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“I–”
He holds up a hand to wave me off, so I stop talking.
“You’re not a guest here, Ava, and you won’t do yourself any favors with me if you go snooping around the house at night, or any other time.”
I barely did anything for him to be so worked up. My first thoughts are that there’s something in the room he doesn’t want me to see. But the look in his eyes suggests it might not exactly be a thing. It’s more to do with how he was last night. I remember the way he looked as he gazed up at the painting of the woman. This is about the significance. It’s personal. That’s why he seems meaner.
“I was just looking around. I couldn’t sleep,” I explain.
“You are not here to look around. You’re paying a debt. That’s why you’re here in my house.”
To be his whore.
I ball my fists, and my chest constricts. The reminder of what I am makes me sick, especially with the way I just gave myself to him.
I can’t do it. I can’t just do as I’m told to keep the peace. When you allow people to treat you a certain way and you say nothing, they keep doing it.
He turns to leave, but I stand up and steel my spine. “I’m not a whore,” I call out, and he stops midstride.
Turning back to me, he cocks a brow. “You'll be whatever I want you to be.”
I must have some type of death wish because I shake my head and say, “no, I won’t.”
That did it. It snaps the tension that already existed in the room from the moment I woke up and saw him.
He rushes over to me, but unlike the other times, I don’t back away.
I stand up to him and shock him.
“What did you say to me?” he barks.
This is about money and whatever trouble Dad caused. It’s not about me, and I’ve done what I can to fix it. I can’t allow him to take the last part of me.
Standing a little taller, I lift my head and gaze straight at him, a challenge I know I won’t win.
“I’m not a whore,” I repeat.
“I'll be the judge of that. I—”
I don’t give him a chance to finish. Red flashes in front of me, and it’s like I’m transported right back to the last time I was made to feel like a whore. As rage fills me, my hand lifts, takes on a life of its own, and slaps him straight across his face.
The feral look in his eyes is all I get to register before he lunges for me. This time, I decide not to be stupid and stand up to him. Him with his six-foot-six stature, and me the little woman at five four.
I try to run, and I scream, but he reaches me, and we fall back onto the bed.
“Let me go!” I wail, thrashing beneath his heavy frame.
He has me pinned, and the growl that tears from him is so animalistic it makes my soul shudder with pure fear. We couldn’t be the same people who were having sex on this very bed not five minutes ago.
Tears run down my cheeks. I cry not knowing what he’s going to do to me.
Is he going to kill me?
Did I just fuck things up completely for myself and Dad?
“Let me go,” I squeak.
He raises my hands over my head and holds me down scowling.
