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I know this feeling is temporary because soon I'll be back in my cage, so I will enjoy it. I soak in every moment and put it in a bottle, keeping it as motivation. The plan is to try and find a way out. They are still probably looking for my father, and as much as I don’t want my father to be hurt or killed, he did this to himself.
He left me to these men, and even if there is a small part of me that wants to trust Dante and believes that he won’t hurt me, I won’t rely on him. I’m not his pawn or his toy. He doesn’t own me. He wants me to crawl to him, but this bitch has been on her knees for years, and I won’t do it anymore. It’s time I grow a backbone, not let anyone push me around, and think of a plan to get me the fuck out of here. I owe it to myself. Even if it means going back on my deal with Dante.
As we pull onto the highway, I sit back down and smile at a pale-faced Mateo.
“What?” I lean back against the leather seat with a new sense of confidence about me.
Mateo rolls his eyes and turns back to face the road.
When we get back to the mansion, we walk into Dante’s suite and instead of walking to the room with the cage, I walk toward his bathroom.
“Um, miss?” Mateo points to the cage.
“I haven’t taken a shower in days. I want to bathe, and if Dante wants me in the cage, he can stick me in it himself.”
I ignore Mateo and turn on the faucet, filling the tub with hot water. I hope Mateo doesn’t get in trouble with Dante, but I’m finding it hard to care right now. I feel gross, and I need this.
I take a quick shower before slipping into the tub. It’s so warm, and instantly, I feel my muscles relaxing. I pick up a washcloth and run it over my skin, moaning from the pleasure.
Leaning back, I place the cloth over my eyes, inhaling the vanilla-scented bath bomb I put in the tub. I feel myself drifting off to sleep, and the door bangs open and shut.
I sit up, my body tensing, suddenly realizing how reckless this is. One breath of fresh air and I turn into a complete idiot. But then again, I’ve already talked back to Dante, and he hasn’t hurt me, so maybe I’ll be fine.
A disheveled Dante with a glass of whiskey enters the room.
“You are not where you’re supposed to be.” He points at me, slightly slurring his words.
He’s drunk.
Oh, great.
Dante takes more steps into the bathroom, and with all his clothes on, shoes, jacket, and loose tie, he steps into the tub. I pull my knees to my chest as he sits, some of the water sloshing out of the tub.
“You feeling okay?” I ask.
Dante shrugs his shoulders but is otherwise silent. I catch a glimpse of chaos in his eyes. He’s unhappy about whatever happened today, and I feel a sense of fear hit me. I don't like Dante, and I don’t know how he is when drunk. Is he going to take his frustration out on me?
Then images of being spun around and pounded from behind fill my mind, and I’m hurt my body is turned on by that. Being used like that.
I take a soothing breath in and out and sink lower in the tub.
Dante sips his drink and then says, “We’re getting married in two weeks.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say? Married. Why?” I grip the edges of the tub, the washcloth dropping into the water.
“Because, Serenity,” he says, leaning forward slowly, bringing his face closer to mine. “The world needs to know you’re mine.”
He leans back and finishes off his drink. Despite the gravely tone of his words, he’s smiling like a golden retriever.
So he’s a cute drunk.
“Are you sure this is not some drunken overreaction?” I ask.
He nods, “Yep. I know it’s not because I already decided before I got drunk.”
“And why are you drunk?”
He looks up at the ceiling, seemingly thinking about my questions.
