear, he was... crying. The gun clattered against the ground as he dropped it, he covered his face. And I barely heard him as he spoke:
"I'm sorry."