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“Enough.” Maceo slams his drink down, sloshing it over the brim. “Is the room ready?”
“Your bridal suite awaits.” Emin gestures expensively. “I’m sorry it isn’t nicer, but we’re working with severe limitations. Under the circumstances, I think you’ll agree it’s not too bad.”
“Let’s get this over with.” Maceo grabs my arm and stands, yanking me to my feet. I stagger and spill a glass of water. Nobody seems to notice or care.
“Second floor, end of the hall. You can’t miss it,” Emin says. “Anarbek set it up all nice and romantic for you two.” He winks at me, smiling again. “Enjoy yourselves. Or at least try not to hate it too much. This is the first night of many, many more to come.”
I stagger along, and I want to fight but I’m too numb as Maceo drags me away from the table. There’s nothing I can do right now. Struggling will only make it worse. It’ll only make him want to hurt me even more. I’ve met men like him before in the clans, and I know what kind of sick pleasure they take in subjugating anyone that fights back. Maceo’s one of those, and the second I raise a hand against him is the second he starts to enjoy himself.
But the horrible alternative is I lay back and take it until the day I die.
Eyes follow our walk through the party and into a back hall. They’re staring at me, and I know what they’re thinking: there goes the bitch to get fucked and impregnated. Because that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Emin wants Maceo to get me pregnant as soon as possible to cement this marriage. That way, I won’t be able to back out. My father won’t be able to pull me away.
It’s sick. It’s utterly sick and twisted. I don’t fight, because I know that won’t do me any good right now. We reach a flight of stairs, and Maceo takes me up them, not speaking, looking grimly forward. He doesn’t seem like he’s looking forward to this. Maybe because I’m not locked in a cage anymore. Maybe he never wanted a wife or kids and was only interested in me when it meant hurting a defenseless girl.
I try to imagine what my days will be like if this beast gets me pregnant. I’ll spend my life raising children given to me by a man I despise, surrounded by more men I loathe, and not just the men in this mafia. I’ll be stuck with my father, my brothers, the clan, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive them if they let this stand, but I know better than to hope for rescue.
My family might tolerate my existence, but the Halloran clan never cared about me, not really. Dad felt guilty when Megan died and let me go to college, but that was all for show. He never planned on letting me have my own life for long.
And once this is done, my brothers will never look at me the same again—they’ll know what I am.
A hostage. A breeder.
I’m crying when we reach the top of the steps. I’m sobbing as we walk to the end of the hall and enter a room lit by glowing, flickering flames. I should stop, because I think Maceo likes the tears, but I can’t help it anymore. I’m too scared and angry and broken to stop. There’s a large mattress against one wall, flowers strewn all about, and maybe a dozen candles. It’s grotesque, like a sick mockery of what a wedding night should be, a horrible joke.
Maceo looks around, grunts once, and throws me down onto the mattress. I hit hard, bounce, and crawl back to try to put space between us.
He turns to the door, closes it, then stares at me. He looks thoughtful now and I’m trembling. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I hope he doesn’t love it as much as I’m afraid he does. I hope he can’t get hard with all the alcohol he drank. But I don’t think I’ll be that lucky.
No, my luck’s all run out, spent a long time ago.
“When I start, you’re going to think you can fight me.” He takes a few steps closer, and his dark eyes seem to go blank, like whatever soul he has suddenly flees his body, terrified of the horror he’s about to commit. “But I’m telling you right now, fighting will make it worse. No, don’t speak, don’t try and tell me you hate me. I don’t care. If you fight, I’ll break your teeth. You don’t need teeth to be my wife. If you keep fighting after that, I’ll break your wrists, then your ankles. I’ll break your fingers if you keep on struggling. I’ll make you scream. You don’t need wrists or ankles or fingers to be my wife. All you need is a cunt and some eggs. That’s it.” He stands at the end of the bed, and I’m trembling, shaking so hard I think they must hear it downstairs.
