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Now the game begins.
1
Ari
My life is a nightmare.
It didn’t use to be this way. I used to be a normal twenty-year-old college student with big dreams. I push myself off the floor of the hotel room, cupping my cheek. And now? Now I’m being beaten by the man my father sold me to. Oh, it was under the guise of an arranged marriage, but let’s call it what it really is. He needed Max Erics’ connections to further his agenda and to pay off his debts. So, he used me as a prize to tempt Max. Unfortunately for me, it worked.
At least we’re not married. Not yet. Time is running out, though. I can feel my freedom slipping away and I don’t know what I’m going to do when that happens. I can’t and won’t stay with a man like that.
“Get up. I didn’t even hit you that hard,” Max slurs, taking another drink from the bottle in his hand. The same bottle he hit me with.
I want nothing more than to take several steps from him, but that’ll only piss him off. So I stay right where I’m at, even though every instinct is screaming for me to run.
I’ve already run.
Several times.
Each time I’m brought back and punished until I wish I were dead. He’s made sure that won’t happen, either, with the threat he made last time. If I run again or do anything stupid, one of my younger sisters will take my place. I know both my father and Max are serious. Any Triton female will do, even though my three younger sisters are all under the age of eighteen.
“Change into something nice. I’m taking you out tonight,” Max says.
We’re in Las Vegas, staying at the Palms Casino and Resort in a suite that costs more than some people make in a year. Normally, I’d be overjoyed to be in Vegas. My best friend, Winter, and I used to make plans about coming here one day when we were both twenty-one. But Winter is married to Midas and doesn’t seem to care much about anyone but him and three of his men. In fact, she’s stopped contacting me all together. It hurt at first. Now I’m glad that I don’t have to lie to her. It was her husband who told my father that I should marry Max, after all. Said it would be a good way to unite New York City and Chicago. I bet my dad didn’t tell Midas that he owes Max Erics nearly a million dollars. It probably wouldn’t have changed his mind. The Mafia has always viewed women as pawns.
“Did you hear me? I said go and change.”
“What would you like me to wear?”
I’ve learned that Max wants control in all areas of my life and will hurt me the moment I think on my own. He smiles, as if pleased.
“The purple dress.”
Calling that garment adressis a stretch. Negligée, maybe. The bright purple dress is so short that most of my ass hangs out when I wear it. It’s strapless and hugs my curvy body like an actual glove. A glove that my big boobs constantly try to fall out of. It’s not flattering. Max only wants me to wear it to embarrass me. It’s a double-edged sword, though, because if anyone pays too much attention to me, then I’ll pay for that, too. He’ll say I was leading them on, begging for it.
“I need to shower.”
“Don’t dick around in there. We need to be on the casino floor by nine.” He looks me over. “Cover those bruises. I don’t want people thinking I’m a woman beater.”
I nod my understanding and make my way to the bathroom. Once I’m safely behind the closed door, I allow a few tears to fall, ignoring the stinging on my cheek from where he hit me. I’ve learned in the short time that I’ve been with Max that it’s easier if I allow myself to go numb. To not feel anything. So that’s what I do. I wipe the last of the tears and undress. Turning the knob on the shower, I let the water warm before I step under the hot spray.
I flinch while washing my hair. Tenderly, I touch the cut along my hairline. That must have been from the first hit when I tried to protect myself. No! I will not think about it. I focus on gently washing my scalp and then rinsing the soap out of my hair. While the conditioner sits, I run a razor over my legs, making sure they’re free of hair, and then wash my body. If I were bold, I’d use the razor in another way, but I’m too afraid of what will happen to my sisters if I do. Besides, I likely wouldn’t bleed out in time, and Max would save me just to punish me.
I rinse my hair one last time and step out of the shower, reaching for a towel. The mirror is fogged over, and I’m glad. I don’t have to look at myself because I know I won’t like what I see. My face hasn’t stopped throbbing, which means it’s not going to be pretty to look at. Crossing the tiled floor, I find my toiletry bag and dig out my bottle of ibuprofen. Dropping four onto my palm, I toss them into my mouth. Reaching for the glass by the sink, I fill it with water and swallow the pills. Hopefully, they kick in before we leave the suite.
I work my brush through my locks. My naturally red hair hangs nearly to my bottom. A few months ago I thought about cutting it, but my dad talked me out of it. If I had known it was because Max likes redheads, I would have shaved my head. Hindsight is a real bitch, though. Grinding my teeth, I turn on the hairdryer and dry my hair until it hangs like silk down my back. My make-up is next, and this is the part that I dread. Using the hand towel by the sink, I wipe away the condensation and stare back at myself, or the person I’ve become.
When my dad first told me of his plans to marry me off, I resisted. But then he pulled me out of my courses at Ole Miss and said I needed to come home to help the family. That’s when he told me about the debt. Said it was up to me to save him and my seven sisters. That even the older ones who are already married were in danger. When that didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he cut me off from everyone, locking me in the basement of our family home in Chicago. No one was allowed to see me. Not until the deal with Max was signed.
I went from one cage to another, because Max wanted me to live with him before the wedding.Wedding. My stomach roils. I don’t want to marry that man. I won’t. This trip to Vegas has me on edge, because even though he told my father I’d be married in a traditional wedding, I don’t believe him. I think he’s just as likely to drag me to a twenty-four-hour venue here in Las Vegas. I mean, it’s not like my dad is going to stop him at that point. Or even care. As long as his debt is paid.
I meet my blue-green gaze. My eyes have always been like a mood detector. When I’m happy, they’re bluer. When I’m sad, they’re green. Today, they’re on the greener side. Tilting my head, I have to bite back a sob that works its way up my throat. Even if I was a professional make-up artist, there’s no way I’d be able to cover the swelling and bruising on the left side of my face. I touch my cheek, whimpering in pain. It’s so freaking tender.
I wish I had my phone. I’d send a photo to my father, asking him if he’s happy. But I don’t have my phone, or access to a computer, or even to a TV. I do have a fancy tracking device in the back of my neck, though, courtesy of Max. He forced me to get it the day he took me from my father’s house. Said he wanted to know where I was at all times.
Shoving all emotions aside, I start the tedious process of covering my bruises. An hour later, there’s only a hint of the bruising left. I can’t do anything about the swelling, except style my hair to cover one side of my face. After I slip on the purple dress, I snort. I look like aWishversion of Jessica Rabbit.
Before I can dwell on how I look, the door swings open. Max has changed into another ill-fitting suit. Oh, good. We’re going to look like the sleazy couple in the casino. Just what I’ve always wanted.
