Page 13 of Scarred in Silence (The Twisted Trilogy #2)

Astra

The door above me slams open. What. The. Fuck.

It has to be like six in the morning or something. The ladder crashes down onto the floor. Lucien climbs down the ladder on heavy feet.

My eyes struggle to adjust to the bright light that never shuts off. It buzzes all day, I swear I can hear it in my sleep.

Lucien stands confidently at the bottom of the ladder, holding zip ties and duct tape. Lovely.

“What are you doing? I want to go back to sleep.”

I throw the blanket over my head, and he immediately rips it off me and discards it on the floor. The cool air hits me between my legs, and my skin crawls. I feel so exposed, my legs instantly snap together, rattling the chains.

He tosses the materials down onto the floor and removes a key from his pocket. He walks up to the foot of the bed, casting a murderous glare in my direction.

“Can I trust you?” He asks.

I nod quickly. I’m not stupid enough to try to run from him right now. Hell, I don’t even know if I could run. I’ve practi cally been bedridden.

He puts the key back in his pocket and picks up the zip ties. He doesn’t trust me. I understand why.

“Sit up.”

I do as I’m told.

He grabs my wrists tightly behind me, securing them in the tie. My skin pinches underneath the stiff material. He then rips off a piece of duct tape, placing it over my mouth. He silences me, even though most of the time—I silence myself.

He removes the key once more. This time, he uses the key, twisting the locks and freeing my ankles. The weight on my ankles feels lifted.

I quickly move my ankles around. They have blisters on the insides, but they don’t hurt that badly. Not as bad as the internal pain I’ve dealt with my entire life.

He grabs my arm and pulls me to stand. He stands behind me, using his foot to separate my feet. He uses his free hand to skate his palm up the inside of my shirt, feeling my free breasts. He twists my nipple between his fingers. I shudder.

“You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you?” His words dance along my neck, leaving a tingle in their absence.

I nod my head.

“Good,” his tone low and dark.

He removes his hand, hurling me up over his shoulder. Exposing my ass to the world. He climbs the ladder with me in tow. Where is he taking me? I thought he had to work. Where the fuck is his cousin?

We reach the top, and he sets me down. I take in the abandoned building and feel delirious. This is where he has been keeping me?

He hurries out of the room, and I follow him. It’s a house. A smal l bungalow that smells musky. I hate it.

I follow him out the front door, and his car awaits us. A dense forest surrounds us. There is a small area cleared for driving, but other than that, it’s secluded.

I would have gotten lost out here if I tried to run.

The air is warm. It reminds me of California. The scent of pine trees fills my senses as I inhale the fresh air. It reminds me of my childhood.

It’s almost as intoxicating as drugs, until those memories resurface. Then it is almost as intoxicating as death.

He opens the passenger door, and I slide in. Letting the buttery leather welcome my bare skin on my legs.

He closes his door behind him and starts driving. We only drive a minute or two before we arrive in front of a large, ranch-style home with a dark wooden door. Where the Hell are we?

“Welcome home, Mrs. Crowe.” He winks at me from the driver’s seat.

What the fuck? He sold his other house? What state are we even in again?

He gets out of the car, and I sit patiently waiting for him to let me out. He casually opens the door, helping me out of the car and into the daunting home. I can hear the house taunting me. Dangling my freedom in front of me like a blood-soaked carrot.

Warm colors decorate the inside. Rich brows, deep reds, and beige tones fill the space. The foyer is large, with a low-hanging chandelier, and opens directly into a living area. The sofa is a rich brown leather, accented with deep red leather chairs.

It’s… beautiful.

Th e living area has a large wet bar in the back corner and opens into the kitchen and dining room. All of which are larger than needed.

I roll my eyes. He really went overboard, didn’t he?

“Follow me,” he says.

I really want to run, but I know that would be the worst decision I could make. I follow him, knowing he probably built a prison for me here, too.

He escorts us down a long hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side.

We stop at the last room on the right and enter the master suite.

A wooden four-post bed frame stands against the wall, accompanied by a king-size mattress.

There is a nightstand on either side of the bed, and a large mirror hangs above, on the ceiling.

Has he been sleeping with other women again? The thought makes me want to vomit. My stomach turns as I focus my attention back on him. He enters into an adjoining room, and I follow, like a fucking puppy.

The bathroom has dark green tiles and gold accents. It has a dark stone shower and a slate soaking tub—the warm hint of honey dances in the air around us. I wish I could speak right now.

He starts the tub and pours in some essential oils. The steam clings to the mirror. Blurring our reflections.

He pulls out a knife and stands before me. His blonde hair is messy, and his eyes are hungry. He radiates power and control.

“I know my little Siren loves the water,” he says in a low tone.

He fists my shirt and cuts through the fabric, exposing my chest to him.

He cuts the sleeves as well, leaving me naked, zip-ti ed, and silenced.

My pulse racing, sweat beads on my forehead.

I always loved how my body reacts to him, but now it feels wrong.

I feel like a prisoner. Like an afterthought.

He flips the knife away, tossing it to the floor beside him. He scoops me into his arms and begins walking me to the tub. I squirm in his grip, trying to get him to put me down, but I fail.

He’s going to fucking drown me. I should have known he would kill me one day.

I scream beneath the tape, and his eyes go wild.

“My silent little whore has something to say?” He mocks as he placed me into the water.

My body goes rigid, but he stops. He lets me sit in the water. My body relaxes as tears flow from my eyes. I thought he was going to kill me.

He rips the tape off my mouth, and the sting lingers.

“Speak,” he commands.

I stare at him, dumbfounded. I find the position uncomfortable because my hands are zip-tied behind my back.

“I… I thought you were going to drown me…”

A smirk threatens his lips, but he suppresses it. He stays quiet.

He reaches next to the tub and grabs a washcloth. He dunks it into the warm water and applies a generous amount of soap.

“W-what are you doing?”

He takes the washcloth and scrubs my back.

“I’m giving my wife a proper bath.”

I freeze—HIS wife.

He continues to wash my body, scrubbing gently. It’s almost as if he cares about me in this moment. I would say he has always cared, but he didn’t. Not when he cheated on me. Not when h e told me to choose between him and drugs—my only coping mechanism.

“Lean back like you were in the ocean,” he mumbles.

“I..I can’t… Not with my arms like this.”

“Yes, you can,” his tone is firm now.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

I study his face. His expression is stern yet imploring.

I nod.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” I whisper, “I trust you.”

I lean back into the water, letting my feet rise in the tub. My ears fill with water, and the sounds around me muffle. It’s just me and my heartbeat. My hair flows effortlessly through the welcoming water.

I feel free. For a second.

My back arches strangely, and my body panics. My face turns towards the water, and I thrash.

Two strong arms scoop me up and bring me to a sitting position. I cough up water, and my eyes burn from the oils.

“You’re okay. It’s okay,” Lucien comforts me.

I look at him, confused by his sudden demeanor. What happened to the asshole who burned my friends’ letters in front of me?

He strokes his fingers through my hair, and I am left feeling stuck. I love his touch, yet I can’t help but feel like this is a trap.

Whatever this is, I have my guard up. No matter how many lies or how much silence I have to endure.

* * *

The water has cooled, and silence surrounds me. Lucien left me alone after he washed me. He will probably be back any minute. I am trying to understand his angle, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I have no idea what benefit marrying me gave him.

He always struck me as a man who doesn’t marry. He likes to keep his options open. Obviously.

He never does anything for anyone unless it benefits him in some way. I’ll figure out his master plan sooner or later. He thinks I’ve just given in, but he should know me better than that. No one may ever hear me when I’m screaming inside, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a fighter.

Heavy footsteps echo throughout the bedroom, making their way closer with every thump.

Lucien comes into view, holding a stack of clean clothes.

“How am I supposed to put those on?” I ask sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes and grabs a towel from the towel warmer. He steps over to the tub, gripping my arm tightly, and pulls me to my feet. The scent hits me— Absinthe. He’s been drinking.

He lifts me up and out of the tub, placing me solidly on my feet. My toes curl on the rug, and my ankles feel raw from where the chains sat. He picks up the knife from the floor, opening it slowly.

“Do you trust me?” He asks in a low tone.

He brings the dull side of the knife to my neck. I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t know when I decided I don’t want to die, but apparently, when I’m not doing drugs—I value my life.

“Yes,” I let out breathlessly.

He twirls me around and slices through the zip tie, releasing my wrists. Relief washes over me. I rub my tender wrists carefu lly, as if I could break them.

Lucien cups my chin, forcing his gaze upon me.

“Are you going to be my good little whore?”

I lick my lips, nervous about answering his simple question. Is this a test?

“Y-yes.”

He smirks.

“On your knees.”

I instantly drop to my knees, trying not to think about the unpleasant memory from the Halloween party. Lucien knows about it. He saw the video.

He unzips his jeans, forcing them down quickly.

I stare up at him, wetting my lips.

His cock springs free, and I grab the base, bringing the tip to my mouth. I dart my tongue out, teasing the tip. He fists my hair and forces himself into the back of my throat. I don’t gag. I know how he likes it. Rough.

I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but if it’s a test, I have no choice. I have to pass if I want any freedom.

He violently thrusts his hips back and forth. Using my mouth as he wishes. I moan around him, and he releases a deep groan.

“Fuck, baby. Your mouth feels so fucking good.”

Tears prick my eyes at his roughness. He grips my hair tighter, sending sharp pain throughout my scalp. I love pain. Pain means I’m alive.

He pulls himself out of my mouth, and I am met with a firm slap.

I grab my cheek, soothing the sting.

He grabs my hair, forcing me to look up at him.

“Be a good whore and look at me when you suck my cock.”

I nod, opening my mouth for him once more. This time, he is brutal.

I can’t breathe as he forces himself in, holding my head in place. I can’t move. I try to scream, but I can’t. I gag as the tears fall from my eyes. My face is covered in snot.

Why can’t anyone hear me?

He swells in my mouth, and a warm pool of liquid travels down my throat. I swallow. I don’t want to know what happens if I don’t.

He removes himself from me, staring down into the depths of my being. He kneels down in front of me.

“My perfect little Siren,” he says as he licks the tears from my cheek. Fucking asshole.

“Time to get dressed, we have to go,” he whispers against my ear, sending an army of goosebumps across my naked flesh.

I hope wherever I go, it’s far away from here.

Maybe he will take me to the ocean. I laugh to myself. If he is taking me anywhere, it’ll be to Hell—Where I would be silenc ed… forever.