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Emilio nodded, his dark eyes betraying nothing if he was annoyed at my questioning.
‘Why did you stop that man from raping me?’ I asked, cringing inwardly at the way my question came out.
Emilio’s lip curled up, and I could tell he was amused. ‘Did you want him to rape you, cholita?’
‘No!’ I said quickly. ‘No, no, no. I was just wondering. Why you protected me when you could have let him at me. Why you were nice to me.’
He grinned, and I fought the urge to back away, sensing that I had stirred something within him. Oh, shit. He leaned across the counter and tucked a stray hair behind my ear, letting his hand linger for a moment that was entirely too long and uncomfortable.
‘I didn’t let him rape you because you do not belong to him. You belong to me, cholita, and I will use you as I see fit. For now, I want you untouched, clean and beautiful.’
For now? Something inside me died as I wondered what those seemingly benign words meant coming from a man like Emilio Ross.
‘What are you going to do with me?’ I whispered.
I shivered as he replied. ‘I’m going to recoup at least some of my losses.’
I can’t promise you that you won’t beg me to kill you anyway.
I couldn’t pretend to be strong a moment longer. My knees became shaky and I had to grab onto the counter to stop myself from sliding to the floor in a heap.
‘Open your mouth,’ Emilio said, a glass of water and a round white pill materialising in his hand as if by magic.
I hesitated, earning me a slap across the face that had me flying halfway across the kitchen, my ears ringing in its wake. He slammed the glass of water on the counter, staring me down.
‘I would have punched you,’ he said, rounding the counter and crouching in front of me, ‘but I want you to look pretty for me.’
He squeezed my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and dropped the pill into the back of my mouth. Then he pressed my mouth shut, clamping his thick fingers over my mouth and nose.
‘Swallow,’ he said. I tried to wrench my head away, but he was strong. I couldn’t budge an inch in his vice-like grip. I swallowed, the dry pill almost catching in my throat as I tried not to cough.
‘Good girl,’ he said, releasing me. ‘The first night is always the hardest.’
‘The first night of what?’ I croaked.
He must have seen the terror in my eyes. ‘The first night of the rest of your life,’ he said, offering me his hand. ‘You’re not a college student anymore, cholita. You’re not somebody’s daughter. You’re not somebody’s little girlfriend. You’re somebody’s possession. You’re nothing. You’re mine.’
* * *
Not long after, I tossed and turned in stiff hotel sheets, trapped between sleep and terror. The pill Emilio had given me must have been a sleeping tablet, because I was groggy, but I refused to sleep in case that other asshole came in and tried something on me. My door was locked from the outside. A man had been standing guard when I entered the room, and I had no doubt he was still out there, keeping tabs on me. The windows were high and barred, completely different from the living room’s windows, which would have been pretty easy to break and jump out of.
The room was devoid of artwork, devoid of anything. There was one small wardrobe, completely empty save for a bare rack that I’m sure nothing had ever hung from. A small double bed with white sheets, white comforter. White pillows that were too high and stiff with feathers. Beige walls.
It was like being in solitary confinement, only worse, because that was still safer than what was outside my door.
My eyes were closed and my body painfully heavy, but I still couldn’t sleep. It was like someone had locked me inside my immobile body and left me to try and survive. The sleeping tablet gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, promising relief if I just let myself slide into a deep, black sleep, but I knew better. I knew that I was not safe in the room.
It felt like hours had passed, but it was still dark outside — I could see a tiny sliver of sky through the high, heavily fortified window.
I eyed the open wardrobe again with interest. Yes, I thought. I gathered up the stuffy pillows and the white comforter and rolled out of the bed, crawling over to the wardrobe and closing myself in. At least in here, I would be able to hear someone enter the room in the dark. A pillow behind my head, I half-laid, half-leaned against the back wall of the wardrobe and fell into a drugged, numb void.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARIANA
The room may have been escape-proof, but it definitely wasn’t soundproof. I awoke in the dark, momentarily confused. I sat in pitch blackness, a hard wall at my back and a blanket twisted around my legs. I smelled old blood and wondered if it was mine.
Am I dead? Did somebody bury me?
