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The house smelled musky, old. While the interior hadn’t changed much since Nikolai took possession of the property, the stench wreaked of his filth. How many men had he murdered inside his home?
I hobbled to my childhood bedroom and ripped open the door. I stumbled inside, my feet left a trail of fresh blood on the perfectly white carpet. I ignored the stains and the mess as I approached my closet. I’d spent many nights in the bedroom, not just in my childhood years. I retrieved a sweater dress and black leggings from the dresser along with undergarments.
I hurried into the nearest bathroom. There were no locks on the doors: no real privacy, just a semblance of it. I’d have to trust that no one would invade my personal space. There was no furniture to slide in front of the door.
As a kid living in the giant house, it hadn’t mattered. No one had barreled through the bathroom door, but now, knowing that Franco could force his way in on a whim, my stomach ached.
I stripped down and turned on the shower, letting the steam permeate the bathroom while I retrieved a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet. I sat on the closed toilet lid, lifting one leg at a time to remove any glass or debris buried in the bottoms of my feet.
I breathed loudly through my mouth, exhaling and grimacing as I grabbed the splinters of wood and shards of glass that had snuck under my skin.
“One down,” I said. I worked diligently on my other foot before I finally climbed under the hot spray of the shower.
Staring down at the water, the clear spray at my feet turned brown and red as I washed away the remnants of yesterday. What didn’t wash away was the pain, the concern for Mason and his uncle. I hadn’t removed the bracelet, keeping it against my skin. I hoped it could get wet, but it was too late. I’d already left it on under the shower spray.
I couldn’t remove it. What if Franco stormed into the bathroom and took my clothes and bracelet? We weren’t staying at this home for more than a few hours, however long it took for Nikolai to return.
We drove more than fourteen hours, but my brother had a private plane. I expected that he’d flown to Montana and then flown home. Why had he come all the way to Breckenridge? What had he hoped to do, convince me to return with him?
My brother was the biggest asshole on the planet with a God complex. He was also the reason I never ended up in California. My father had spent the money that was earmarked for my tuition on Nikolai. He’d also told me it was too dangerous for me to be outside of Chicago and kept me trapped, but I wasn’t a prisoner, not completely.
I’d been given permission to come and go from the property. I’d believed I had freedom, but it was a sham. The necklace he’d given me had provided my whereabouts. I was never alone, even when I wanted to be.
My father had helped me land my first job straight out of high school. Most hires with only a high school diploma started out landing a gig in retail or low pay work, something entry-level and mundane.
The water washed over me, cleansed me of my sins. I opened the shampoo bottle and squeezed a dollop-sized amount into my hand before lathering my hair.
I’d never had a typical entry-level position. I had wanted to go to college for graphic design, and my father had told me to send my resume to West Marketing Firm. I’d done exactly what he asked and had been hired at my first interview as the marketing manager. Two months later, I was promoted to marketing director when my boss mysteriously disappeared.
Looking back, it had all been suspect, the employees, the clients, they’d all been Nikolai’s friends and family, business partners in some way or another. I hadn’t known that when I was eighteen. I’d been naïve and foolish into believing everything Daddy said was true.
My father had lied to me and had me believe that I held a job at a prestigious firm straight out of high school because I’d had raw talent.
I rinsed the suds from my hair and soaped every inch of my skin.
The bathroom door thrust open, and a cold gust of wind followed the intruder.
“Get out!” I shouted and pulled the curtain tight around myself, hiding both my body and my bracelet from sight.
Franco’s dark laugh filled the bathroom. “No point in being shy with me. We’re going to be husband and wife.”
“Over my dead body,” I snarled.
“That can be arranged.” He stepped closer, invading my personal space, and grabbed my jaw, forcing me to stare into his dark, soulless eyes. “You’ve been in here long enough. Get dressed and come downstairs.” He released his hold on me.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’ve got five minutes. Any longer, and I’ll pull out the cane. You’ll discover the beauty of discipline and submission.”
“I’ll never submit to you.”
Franco backhanded me across the face.
My cheek stung, and my eyes shut from the initial shock and pain. No one had ever hit me before, certainly not to my face.
“Never is a long time. We have the rest of our lives together,” Franco said, reminding me that I washis.
His phone buzzed in his pants, and he took a step back.
