My stomach heaves, and it feels like my lungs are taking on water. “You don’t…you don’t think I—”
“That’s politics for you. I just didn’t expect it from you.”
He’s still advancing toward me and my heart picks up speed. Oh God! Oh— I back away. “I would never do anything like that!”
“What was it you said?” he asks, his eyes cold as a dead man’s. “‘Why can’t it just be us?’”
I choke on the lump in my throat. I’m shaking. He can’t. He can’t think— “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“‘Soon Tish will leave and it’ll all be over.’”
“I swear to you, I had no idea!” I’m choking—I’m choking! He has to believe me!
“You played me,” he hisses.
By now I’ve retreated almost to the bathroom.
I burst into tears. “Please, Kent. I didn’t know. I love you; I would never do anything to hurt you!”
My back is to the wall, and Kent is so close I can feel his breath on my face. He leans in closer, plants his hands on either side of me. I’m trapped.
“You’re a lying cunt,” he says through his teeth. “I’ve been worrying about my brother, and the whole time it was you and your family.”
I’m crying hard, nearly bent with sobs. “Why are you doing this? Please, Kent, I love you, don’t—”
His hand shoots out, slamming my neck back against the wall. “Stop lying!”
I gasp, and I cry so loud I sound like a dog in heat.
His fingers tighten, and he gets in my face, teeth bared. “I had my doubts. I should have walked away when I had the chance.”
I can’t talk. I’m hot. I’m cold. I want to throw up, but I can’t get my chest to work or my mind. Endless sobs rack my body, but I don’t have the breath to give them sound.
His eyes are wild, lethal, and for the first time it hits me that he could kill me. “All that time I spent healing you,” he spits. “Tell me. What did your father have to do to get you to take the ugly one? Did it make you sick every time I touched you?”
“No!” Another stab to my chest. It’s a dream. It’s a dream. It’s not real. I shake so hard I can barely talk, and the tears that clog my throat make it even harder. “Everything was real. Everything. You—you fixed me. You saved me. You said to trust you and everything would be okay. You said it would be okay.”
“You trust me?” He narrows his eyes and nods. “That right?”
“Yes!” Rivers of tears cover my face. I know I’m puffy. I know I’m at my most unattractive, and all I want him to do is believe me. “Please, Kent. I’m so in love with you. I can’t live without you!”
Please! Please believe me! I squeeze my eyes shut and pray with all my might.
Abruptly he releases me and steps back. “You love me? Hmm. Prove it.”
I draw in a shuddering gulp of air and nod. “Anything. Anything you want.”
“Good. Spread your arms and don’t move until I say so.”
From his thigh pocket he draws a knife. It’s a big one with serrated edges, just like the one the cannibal carried. I swallow as he grasps my shirt and shreds it to pieces. He rips it the rest of the way with his hands.
I’m breathing hard, but—anything. I’ll do anything. I will.
“Still playing the obedient wife?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears flow. I sniff hard and grit my teeth as the cool metal of the knife slides up under my bra, between my breasts. With a sharp tug he splits the garment in two, and he flicks off the remaining pieces.
The knife clatters across the floor as Kent seizes me by the waist and shoves me against the wall. He grips my breasts in strong fingers and mashes them, kneads them, pushes them together. “How’s that feel? Feel good?”
“No.” I bite my lips.
“That’s okay, though, right? Because you said you’d let me do anything to you. Or am I wrong?”
“It’s okay.” I wince. If I just hold on, he’ll see that I love him. He has to know I’ve committed my life to his.
He takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks hard. God help me, I groan at the wicked sensation. When he suckles the other one, I arch against him as moisture seeps from my cunt. It’s okay that he’s rough. I just want it to be him. Then he bites down.
I cry out at the sharp pain, but even so I feel the now familiar ache inside me.
He cocks his head at me. “Still want me to fuck you?”
I choke. “Yes.”
He snorts. “I thought so. Take off your pants—unless you want me to use my knife. I’m going to get some things from the closet. When I come back, I want you naked and on the floor. Knees tucked underneath, breasts and face pressed to the floor, arms stretched out in front of you. That is, if you still want this.”
I cup a hand over my face as another sob escapes. But then I do as I’m told. Kent is not gone long, but by the time he returns, I’ve removed the remainder of my clothes and I’m in position. I can’t see him. I can’t see anything but the floor, and I close my eyes.
“Good girl. I’m very pleased.” My husband pauses in front of me, and I risk a peek. He stands no more than two inches from my head; my hands are stretched out between his feet. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” So much.
“Good. Now lick my boots.”
I peek up at him to see if he’s serious, but there’s no smile on his face. If anything, he frightens me. I lean forward and touch my tongue to his boot.
“That’s pathetic.” He nudges me away. “You can do better than that. Pretend it’s my dick.”
I swallow. Why does he like this? How does scaring me fix anything? But I’m in no position to argue, so I tongue the toe of his boot like it’s a very large penis. I trace my way up the boot strings, back down to the toe. I shake as I give it a suck.
“God, I love seeing you this way. You have no idea.” His voice is cruel, crueler than anything I’ve ever heard. Is this part of the act? “You can stop now.”
He squats down beside me. “Give me your right hand.”
I reach out to him, and he slaps a leather cuff around my wrist, pulls it tight, and locks it in place with a buckle. “Other one.”
I give him the left hand, and he does the same thing. My hands are locked behind my back, and unless he frees me, there’s nothing I can do to defend myself now.
Kent seizes me by the hair and yanks me to a kneeling position. I grit my teeth, determined not to protest even though it feels like a thousand roots have torn free.
“Good girl. I like you as a slut.” He licks my face.
I’m trembling. I try to remember that I love him. That I trust him. Kent will never do anything to truly hurt me, I know that, so I don’t think a thing about it as he slides his fingers into the folds of my pussy.
He half laughs. “So fucking wet. That’s a good thing in a whore.”
I wince because it’s true. Even though he’s not tender, I still love him. My body still wants him.
“Do you love me?” he demands.
“Yes!” The word itself is a cry of agony.
He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
He yanks me to my feet and drags me over to the writing table. “Rest your head on the desk.”
Please let this be over soon. Please let this be o—
“I told you to put your goddamn head down on the desk. Do it! Now spread your legs.” He kicks them wider apart.
I barely have time to catch my breath when I hear a soft whistling sound, and something hard and unforgiving stings my backside. I cry out. I jerk a look over my shoulder, and he’s holding a slender rod.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he chides me. “Nico told you it was only a matter of time.”
He’s caning me?
Another snap against my exposed skin, and I cry out again.
“Tell me you love me!”
I gulp ba
ck a sob. “I love you.”
“If you love me like you say you do, you’ll ask for more,” he says in a flat tone.
I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t do any— This time I can’t hold back the sob.
“More,” I squeak. I shudder and squeeze my eyes tight. “Please do it again.”
A series of hard blows follow, so many I lose count, before I finally hear the cane hit the floor. I sob into the unforgiving wood.
“You’ll do anything I say?” he whispers against my ear.
Please let this be over soon. I nod.
He fists my hair and pulls me over to the bed. He unbuckles the cuffs and then positions me on my back and ties my legs up over my head, spread eagle, to the bedposts. He ties my arms so they rest on the backs of my thighs, just beside my calves. It’s unbelievably degrading.
Then he pulls out this thing with a flat leather tab on the end.
Oh no. “What’s that?”
In response he slaps it against my pussy, and my entire body goes rigid. I suck in my breath and let out a cry that doesn’t sound human. I don’t think anything could feel worse, even electrocution or melted plastic poured on my clit.
“Feel good? No? Want me to stop?”
“No.” It’s all I can do to keep from losing my mind.
“Tell me you want more.” He flicks that tabbed thing against my clit again. Not as hard this time, but I flinch just the same.
My whole body is shaking so badly I think I’ll jar something loose. I manage a nod.
“Say it.”
“Why are you doing this to me!” It’s not a question. It’s a cry.
He slaps the inside of my thigh. “It doesn’t count unless you say it!”
It takes several breaths of air before I can part my lips. “I want…more.”
“Look me in the face,” he sneers.
I try to find any scrap of affection in his expression, but there is none. I turn my face away and brace myself for another blow. As the seconds tick by, my fear doubles.
“Son of a bitch!” Something clatters against the wall and bounces off onto the floor. “God help me. It’s not that you don’t deserve it.”
A moment later he unbuckles my restraints and stalks away. I roll over onto my stomach, unable to think, let alone feel. I’m not sure how much time passes before something soft lands at my side.
“Cover yourself.” It’s an order, and not the kind that used to make me feel needed. “This is it. You and I are done.”
“Why?” I gasp. “Why?” I reach and find a pair of sweats. I clutch them to my chest and wail like I’m fucking dying.
“A whore like you isn’t fit to be a Barry. Consider yourself divorced.”
It’s cold. It’s hate. It’s not happening. He straightens his clothing and strides out the door.
“Kent!” Shuddering, shaking, I’m only just able to jam my legs where they’re supposed to go and pull the top over my head.
I hit the floor and stagger after him. “Kent, please!”
I yank open the door, but I’m too late. He’s gone.
Just outside the room stand two Barry soldiers. They seize me, cuff my wrists together, and take me away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Two more soldiers join them, and I’m escorted by a party of four silent men as I scream for Kent the whole way down the stairs, through the mansion, and out a side door. I wear no shoes, and at first the snow stings my feet, but soon they go numb. I have no idea where they’re taking me until I spot a familiar building. The Deer Garden restaurant.
A sergeant opens the front door. They escort me inside, and any resemblance to a restaurant stops there. They’ve built walls, and here and there are thick, solid-looking doors with multiple deadbolts on the outside. One of the soldiers keys one open and thrusts me inside. I stumble, and by the time I find my balance, the door slams shut behind me.
“It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” My voice cracks.
“Bee!” A cold, thin body crashes into me, envelops me in its arms. “Motherfuckers. What did they do to you?”
“It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake,” I croon to myself. I hug my body, but I don’t feel the slightest comfort.
Tish holds me, whispers soothing words as I cry against her. My throat is raw, but I can’t stop.
“It’s a mistake.”
“Bee, honey, look at me.”
It’s too dark, though. There’s a window, but by now dark has fallen. “I can’t.”
She smooths her hands through the thick tangles of my hair. “What happened, Bianca? What did they do to you?”
My chest locks up, my throat closes, and I think if I let out even a sound, I’ll shatter.
“He divorced me.” My voice is pathetic. Weak. Hardly there at all.
“Goddamned bastard! He’s a pig, Bianca. A monster. I told you that. Fucking asshole!”
“I loved him.” Sobs of despair and shame hit me, and I clutch my stomach. I put everything in him. I’m still his. I always will be.
“Bianca? Bianca! Here, sit. I need you to sit, honey.” She guides me down beside her, lets me lay my head in her lap. “I’m so sorry. I told you not to get involved.”
“You were too late.”
She strokes my hair, just like she did that day when those men came to our house. Her voice is soft and comforting, but it doesn’t take away the pain. We huddle through the night. I wish I could sleep, but I can’t. Tish can’t seem to either. Finally light rises through our only window.
“Do you know what they’re going to do to us?” she asks.
“He never said.” I can’t say his name. It hurts too much. He’s not mine anymore.
I hear voices in the hallway, the sound of doors banging open, and voices, both male and female, pleading. It’s quiet for about fifteen minutes, and then keys grind in our locks.
Six soldiers file in, and behind them…
“Patricia!” I scramble to my feet and fly to her. The expression on her face. I wouldn’t call it cold. Her hands twitch, and she looks at me as though she wishes she could punch me or choke me or do something to make me pay. I just stand there, gaping at her. Does no one believe me?
Patricia hauls back and spits in my face, and I have my answer.
I think about how nice she was. I think about that warm welcome I received here in Asheville. It was never for me. It was for Kent’s Hole. The only person that cares about me right now is sitting on the floor behind me.
Soldiers grab both Tish and me, and we’re forced to our knees. Patricia takes a pair of long sheers and begins cutting away at my hair. My hair! I wheeze. Always too curly, always too frizzy, and now it drops in clumps to the floor. When the final length drops, she begins again, clipping close to my scalp.
“Motherfucker, I’ll fucking kill you!” Tish flings at her captors. I admire her spirit. I don’t even remember what that feels like.
Patricia pockets the sheers and brings out a razor, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Girls don’t really shave anymore. If you’re going someplace where your pits are going to be exposed, you shave them. If your legs are going to be visible, you shave those too. But other than that, things just grow. There’s a shortage of everything, including razors.
There’s no soap, no lotion, no anything to lube my skin before Patricia starts.
“Hold still, bitch. Do you want me to cut you?” Whoever it is doesn’t seem to be talking to me.
Tish curses, and I hear her spit. The man swears.
The cold metal scraping against my tender scalp goes on and on, and surprisingly Patricia doesn’t so much as nick me.
“Hold her head up good and still,” she says.
I don’t understand, not at all, until she raises the razor to my left eyebrow. After four deft draws, she moves to the other one, and when she’s done, I raise my hands to my face. I shake. I feel like I’m in a vacuum. I try to breathe, but it’s not right. It’s not right. It’s a mistake. A mistake, mistake, mista
ke.
“Someone shut her up,” says Patricia. I didn’t realize I was saying anything, but one of the men punches me in the jaw. My head cracks back and I taste blood.
Tish alternately threatens and pleads as they cuff first her, then me, and haul us to our feet. I think I know where we’re going, and when we step out into the light, I find myself in what used to be a parking lot. I’ve seen it before. It’s where Kent shot those men.
Already there are twenty-some others there kneeling in a row. They have bags over their heads.
I’m cold. Tish kicks and screams, but silently I walk beside my soldiers—Kent’s soldiers—until we reach the end of the line.
“Kneel.” The soldier’s voice is toneless, void of emotion.
I kneel. The last thing I see before he drops the bag over my head is Kent, standing a little apart from a squadron of soldiers.
I breathe in. Out. In. The cloth moves with my breaths. I shake, and I think I might wet myself. They’re going to kill us.
“You people are murderers! Murderers!” Tish cries. “I heard what you tried to do to Balenchuk’s daughter. I’m glad she escaped from you! Motherfuckers—”
I squeeze my eyes shut as she grunts. They’ve hit her or knifed her, I don’t know. They’ve hurt my sister, and it hurts me.
Gravel digs into my knees. Once again my feet are numb. For some reason I smell ash. That shouldn’t be. The ash stopped falling years ago. My whole body jerks with the first gunshots.
An adrenaline rush sends my heart slamming against my chest. It’s a mistake, a mistake, a mistake!
But it’s not. I should have died when those men came to our house. It would have been kinder, far kinder than drawing my life on like this. Maybe this is God’s way of correcting an oversight. If not, I still deserve it. I ate steak while others are forced to cut their dead into pieces and survive on human flesh. I complained about too many starches when there are none to be had outside the city walls. I am a monster.
I pick out Kent’s voice, even though he has to be a good twenty feet away. I’d recognize his voice a hundred years from now, if I were still alive. He’s speaking too low for me to catch his words. There’s a moment of silence, and then a duo of gunfire. The distinct sound of bodies hitting the ground raises bile in the back of my throat. But they’re free now. No one can hurt them anymore. It doesn’t matter what happens in this world from this point on, because nothing here can touch them.
The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) Page 14
