Page 13

I knew he was angry.

Just like I knew he was going to hurt me.

However, when I come to think of it, he’s never really needed to be angry in order to hurt me.

But tonight, he seems … enraged.

At what, I don’t know.

All I know is that whatever he has planned for me, it’s probably gonna be much worse than anything before.

From the moment we walked out of Mr.

Kingsley’s office, leaving Deacon behind, I’ve felt like a robot.

Whatever hope that had started to build in me when I looked out into that crowd of jeering men and saw those blue eyes staring back at me in utter shock is gone.

Like the last dying note to a beautiful song that turns tragic at the end before silence reigns.

I’m not sure what I expected.

I should’ve known better.

Dante is a force to be reckoned with; he always has been.

The fact that he’s let his iron control slip several times since I’ve been here is telling, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.

In fact, he seems more unstable now than ever.

As we near the house, the silence in the car is deafening.

My muscles are tight and bunched up as I sit next to him on the leather seat in the back of the Rolls Royce.

When we’d first gotten in the car, the driver had asked Dante if he wanted the partition put up.

Despite the pleading in my eyes that I knew the man could see from his vantage point in the rear view mirror, he’d still complied when Dante said yes.

As that tinted glass rose, I could feel myself bracing for the blows I knew would come.

I was still braced for them, even now.

Yet, Dante hadn’t moved since we left the estate.

He’d poured himself a drink from the small bar built into the car’s side panel and then spent the rest of the time staring out the window while stroking his goatee with an index finger.

This move, too, was telling.

Dante only did that when he was in deep thought about something.

In the past, that something was usually some creative way to punish me for some transgression, I didn’t even know I’d committed, which was why I was currently taking the most defensive position in the backseat that I could without making it too obvious.

I honestly wish he’d just go ahead and hit me.

A punch I could take.

Waiting for it was torture.

The longer we sat in silence, the more time I knew he had to think of some new and demented way of making me pay for whatever he perceived from the interaction with Deacon because I have no doubt that that’s the cause of this deep contemplation.

Knowing Dante, he probably felt disrespected.

He was big on respect.

He demanded it, along with total obedience. Any deviation would set him off.

As the house comes into view, I should be breathing a sigh of relief.

Instead, the panic and terror inside me only mounts.

Once we’re inside and alone, I’m his to do with as he sees fit.

I know there are guards outside the house, but there’s no one inside.

Dante doesn’t like an audience when he inflicts my punishments.

He still believes that I’m one of his many possessions as he told Deacon, perhaps his most prized possession.

Pressing a hand to my stomach, I try to quell the churning that’s threatening to have me throwing up my guts right here in the backseat of this car; not that much of anything else would come up.

But that would only make him angrier.

So, instead, I close my eyes for a brief moment and take deep breaths through my nose, trying to regulate my breathing and thundering heart.

As the car pulls up in front of the house and the driver gets out, Dante exits first, then helps me out of the car.

Ever the gentleman.

Or so it would appear.

Guiding me up the stone walkway, we pass the guard posted outside the front door.

The man nods to Dante but doesn’t acknowledge me whatsoever.

I’m used to this, too.

The men work for him, and even if they felt some measure of sympathy for me, they’d never put their lives on the line to help me.

Following Dante inside, I walk past him as he closes the heavy oak door with a resounding thud.

Like the first shovel full of dirt thrown atop a freshly lowered coffin.

As I stand in the foyer of the large house, I keep my back to him.

I don’t bother turning around now.

I don’t need to see the face of my judge, jury, and executioner.

It’s been burned into my brain for years.

Instead, I stand still, waiting, but I don’t have to wait long.

Soon, I feel one of Dante’s strong hands wrap around the front of my throat, giving it a light squeeze.

Not enough to cut off my air but enough to send a lightning bolt of fear through my body.

Circling around until he’s standing in front of me, he brings our faces close as he asks, “Did you know that man, Sirena?”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished his question, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows I’m lying.

The hand around my throat tightens.

“Who is he to you, Bella? An acquaintance? A friend?”

I don’t realize a tear spills down my cheek until he flicks out his tongue.

As he licks up the side of my face, he whispers, “A lover?”

It sounds like blasphemy when he says it, and the cooling trail of saliva left in the wake of his tongue is enough to make my stomach pitch.

“He’s n-no one.

I’ve never even met him before tonight.”

I stutter out.

I don’t know why I bother lying.

I know he’s going to punish me regardless.

Using his other hand to grip my hair roughly, he jerks my head back so hard my eyes water, only adding to the wetness already coating my face.

Slanting his mouth over mine, I feel his tongue push roughly inside.

I don’t fight him but I also don’t kiss him back.

Even though I know it’ll anger him further, I just can’t bring myself to participate in my own rape.

Releasing the hand around my throat, he moves it to my right wrist, twisting my arm painfully behind my back, causing me to cry out.

With a shove, he releases me entirely, and I fall to the floor in a heap.

Even as I attempt to scramble away from him, some part of my addled brain tells me that there’s no getting out of this house alive.

If Dante doesn’t get to me first, the guards outside will surely stop me before I get too far.

Even so, my heels screech across the marble tiles as I try to gain purchase enough to pull myself up.

The weakness from what little food and water I’ve allowed myself that plagued me earlier returns in full force, and it takes me longer than it should to kick the shoes off and leave them behind.

I finally make it onto my feet but only get as far as the kitchen doorway when a foot planted firmly into my back sends me flying forward.

As I hit the floor again, I try to catch myself, but the wrist Dante twisted before does little to break my fall, and I feel my face hit the linoleum floor hard, top teeth breaking through the skin of my bottom lip.

As blood pours down my chin, I once again make to get up, but before I can even get up to my knees, a rough hand grips my hair again, and soon, I’m being dragged through the house kicking and screaming.

Pulling me up straight, Dante turns me to face him just as we make it to the landing leading to the second floor of the house.

A backhand to the face has spots swimming in my vision.

As my equilibrium turns my world upside down and my legs into jello, I feel myself being lifted off the floor.

Vaguely, I’m aware that I’m being carried up the stairs but I can’t seem to get the world to right itself so that I can prepare for what’s coming next.

As I’m dropped roughly onto a bed, I’m finally able to blink the room around me into focus.

Just as I orient myself to my surroundings, the music begins to play— Bach’s Chaconne.

With renewed purpose, I make a move to crawl off the bed.

Immediately, Dante is on top of me.

Teeth gritted with barely controlled rage, he says, “Did you let him fuck you, Sirena?? Did you let him put his mouth on my skin?? Did you let him taste the pussy that belongs to me ???”

Ripping open the lapels of the robe I’d been allowed to put back on in the car, he bares my lace-covered breasts.

Not to be impeded by anything, he grabs the cups, jerking them down roughly, exposing flesh that he’s spent the last few weeks marring.

Hissing between his teeth, his eyes full of hunger and madness, he traces his fingertips lovingly over the bite marks, bruises, and small cuts made by his favored weapon of choice.

Knowing the razor belonged to his father makes me wonder if he was anywhere near the monster that his son grew into.

As he paws my breasts roughly, I come to the realization that my hands are finally free.

I swing for his face but narrowly miss when he jerks back.

The move costs me dearly.

Within seconds, he manages to wrangle both my wrists in one of his powerful hands, holding them high above my head.

With the other hand, he grips my right nipple hard, twisting brutally.

Against my will, I let loose a scream that practically shakes the very walls of the house.

Probably less than a minute later, I’m dimly aware of a series of loud bangs in the hallway outside.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

It isn’t until the door to the bedroom swings nearly off its hinges, hitting the wall behind it, that I realize the banging sounds must’ve been the doors to the other rooms on this floor of the house being kicked in.

As Dante jerks his head around at the sound, I use the opportunity to reach for the inside pocket of his suit jacket, where I know he keeps his precious blade hidden.

I have no idea who just burst in, but I know I have to take advantage of the distraction.

I may not get another chance.

Hand closing around the heavy weight of the weapon, I jerk it from his pocket, using the momentum to release the blade from the shield.

Quick as a flash, I swing my hand in the direction of Dante’s throat.

With his head turned towards the door, he never sees the blade coming.

Suddenly, blood is pouring down on my face, making it difficult to see.

Shaky hand still gripping the now slippery razor, I scramble out from under Dante as he falls onto his side, gripping his throat.

There’s so much blood that it’s hard to see exactly where I cut him, but the look of shock on his face would be comical under any other circumstances.

Breaths heaving, I stand there next to the bed.

I want to watch the life drain from his body.

I want to see the light fade from his eyes.

I want to make sure he stays dead this time.

A gentle hand on my shoulder has me swinging around, blade at the ready.

But my eyes soon clash with a set of sky blues.

Instantly, all thoughts of Dante are forgotten.

Any need for eternal retribution is diminished in the wake of that soft gaze as it roves over me.

I know I must look like something from a horror movie, but I don’t care.

Dropping the razor to the floor, I finally let down my guard and reach for Deacon just as his strong arms wrap around me, lifting me off the floor.

Holding me close to his chest, he cradles me with one arm, using the hand of the other to pull my robe closed, concealing my torso before slipping that arm under my knees.

With one last glance at Dante’s prone form on the blood-soaked bed, Deacon takes me from the room, barely pausing to grab my violin case from the nearby table before we’re heading down the stairs and out of the house.

No guards appear to try to stop us, but I know that unless Deacon actually killed them on his way in, they’ll be on our heels any minute.

His sure stride and the gentle way he’s holding me against him culminate to create a perfect storm of emotion.

Burying my face in his neck, I finally allow myself the freedom to release a loud sob out into the night.

One tear turns to two, and soon, I’m crying rivers.

I’m crying for all the pain, anguish, and torture I’ve endured over the last few weeks.

And crying because I know I’ll never be the person I was before.

A person already damaged, now possibly broken beyond repair.

And I cry because I’ve been saved not only by my own hand but by the man now holding me as though I’m the most fragile piece of glass.

As my tears run down the skin of his neck, I allow myself to shatter in his arms.