I followed Upchurch to the back of the room, where he handed me a burner phone. I thanked him, but my mind wandered to Lena’s open red lips. I imagined her stomach and back and breasts exposed, every part of her beaten until she was begging for it to stop. Maybe she would live. Maybe she would die. As long as I trained her to please me, they would be convinced of my sacrifice.
And then I would discard her like a crumpled rose.
CHAPTER 3
Lena
I used the same weak smile, fixed my husband’s whiskey every night, pretended to be numb, despite the energy buzzing inside of me each time he went to work. My head pounded with pain and sometimes, my stomach twisted so much I could barely walk, but it was like waking up for the first time in years. Each day brought me more courage as everything flushed from my system. I even had some desire back. The headaches, nausea, and nightmares were all worth it.
In the linen closet, I moved the towels and found the small hidden panel. I opened it, a gleeful smile filling my face as I marveled at the different drugs. SSRIs, antidepressants, benzodiazepines, barbiturates, a mix of everything. I had always thought that I would use these myself one day, a final calling, but that seemed silly now. I poured the rat poison into an empty shampoo bottle, then called an in-ground pool and spa company, confirming their appointment.
“We’re breaking ground today, ma’am,” the man said on the phone. “My men will be with you in about an hour.”
“Fantastic,” I beamed. “I can’t wait.”
I had no interest in a spa, but my chest tingled, knowing that I was using John’s money for something that I would never use. Not in the intended sense, anyway. I put my daily allowance into the housekeeper’s purse, humming to myself, a jitteriness floating through me. I turned on rock music, drumming my fingers on the plastic shampoo bottle. I mixed it with his whiskey, adding a few drops until I had added as much as I could, without changing the overall appearance. As long as he dranksomeof it, everything would be fine.
The construction workers dug a deep hole in the backyard, ripping up John’s beautiful lawn outside of the garden. My chest expanded as they destroyed what he had designed, everything he had made sure was perfectlyhis.
That evening, as I waited for John, a buzzing sensation tickled my limbs. I stood on the balcony, gazing at our new neighbor’s house. The man was always on his balcony around the same time as me, but that night, he wasn’t there. There was something about him, something I couldn’t let go of, but that was everything lately. Maybe it had nothing to do with him. Maybe it had everything to do with the way he stared at me. I retreated, going back inside, sitting on the accent chair, the maroon silk robe covering my shoulders, black lacy lingerie underneath.
It was dark when John entered the bedroom. The house staff had gone home, leaving us alone. He loosened his tie.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“Call the chef.”
I smiled slyly. “Not for that.” He raised a brow and I tilted my head at the nightstand. “Your drink is ready.”
He unbuttoned his shirt, then grabbed the glass, marveling at it in the dim moonlight coming from the open balcony doors.
“The backyard?” he asked.
In the painting over our bed, one of the women winked at me.
“My therapist said a spa might help battle my anxiety,” I said, keeping my voice steady. My therapist had mentioned nothing like that, but it sounded good enough. John respected that therapist more than me.
“It will be excellent for your composition.” He bowed his head. “A place for yourself.”
I sucked in a breath. I had expected him to punish me for changing his backyard without his permission, but so far, everything seemed fine. I spread my legs. His eyes flickered to the lace covering me.
“He also ordered,” I paused, pretending to be coy, the excitement bubbling through me, “more sensual exploration.”
“Did he?”
The robe fell down over my shoulders. John’s eyes were glued to me, his mouth open and salivating. In the end, my ex had never been interested in me, and even the last time we had sex, it had been more about conquering me than his desire. But with John, he enjoyed the perks that came with the arranged marriage. In exchange for my subservience, he gave me anything I wanted. Kept me numb so that I would never have a complaint. And for that, I let him screw me like a plastic doll.
But not anymore.
“Finish your drink,” I said, smiling. “Then we can go to bed.”
He swallowed it down, drinking it all, his eyes on my bare shoulders and neck. The hill of my breasts.
“The injection,” he said. “How is it?”
“The injection?” I asked, playing dumb.
