For Him: The Complete Series: A Dark Romance

by Marissa Farrar

  My life was all about routine. I had chores to do in between my lessons with my tutor. I was up at a set time, had breakfast at a set time, needed to be sat down and ready to work at a set time. If I missed out on any of those things, my father would make sure I was punished for it. Things like lunch prep and cleaning up afterwards weren’t part of my chores. My father saw them as a woman’s job and too demeaning for a man to do, but that didn’t mean I was ever allowed to go idle.

  I glanced back the way I’d been headed, torn between needing to be at my next tutor session and knowing how disappointed little Catalina would be if I left without a kind word or hug.

  I exhaled a sigh of resignation and turned back to her and crouched to bring myself to her level. Her face broke out into a wide grin, and she ran toward me. I didn’t really mind. I felt sorry for her. I thought my life was hard, having to grow up on my own here with my father ready to reprimand me for every little thing I did, but this kid didn’t even have a family. Of course, she didn’t know that yet. In her mind, I guessed she thought everyone was family—all the women who helped to raise her were Mommy, though she didn’t even know that word yet. I liked to think that maybe she never would—that she could somehow grow up without knowing what she was missing out on. After all, this was all she had ever known, and was most likely all she ever would know, too. But eventually she would learn to read, and she’d catch sneak peeks of other people’s cell phones or televisions or computer screens, and she’d learn all about how normal people lived and just what she’d missed out on. My heart broke a little for her future self right then because I knew exactly what that felt like.

  “Where you going, An-go?”

  “I’m going to class, and you’re going to make me late. And it’s An-gel-o,” I told her. “Not An-go.”

  She focused on me hard, her little forehead wrinkling into a frown of concentration, her rosebud lips pursed. “An-glo.”

  “No, not An-glo either. An-gel-o.”

  “Ang-o,” she repeated, trying to shape her mouth into the vowels and consonants needed to say my name correctly.

  I laughed and poked my finger into her chubby belly, punctuating my words. “An-gel-o. You’ve got to get the ‘gel’ part right. An-gel.”

  “An-gel,” she repeated.

  “Yes!” I clapped my hands together and her face lit up with pleasure. “Now you just have to get the ‘o’ part as well. “An-gel-o.”

  “Ang-o,” she said then frowned when she heard it come out wrong.

  I slapped my hand to my forehead. “No, An-gel-o.”

  “An-gel.”

  I sighed, but it wasn’t as though I could get mad at her for not being able to pronounce my name properly. Anyway, she was still small, and I was sure she’d pick it up eventually.

  Looked like she was going to be calling me Angel from now on.

  “Can you say my name?” she asked, her head tilted to one side, her blue eyes bright with interest.

  “Yes, I can. Catalina. Though I think it’s a very big name for a little girl.”

  Her lips twisted at my comment. “It is a big name.”

  “You could make it shorter,” I suggested. “Maybe we could call you Cat.”

  Her button nose wrinkled.

  “Or Kitty-cat?”

  That big smile stretched across her face, and my heart lifted with joy at the sight. She clapped her hands together. “Kitty-cat! I like Kitty-cat.” Then she reached out and patted the back of my hand. “Good boy, An-gel. You tried really hard.”

  One of the women had clearly said the same thing to her at some point. “So did you, Kitty-cat. You tried really hard, too.”

  She grinned, exposing pegs of white teeth.

  “I have to go now, okay? I have lessons, and I’m already late, and I’m going to get in trouble.”

  “Can I come?”

  “No, sorry, Kitty-cat. I don’t think you’d understand what they’re teaching me.”

  “I can draw some letters now,” she announced, clearly proud of herself, though I doubted she could do much more than make a few lines on a page. “Yolanda has been teaching me. She says she will teach me to read some day, too.”

  I smiled back at her. “Does she, now. Maybe I can keep my eyes open for some books you might like to read.”

  She let out a squeal and flung herself into my arms. Her small hands pressed warm against the back of my neck. The sudden contact shocked me. People didn’t hug in this place. I didn’t think I could ever remember a time when my father had hugged me. When I’d been smaller, some of the women would pinch my cheek or put an arm around my shoulder, but a full-bodied hug like this funny girl was giving me now was out of the question. It was done so openly, with no agenda, and my heart swelled with emotion for this miniature, perfect little person growing up in such an imperfect world.

  I’d find her some books, I decided then and there, even if I ended up locked in the hole for a week.

  Chapter Five

  Present Day

  KNOWING ANGEL WAS SOMEWHERE in the house was like knowing a part of it was on fire, but I was unable to smell the smoke or feel the heat. Every time I turned a corner or stepped out of a room, my entire body went rigid with anticipation of running into him.

  Angelo had stayed the night, and the master had left the house mid-morning, but Angelo hadn’t gone with him. It was unusual for him to be at the house, but it was even more unusual for him to be here when his father wasn’t.

  The days were marked off in my head in boxes. I had five days until my eighteenth birthday, and six days until I would be taken from this place by a man I’d only ever caught glimpses of. Would Angel still be here when that happened? I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to be or not. Did he feel sad that the girl he’d grown up with was to be taken out of his life, or had my imminent departure not even registered on his radar?

  Of course, it hadn’t. I was nothing to him anymore. He’d left this place and had most likely created himself a life in the outside world. He probably had beautiful women hanging off his arms, or maybe he even had one woman now, someone special who he cherished. Somehow that hurt worse than the idea of him with lots of different women. Lots of women was something I was used to—after all, that was all I’d seen growing up in the compound—but I’d never seen a man treat a woman as someone to be adored and worshipped. I knew such relationships did exist. I’d read about them, even if I hadn’t experienced them for myself.

  Though I knew I was leaving, I couldn’t envisage a life without him in it. He was all I’d ever known. My first memory was of him teaching me how to jump rope. I guessed I was about three years old at the time, and he would have been about nine. I had no coordination, and he’d eventually gotten frustrated with me and thrown the rope on the ground and stormed away. I’d burst into tears, standing in the middle of the yard, trying to figure out why my chubby three-year-old arms and legs didn’t work the way his already lean and strong nine-year-old limbs did. He’d stopped walking, his hands on his hips, and exhaled a frustrated sigh, and turned back to me. He’d put his arms out to me and scooped me up, so we ended up sitting on the ground, with me on his lap and him stroking my hair. “It’s okay, Kitty-cat,” he’d told me. “We can try again tomorrow.”

  And he did teach me again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that.

  But he was different now. He’d taken on that same hardness I saw in his father, and while I missed the boy I’d grown up with, I knew he was a man now and no longer had time for a girl like me.

  One of my chores was to hang the sheets. Because of the nature of the compound, the sheets on the beds in each of the women’s rooms were changed and laundered every day. In the grounds, around the back of the house, a huge washing line was stretched from one wall to the other, and it was my job to peg the sheets up to dry in the sun, and then fold and bring them back in again. The house had staff who would help to strip and make the beds, but this part of the job was mine alone. When the w
eather was warm, I enjoyed the work. The sheets would be dry within an hour, and I could take them down again, folding them and pressing my face against the warm, fresh scent of them. But when the weather grew colder, I’d hang them out with my fingers red and cracked from the cold, and sometimes they’d be out all day and, when I went to take them in, they’d be stiff with frost. I didn’t know why I felt responsible for the weather—it wasn’t as though I could change it—but I still cowered with nerves when I took the stiff sheets back into the house and stuffed them into the dryer.

  Thankfully, the weather was still warm for this time of year, so I worked quickly, pegging out the sheets until they were in a uniform line from one side of the rear of the property to the other. While I worked, I sensed eyes on me, but every time I turned to look over my shoulder at the big house, the windows appeared to be empty.

  It was only because I knew Angel was in the house that I was imagining someone watching me. Or perhaps it was less my imagination and more my hope. I wanted desperately to believe I still meant something to him, even though I knew the chance of such a thing was minimal. He was rich, and successful, and had a life of his own outside of these walls. I’d never even been outside of the compound. I caught glimpses of the road winding through the surrounding forest each time the gates opened to allow one of the men who worked for the master through, or a vehicle that brought in the men who visited the women who lived here, but I’d never tried to get through those gates. I knew what happened to the women who tried, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Something caught my eye.

  I hesitated in unpegging the sheets and lifted my hand to the dark stain that had caught my attention. I ran my fingers over the dried blood that had failed to wash out. Where had it come from? What story lay behind the dark smudge? Had one of the women been hit, and bled from her mouth or nose? Or had the stain come from someone’s monthlies? I imagined they were the only women who were relieved to get their periods, as it meant they were excused from their duties until it had finished.

  I wondered if it had come from the new girl who’d arrived only a few weeks earlier. The girl, Dani, hadn’t yet integrated with the rest of the women, and, instead, stayed in her room. Her muffled sobs often filled the courtyard after dark, until one of the men who worked here went in and silenced her. It would be easier for her if she just accepted what her life was now and got on with things. She could have a home and a family of sorts if she accepted what her life was now.

  Either way, the sheet was no use now. No one wanted to see stained sheets when they came to visit. This one would have to go in the trash.

  The rest of the sheets were clean and dry, so instead of taking them into the house, I headed toward the rooms that used to be the house’s stable block long before I’d been born. I’d leave a clean sheet on the end of each woman’s bed, ready for one of the other staff members to change it.

  Not that I was a member of staff. I was still a sold woman. But I didn’t fit in with either side. I wasn’t one of the women whose job it was to entertain the men who visited the compound at all hours of the day and night, but I wasn’t one of the members of staff either. I was in this weird mid-spot, suspended somewhere between the two. I was friendly with some of the other women, but they were different with me than they were with each other. I guessed what they’d gone through, and what they were still going through, bonded them, and I wasn’t part of that.

  The irony was that in a few days I would be a part of it, but by then I’d be too far away for it to matter.

  I knocked on the door of the first room and waited. There was no answer, so I opened the door and took the first folded sheet from the basket and laid it on the end of the bed. I repeated the process in the second room, but I could hear girlish voices coming from the third. My stomach twisted with nerves. I was okay with each woman by herself, but coming across them in a group always made me nervous. It was that feeling of being an outsider that I couldn’t let go of.

  I paused outside of the door and lightly knocked. There was no break in the conversation, so I knocked again, louder this time.

  The conversation faltered, someone hissed a whisper.

  A click and the door opened, and I stepped back.

  “It’s okay,” called one of the women, Carla. “It’s only Catalina.”

  I slipped into the room, keeping my head down. I only offered them a shy smile, my gaze flicking around the room to assess who was present. There were four of them—Yolanda, who I’d known all my life. Carla and Michelle, both of whom had been here for a number of years. And a newer girl, Bianca, who probably wasn’t much older than I was.

  “We were just talking about Angelo coming back,” Michelle said, watching me as I set about placing one folded sheet at the end of the bed where they were all perched. “The master has left, too, so we thought he might have been left in charge while he’s gone.”

  I shrugged to indicate I knew nothing more than they did.

  Carla let out a wistful sigh. “I wish Angelo would take over for good. I’d much rather have him watch over us than his father. He’s gentler... kinder, too.” She looked to me, and I wished they’d all just leave me out of the conversation. “But you’d know him better than any of us, wouldn’t you, Catalina? You practically grew up with him in the big house.”

  “He left while I was a lot younger,” I mumbled. “I barely know him now.”

  “But he’s grown into a gorgeous man, hasn’t he?” she insisted. “Surely even you can see that.”

  Bianca let out a laugh. “Our innocent little Cat wouldn’t have noticed such a thing. She’s too pure and innocent.”

  My face burned, and I didn’t answer her comment.

  “She won’t be for much longer, though, will she?” Bianca teased.

  “Leave her alone, Bianca,” Yolanda said, and I shot the older woman a grateful smile. I wanted to get out of there.

  Bianca flipped her blonde hair and gave a sly smile. “I’m surprised Angelo hasn’t worked his way through all of us girls. Most men would have done so by now.”

  “He’s not most men,” I snapped.

  “And his father never did that to us either,” Michelle said. “They understand that there is a divide between business and pleasure. They’re professional enough not to cross it.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind if he crossed it with me.” Bianca gave a lewd wink, and I had to ball my fists to prevent myself lashing out and clawing her eyes out. She hadn’t been here long, so had never seen the bond Angel and I had when we were growing up, unlike Yolanda, who’d practically raised us.

  “He’d never do that,” I hissed, unable to help myself.

  Her cold blue gaze shot to me. “What the hell makes you think that? Are you hoping he’s going to get into your little virgin panties instead? Oh, no, wait,” she placed a finger to her pouty lips. “He can’t, because you need to be kept pure and sweet and innocent. Do you think that makes you better than the rest of us, huh? Just because you haven’t been forced to suck cocks and get fucked in the ass? Well, don’t worry, princess, your time is coming. Before you know it, you’ll be down on your knees like the rest of us.”

  “Bianca,” Carla warned.

  “What? It’s the truth. Do what these men want—and I mean anything these men want—or you’ll end up beaten or worse. Your life with Mr. Torres won’t be any different, you know.”

  My cheeks burned. I knew she was right. I might have been sheltered from the outside world by growing up inside the compound, but I’d been exposed to a whole different way of life. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe the women who lived here came here willingly. They were brought here in the middle of the night, often bound and beaten. They’d scream and bang on the locked door of the room, and when we did eventually catch glimpses of the new arrival, she’d be cowed and petrified, and often with black eyes and split lips. It would take time for them to come around, and sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes the women would vanish in the night again, just
like they’d arrived.

  It didn’t work out. That was all anyone told me when I’d been younger, but deep down, I knew that these women hadn’t simply been allowed to walk out of here. The only people allowed to come and go as they pleased were the men.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, though I didn’t know what I was apologizing for—I hadn’t done anything wrong. Perhaps I was just apologizing for not having been put through the same as what all of them had. But as Bianca pointed out, my time was coming. “I really have to get on with my work.”

  I saw Yolanda pull a concerned face at me, but she let me go.

  What more could she do? There was no point in her rushing after me and trying to comfort me and tell me that everything would be okay. In a few days, I was to leave here, and I’d never see any of these women again—including Yolanda, who was like a mother to me. Everything Bianca had said was true.

  Soon I’d learn for myself just what it was like to be one of them.

  Chapter Six

  Present Day

  I SHOVED MY HANDS INTO the pockets of my suit pants and stared out of the window at the spot where she’d been unpegging laundry. She’d left with a basket piled with folded sheets about fifteen minutes ago, but I hadn’t moved from where I was standing. Instead, I tried to picture her there again, her dark curls swinging down her back, so long they almost brushed her bottom. Her arms were supple and lean in her sleeveless dress, and I was able to make out the swell of the side of her breast each time she lifted her arm to take down another sheet.

  Catalina. Little Kitty-cat.

  The girl my father had left me in charge of training.

  I scrubbed my hand over my face and managed to tear myself from the window. How the fuck was I going to do this?

  She was sweet and beautiful and innocent.

  And sold. She was also sold, and had been for many years. She had never been mine, and she also wasn’t going to stay innocent for much longer.