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Karlin pins me with an enraged glare, making me tremble harder, my eyes huge and every muscle in my body on high alert.
“Fucking little cunt,” he spits out. “You almost cost me the deal with Aslanhov by complaining to him like a sniveling child. Beg for forgiveness.”
“I’m sorry,” I whimper, the same old feeling of helplessness I endured in the orphanage rearing its ugly head.
Karlin’s cruel stare rests on me for a tense while, then he stalks toward me. His arm darts out, and before I can flinch, his fingers wrap around my throat in a chokehold. His fingers dig into my flesh, ripping a gagging sound from me.
“Take off your fucking coat and bend over,” he orders in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
Trembles rack my body as if I’m caught in a blizzard. I struggle out of my coat and let it fall to the floor while desperately trying to get air past the merciless hold he has on my neck.
He shoves me backward, then undoes his belt, his movements angry and cruel.
Jesus. No.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper again. “I’ll behave. I promise.”
The belt lashes through the air and whips across my right shoulder.
“Bend over!” he shouts.
Feeling utterly humiliated, my movements are jerky as I turn. I can’t bring myself to bend over.
The belt lashes across my lower back, the pain so intense I stumble forward.
You call that scrubbing a toilet? I want every yellow stain gone.
Another blow hits the same spot on my lower back, forcing me forward. I fall onto my hands and knees.
My stomach rumbles loudly as I cling to the piece of moldy bread Misha stole for me. Aunt Nadia keeps hitting Misha with the whip while screaming at me to eat every crumb.
The longer I take to eat the bread, the more she’ll hurt Misha.
I shove the piece that’s covered in blue and green patches of mold into my mouth and chew as fast as I can while tears streak down my face.
I don’t know how many times Karlin hits me with the belt or when he stops. With my mind stuck in the past, the present doesn’t exist.
I wring out the stained cloth I managed to find and try to be as careful as possible while wiping the blood off Misha’s back.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.
‘It doesn’t hurt that much,’ Misha mumbles. ‘I’ll be okay.’ He glances at me as I rinse the cloth out again. ‘Did the bread help? Do you still feel dizzy?’
I shake my head, my bottom lip trembling. ‘It wasn’t worth you getting a beating.’
‘Shut up!’ One of the aunts hisses from the open door. ‘Get in bed and sleep!’
I quickly lie down beside Misha, and we both close our eyes. Only when I hear the aunt’s footsteps die away do I sit up again to clean the rest of Misha’s back.
I suppress the groan, and shaking my head, I push myself up to my feet.
“Next time, you won’t be able to stand up,” Karlin threatens.
My lower back is on fire, my body shaking so badly that I hardly manage to stumble to the nearest couch. As gingerly as possible, I sit down. I keep my head lowered and wrap my arms around my middle.
I hear Karlin leave the living room, and closing my eyes, I fight the humiliating tears while trying to process what just happened.
Degraded and frightened, I’m angry with myself for allowing things to go this far.
And they won’t get any better. If I don’t do something, I’ll end up in a marriage with a monster who will probably beat me daily.
That’s no life.
Everything stills in me as I lift my head. Not thinking about the consequences, I stand up and grab my coat off the floor. I shrug it on as I walk to the front door, not even bothering to look around to make sure no one sees me leave.
I don’t shut the door behind me but just walk down the steps. I follow the driveway until I reach the gates. Grabbing hold of the iron bars, I climb over and drop to the ground with a thud.
I regret wearing high heels. My boots would’ve been a hundred times warmer and more comfortable.
Seeing the city lights shining in the distance to my right, I head in their direction.
Only when I turn up a different street do I allow my emotions to surface.
I should’ve grabbed the belt from him and hit him until he was dead.
I should’ve fought back.
I should’ve refused the arranged marriage and dinners.
I should’ve called Misha and told him what was happening.
I should’ve asked Armani for help. Or even Mr. Vetrov.
I’m still trembling, but now it’s from a mixture of cold and shock. And overwhelming humiliation.
Digging my phone out of my purse, I let out a groan when I see there’s no signal. I hear the rumbling of a car’s engine, and wildly glancing around me, I look for a place to hide.
