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“I didn’t say anything,” she murmurs, her head still turned away from me. “You assumed, and I didn’t correct you.”
She’s right. I saw the bruises after that evening at Sam’s cabin when they used her to threaten me. She was on my kitchen counter at the Murrays. I opened her blouse and…I remember her staying silent and me putting it on Sam and Lik. The next day, I was ready to end Lik for what they did to her. Only he was surprised when I mentioned the bruises. I was too angry to make sense of it, since I just wanted to put a bullet through his head.
I swallow my sadness, the bitterness of rage replacing it. It’s slow, spreading through my veins and warming up my body.
It starts from my heart.
Thump. Thump.All the way through my stomach, my legs, and to my toes. Tensing my abs, bringing life to every single one of my limbs.
Thump. Thump.It goes up my chest, a thick poison bringing my voice low, heating my face, and ringing in my ears.
I bring a hand to her cheek, turning her face toward me. To her credit, she hasn’t shed a tear. Keeping them on the edge of her lower eyelids, making sure she doesn’t push them over when she blinks. My other hand palms her other cheek, and I pierce my dark blues into her light ones.
“I’m going to kill him, Rachel. I hope you know that.” The seriousness in my low voice makes her tremble.
“Please,” she pleads. “Don’t get involved.” She puts a hand on mine, helping me cover her cheek. “He isn’t scared of you, Rose. He’s stronger than you think. Violent…cruel.”
I don’t remind her I’ve had my fair share of cruel men, and that none of them scare me anymore.
I zip up her bodice. “I’m going to look under your skirt,” I tell her, so she doesn’t get alarmed about what I’m about to do. I push up the material until it’s around her waist and spread her shaking legs.
When I see the other bruises on her hips, on her thighs, the scratch mark around her underwear, my jaw tightens to a point where I can hear my teeth grinding against the other, gritting and fighting against my jaw muscles. One of my hands turns into a fist against her cheek.
“Tell me the truth,” I say softly. “Just one question.”
“No—”
“Is it consensual, Sunshine? When he touches you?”
“It’s not like that. You don’t understand…He’s my fiancé.”
“It’s a simple question,” I insist.
I try to keep my hold on her light, but how can I? How can I when I know he’s been touching her, hurting her, trying to break her. I need her close. I need her to know I would protect her against anything. A hundred Conors is nothing against the love I hold for her.
“My dad…he doesn’t trust him,” she keeps going, justifying his actions. “He won’t give him the company unless we have a child who could take over if Conor tries to kick Daddy off the board—”
“Just answer the question,” I snap, regretting the vehemence in my voice straight away. I drop my forehead against hers, taking a deep breath to try and calm myself. “Just the truth,” I murmur.
She finally stops talking, stops trying to throw up a flow of words that would avoid answering.
“No.” She shakes her head, and the tears finally come. “It’s not.”
My head falls back, looking up at the ceiling. My heart breaks into a million pieces. Looking at the colors and patterns on the ceiling instead of her doesn’t help. Trying to push back the images of Conor’s forceful hands on her doesn’t work.
Flashes of Volkov’s men grabbing my hips, pushing my head against the floor. Their laughs resonating so loudly in my ears it mixes with Conor’s. I see it all, the way she would fight him and then slowly give up. The same way I did.
A scream makes its way up my throat, I try to swallow it back by grinding my teeth and it becomes a grunt in my chest. So much frustration builds up I can’t control my shaking body.
When I look down at her, I smile.
“It’s going to be freeing when I end his life, Sunshine. I promise you.”
“I don’t want you to,” she tells me harshly. She pushes away from me with a force I didn’t expect. Going back up on her feet, she dusts off her dress and runs her fingers through her hair. “For once, I’d appreciate it if you listened to me.”
I follow her up. Putting my own skirt back into place. “You won’t marry him,” I drop without being able to control it—an order rather than a suggestion.
“What?” she chokes. “This isn’t even the wedding.”
