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More than anything, I wish they were here.
The door opens, and I flinch back, trying to scoot deeper into the shadows. I’m expecting to see Troy or hear his mocking voice, but when I glance up, it’s just one of his bodyguards.
That’s a relief, but only a small one.
“Come with me,” he grunts, and I don’t even bother to argue.
I get to my feet, my cheeks burning with shame as the tatters of my dress fall a bit, showing off more scarred skin than I’m comfortable with. I keep my arms wrapped around my torso, trying to keep myself covered as best I can.
The guard looks me over, but there’s nothing in his eyes. No desire, but no sympathy either. I might as well be another piece of furniture in the room instead of a living, breathing human being. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that his boss kidnapped me, or that I’ve clearly been assaulted.
Of course not. He works for Troy, and Troy wouldn’t keep someone who’d care about something like that on the payroll.
“Let’s go.”
He turns to lead the way out of the room, and I follow him, flinching at every sound and trying to keep my footsteps steady. My gaze keeps darting around the hall as if I’m expecting Troy to come bursting out of one of the rooms or around a corner, but we make it to a bathroom without seeing him.
“Get cleaned up,” the guard grunts. “Your husband is expecting you to join him for dinner. There are clothes in there for you. Put them on or I’ll do it for you.”
He stares at me expectantly with that same impassive expression on his face, and I pray he doesn’t have orders to follow me inside or anything. When I step into the large bathroom, he lets me shut the door behind myself, and I finally exhale.
At least I’m being allowed this moment of privacy.
I don’t even want to look at my reflection in the mirror at first. Or even at my body at all. My hands are still shaking as I try to remove what’s left of the wedding gown, and it takes a few tries for me to get the zipper undone.
The tatters of satin and lace slide down my body, and I step out of the pool of it as soon as I can. It’s chilly in the bathroom, and I feel that air rushing over the scrapes and scratches on my body. The places where Troy got rough.
I swallow hard, a lump rising in my throat.
There’s a bruise on my side where he hit me, and when I touch it, it throbs tenderly.
I whip my hand away from it.
When I finally turn to face the mirror, I hate what I see. My hair is a mess, tangled and matted from Troy grabbing it, My eyes are bloodshot and my face is splotchy from crying. More tears fall, and I jerk my eyes down, not wanting to look at myself anymore.
Instead, I focus on the tattoo above my left breast. Right over my heart. The stylized number 24 that Malice put on me what feels like forever ago, and the initials of the brothers.
I turn so I can see the newer addition, which is healed now and no longer has that shine of fresh ink. The flowers stand out beautifully on my skin, wrapped around the harsher lines of the weapon Malice tattooed on me.
If I close my eyes, I can focus on the memory of the hum of the machine, and the way Malice explained why he chose this design for me. How he told me that he sees me as both beautiful and delicate, but also strong and unbending.
I let that ground me, keeping me from breaking down entirely.
Swallowing hard, I turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up before I get in. I hiss as the spray hits my back, then groan softly. I’m so sore all over, but the hot water starts to wash away the blood and sweat and everything else, and it feels good to clean away the remnants of Troy on my body.
I let the water beat down on me, easing my tense muscles, the sound of the shower drowning out my thoughts.
I wash my hair thoroughly, taking a minute to tame the tangles before moving on to washing myself up, drawing it out for as long as I can.
I’d stay in here forever if I could, but I don’t want to run the risk of Troy or his guard coming in to get me, so eventually, I shut the water off and step out of the shower.
Finally, I look a little more human. I don’t know if someone cleaned me up when I was brought here from Mexico, and I don’t really want to think about it either way. But it feels nice to be clean now.
Thankfully, the clothes Troy left for me are normal, nothing like the wedding dress that I woke up in. Just an expensive looking blouse, undergarments, and some pants that I step into once I’ve dried off.
The shirt covers my tattoos, but I still know they’re there, and I put my hand over the ones on my chest, taking another deep breath.
I think about the Voronin brothers, remembering the last time I saw them. Malice and Ransom, furious and out of breath, trying to keep us all moving. Vic standing in front of me and then abruptly crumpling to the ground, shot. I don’t even know where he was hit. I don’t even know if…
