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“If this is what you call punishment, maybe I should misbehave more often,” I muse.
“Punishment?” he growls. “How’s this for punishment?”
He stands up and unceremoniously dumps me onto the floor, fisting his cock inches from my face as he glares down at me. What he’s doing would be hot in any other circumstance, but there’s no pleasure in it. He’s choking the life out of his cock, his anger driving home his point that he will deny me what I want. I know it when he grabs me by the hair and holds me there, forcing an orgasm as his come spurts over my breasts before dripping down onto my thighs.
He releases me with a ragged breath and glares down at me. “Little brats don’t get to come.”
“Little brats make themselves come.” I thrust my fingers between my thighs resentfully, and he turns away, stalking toward the door.
There’s no pleasure in my actions, not with his abrupt dismissal, and I refuse to let him walk away from this so easily.
“So how does this work exactly?” I call after him. “How much was my time worth to you just now? Will you leave some cash on the floor beside me before you go?”
He freezes, his back going rigid, but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t say a goddamned word.
“Or do you consider this a bonus?” I ask. “On top of what Santiago’s already paying you.”
His head dips, the only sign he even heard me, but again, I get no response. The silence goes on too long. It’s too painful. And despite my best efforts to restore myself to factory defaults, wipe away all my emotions, I revert to the mess he’s made of me.
“Clifton asked me out on a date, and I want to go. Next week.”
“No.” The word squeezes through what I don’t doubt are clenched teeth.
“It’s not up to you.” I force myself to remain calm. “I need to find a husband, and I’m tired of waiting. There’s nothing to be accomplished by you keeping me locked up here—”
“I said no!” he roars.
The thunder in his voice silences me, but if that wasn’t effective enough, he takes it a step further, snatching a decorative vase from the nearest table. When he hurls it at the wall, shattering it with a deafening blow, I can’t help but flinch.
Slowly, he turns his sharp gaze to me, and at that moment, I hardly recognize the man I know burning beneath the hatred in his eyes. But for a moment, only a fleeting moment, I see something else there too. Something that looks like the same agony I feel splitting my ribs apart.
“Over my dead body,” he grits out. “Will you ever go out with him.”
With that final blow, he prowls from the room entirely, slamming the door behind him.
I smear my fingers through the come on my chest while my empty reflection stares back at me from the mirror. For three minutes, my thoughts have swung wildly on a pendulum, trying to decide if this is the evidence of his hatred or his possession. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. One is the short road to heartbreak, and the other is the long. The result, inevitably, will always be the same.
I wash him off me, tears stinging my eyes as I reach for my makeup bag and dig through it with trembling fingers. When I pinch the pill between my fingers, examining the only evidence I need to understand, something inside me breaks all over again.
I had given myself a long list of reasons I couldn’t really swallow it this morning. At first, I had even managed to convince myself it was the Catholic in me that led me to employ the sleight of hand Judge never saw coming. It was something I practiced many times over the years with Antonia when she’d force us to take the pain pills after our father’s beatings. Back then, I didn’t think I deserved anything to dull the pain if I had earned it in the first place. It was the stubborn De La Rosa in me, and in my own way, I thought I’d be more righteous for refusing any comfort. But this pill wasn’t designed for comfort. I knew it the moment Judge pulled it from the packaging. I felt shameful, like something wrong he needed to blot from his memory. But when I settled my palm over my belly after he left the room, I knew I couldn’t erase it. The thought was unbearable to me, and I couldn’t bring myself to admit that in front of him.
I’d made a decision, standing in the bathroom alone this morning. It was a decision that might alter my life irrevocably. And I didn’t know how I felt so certain of it already, but I did. There weren’t many things I’d ever been sure of in my life. But I knew when I pressed my hand to flesh, there was something inside me I couldn’t regret.
As I stand here now, even with tears burning my eyes, my feelings haven’t changed. I never wanted to be someone’s throwaway. I’m not even convinced that I’d ever really wanted to be a wife before I could imagine a husband worthy of my love. But there is one thing I have always ached for. One desire I knew I’d never be able to give up. That was a child. A family of my own. Even if that family only consists of me and my son or daughter.
My resolve is unwavering when I force my gaze back to the mirror. I know what it might cost me. I’m aware my reputation will be ruined, and my brother will probably disown me. And Judge… well, Judge will hate me until the day I die. But this is my cross to bear, and I will do it on my own. I will do it without shame or regret, and I will do it with enough love in my heart to eclipse the absence of anyone else by my side.
“That is my promise.” I close my eyes on a whisper, letting a solitary tear fall before I walk to the toilet, dump the pill into the bowl, and flush it away.
It’s a promise I refuse to break.
16
Mercedes
In the aftermath of our fight, days pass, eventually turning into weeks. During that time, Judge and I revert to what we know best. He loses himself in his work and whatever else he’s been hiding from me. At night, he sneaks into the bedroom once he thinks I’m asleep to lay on his side and leave before I wake. There have been several times when I felt him turn toward me, his hand hovering just above my arm or hip. Once, he even brushed the hair back from my face. But he hasn’t taken it further, and I suspect he may actually hold himself to it this time. It’s a gut-wrenching realization, but at the same time, I know we’re both too stubborn to give in.
He hasn’t outright told me what the rules are or why guards are hovering about the property outside, but instead uses them as his carrier pigeons, delivering grunted messages that I’m not allowed out. I’m imprisoned again for reasons he doesn’t think I need to know, and my only contact with the outside world is the phone he gave me, which I’m fairly certain is linked to his. I don’t doubt he can see everything on it, so I have to be careful what I say or do, but I know with every passing day, it’s time to seriously consider my options.
