Delivered (The Monster Trilogy Book 3)

by Marissa Farrar

  Rodriguez waved his hand to dismiss Jess and then picked his glass back up. He nodded to hers, and she copied his movement, and allowed him to lean across the table and clink the flutes together in a second toast.

  He gave her a smile that made her blood run cold. “To us.”

  Twelve

  Rodriguez was looking at her with a dark hunger in his eyes, and she shivered. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  I didn’t get myself into this situation, she reminded herself. I was forced into it. This position isn’t of my making.

  And yet it was becoming harder and harder to convince herself this was the case. The wine had clouded her mind, making her thoughts fuzzy. She’d asked for this once, hadn’t she, with Monster? A man who had appeared cruel, but had woken something else inside her? Perhaps Rodriguez saw that in her—her need. He had, he’d even said he recognized it in her. A craving to be dominated in a purely sexual way. In day to day life, she would never have wanted to have a man be forceful with her in any way, but somehow things were different when it came to sex.

  He glanced down at her plate, and then back up at her. “You’ve finished your food. That’s good.” He lifted the bottle of champagne and checked the contents, and smiled. “At least enough for another glass, I believe.”

  She was beyond arguing. The warm, hazy feeling that had taken over her body had made her care a lot less about her situation. It wasn’t as though she wanted to be here—she still hated Rodriguez, and planned to escape—but the alcohol had made her relax and it felt good to have a warm, proper meal in her belly, even if she had struggled to swallow the food.

  He poured them both another glass, but she was sure he was pouring larger glasses for her than him. He nodded to her flute so she picked it up again, her resolve to fight him wavering. The thought that she was supposed to be getting him on her side flickered in the back of her mind and coiled sickeningly in her stomach. She didn’t want to be nice to this man in any way. He was a control freak who liked to bully women. Just because he was good-looking and rich didn’t make him the kind of person a woman would ever want to be around.

  Rodriguez got to his feet and lifted his glass as he stood. He slowly walked the length of the table to come to stand behind her.

  Lily froze, her fingers tightening on the stem of the glass, so hard she was frightened the glass would shatter. She was poised for his next movement, knowing what was coming while wanting to deny it with every inch of her soul. What was she going to do? Shut her eyes and pretend it wasn’t happening? Men like him didn’t want to just have a woman around to look pretty—they wanted to use and abuse them, and today Lily was that woman.

  His fingers made contact with the side of her neck, brushing gently downward toward her collarbone. “You have a beautiful throat, pet. I’ve always believed a woman’s gracefulness has everything to do with her neck. It’s the most attractive part of a woman. Yours is perfect, long and slender, like a swan’s.”

  Lily bit back on the retorts which fought to burst from her lips. She didn’t want to be compared to a god-damned bird. Never mind being referred to as pet. His touch made her skin crawl, but she couldn’t fight him. She needed him to think she’d given in to him, so he’d allow her freer access to the house, so he’d trust her enough to give her the opportunity to escape and take Jess with her.

  He leaned down, his breath hot against her skin, and his mouth pressed against the spot between her shoulder and throat. Lily held back a whimper, her body tensing.

  “Does this not please you, pet?”

  She didn’t need to say anything. Her body said it all.

  Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her out of her chair. With the other hand, he pushed aside the expensive cutlery and white porcelain, and shoved her over the table. The champagne glass fell from her fingers, smashing on the floor.

  He pinned her down by the back of her neck, her breasts crushed to the table top, so she was bent at the waist. She was horribly conscious of the way her bottom pushed out, the clingy material of the dress sweeping across her curves.

  “Rodriguez … Please ….”

  His voice growled from above her. “I like the way you say my name.”

  His hand left her neck and she remained in the position he’d put her in. Her body trembled, anticipating what would come next. Though she didn’t want it to be him who towered over her, she felt the familiar tingling of her pussy as she waited for the smack she knew would follow. It seemed it didn’t matter who would deliver the punishment, her body craved it nevertheless.

  She was in turmoil, her mind screaming that she didn’t want this man anywhere near her, and yet her nipples had tightened, grazing against the white tablecloth. Deep within her core, she throbbed, aware of the male presence behind her. He moved forward, so his groin pressed against her backside, and she felt his hardness, telling her he wanted her. The champagne had clouded her mind, leaving it blurry at the edges. Part of her just wanted to go to sleep, while the other part of her craved the release of an orgasm, knowing oblivion would be so much deeper once she’d ridden its waves.

  His hands were rough on her thighs, pushing her dress higher up her legs and over her back, exposing her bottom. The panties she wore were ones she’d taken from the dresser in the room, black and lacy, just, as she assumed, Rodriguez liked. He palmed her cheeks in both hands, kneading and massaging her firm flesh, squeezing and pinching.

  “You’re going to be a good girl for me now, aren’t you, pet?” He took hold of the elastic of her underwear and twisted it tight between his fingers, pulling upward so the gusset of the panties cut between her folds.

  Lily snatched a breath, the sound somewhere between a sob and a moan.

  “You’re already wet. You might think you shouldn’t be enjoying this, but your body is telling you differently. Give me another couple of days, and I’ll have you on your knees, begging me to fuck you.”

  She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but what was the point? He’d take what he wanted, no matter what she did or said.

  He released the pull on her underwear, and instead of yanking them between her pussy lips, he rolled them down so they were part way down her thighs. He could see all of her now, every last intimate detail. She felt her body quiver in response, her muscles tightening.

  “So you like it rough? Pain and violence over hugs and kisses.”

  She didn’t want to respond, knowing she’d never be able to give the right answer.

  Rodriguez leaned over her and picked up one of the heavy silver forks from the table, and her breath caught. What was he doing?

  He placed the cool metal against her right buttock, and then pressed the prongs down in a slow motion. The feeling was more pressure than pain, but when he ran the prongs down her skin, pain stung her in a way that hyper-sensitized the whole area. She gave a whimper, her fingers bunching into the starched material of the tablecloth.

  His palm replaced the sharp metal and he smoothed over the area he’d just scratched, soothing her, before he lifted his hand and brought it down in a smack. Lily cried out, but her body reacted, more wetness trickling from between her thighs. She felt the old need climb inside her, the desire to be filled.

  Rodriguez placed the prongs of the fork against her left buttock and repeated the process, scraping down her skin and finishing with a smack. I don’t want him, I don’t want him. She just wanted this to be over, and yet her desire was building. He was doing everything right, as though he knew her body better than she did. She didn’t want him inside her, knowing how sick she’d feel afterward, how she’d never get over the fact she’d betrayed Monster in such a way, but her need to orgasm combined with the alcohol she’d drunk had wrapped her in its wicked hold.

  “Oh, pet, if you could see yourself now. Bent over a table, with your bottom flaming red, and your pussy swollen, and pink, and wet.

  His fingers touched her then, pressing against her entrance.
Lily whimpered again, not wanting to press down on him, while wanting to be filled. Then his fingers vanished and cool metal pressed against her vagina. She froze. He’d flipped the fork around and was now using the rounded end to slide up and down her slit.

  She could hear his smile in his voice. “Yes, I think I’ve got it exactly right with you. And that excites me, pet. It’s one thing taking a woman hard when she’s not enjoying it, but it’s a whole other prospect to fuck a woman who likes it as rough as I do.”

  As the end of the fork pushed inside her, she heard a cough.

  Rodriguez slipped the metal from her body, and turned. “What?”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, boss,” Lily recognized Marco’s voice. She held back a sob of relief, even if it was only a temporary respite.

  “What is it?”

  “A vehicle has been spotted heading up the track to the west of the house.”

  “What kind of vehicle?” he snapped.

  “Just a car, boss, but they seem to know exactly where they’re headed.”

  “Damn it.” He gave an exasperated sigh and stepped away from her. Lily didn’t know whether to cry in frustration or relief. “Cover yourself up and go back to your room.”

  Was he trusting her to go through the house by herself? Who was in the car? Did she dare hope it might be Monster coming to rescue her? Her heart clenched with fear for him. If it was him, they already knew he was coming. They’d be ready with guns, and with the way the property was positioned, in the middle of the desert, with nothing for miles around, there was nothing other than the car for him to take shelter behind.

  Lily pulled the emerald green dress back down, her cheeks hot from Rodriguez’s administrations and embarrassment from Marco seeing her like that. But at the forefront of her mind was the idea that she might be allowed to walk through the house alone, and in doing so might be able to find something that would help her situation.

  Rodriguez glanced between her and Marco, and his eyes narrowed. He must have seen her hesitation, perhaps even read her thoughts on her face.

  “You’re not going to do as you’re told, are you?” he growled.

  She nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m going now.”

  “Marco, take her back. Make sure the door is locked, and then come to my office immediately. I want whoever is here to be taken care of.”

  Her heart sank as Marco stalked toward her and grabbed her arm. He pulled her in close to his body, hard and unyielding. At least Rodriguez had something charismatic about him, even if he was a misogynist. Marco was just a plain, old fashioned son-of-a-bitch.

  Rodriguez left the room, and Marco pulled her even closer, so the side of her body was wedged against the front of his. He leaned down and snarled in her ear. “Rodriguez got you wet, didn’t he? I can smell your cunt from here. What’s stopping me spreading your legs and burying my tongue in it?”

  Lily felt sick. “Rodriguez doesn’t want you touching me. I’m his, remember,” she managed to grate.

  “Yeah, and I see exactly what you’re doing, bitch. Trying to get him on your side so you can manipulate him. All you bitches think you can get what you want with nothing more than a wet mouth and a tight cunt. Well, I’m onto you, whore. I’ll make sure he sees what you’re doing.”

  “Didn’t he want you in the office?” she said, trying to be brave, though his words made her blood run cold. Men like Rodriguez might be twisted inside, but they still managed to remain civilized for the most part. “He won’t be happy if you’re not there.”

  Marco growled in his frustration, and she knew she’d won, for the moment, anyway, though she was sure he’d find a way to pay her back at a later date. She didn’t know what it was about her that wound Marco up so badly, but he wasn’t the type of man to ever let things drop.

  He yanked her from the room, her head snapping on her neck hard enough to cause whiplash. Combined with the alcohol, the movement caused nausea to sweep over her. Part of her felt like she’d take some satisfaction in throwing up all over Marco’s expensive shoes, even if he would beat her for it afterward.

  He hustled her down the hallway, through the house, and back to her room. The door was shut, and she assumed locked. She prayed Jess was safe behind the locked door. Marco reached out with a key he must have hidden around his person—could I steal it somehow without him noticing?—and unlocked the door. He shoved her into the room, hard enough to cause her to stumble, and she fell to her knees, her head hung.

  Movement came from one side, and the door banged closed again, locking behind her.

  “Oh, my God,” said Jess, who dropped to kneel beside her, her hand on Lily’s back. “Are you okay?”

  Lily nodded and lifted her head. “I’m all right.”

  “I’m so sorry I left you back there. I’m such a coward. Did he … hurt you? I’m so sorry.” Tears had filled the girl’s eyes, her face full of remorse.

  “He didn’t hurt me,” Lily forced herself to say, though her buttocks still burned, and she was slippery between her thighs. She knew she couldn’t tell Jess the truth about what had happened. She was too ashamed.

  Jess threw herself at Lily, her arms around her neck, hugging her tight. “Oh, thank God. I felt awful leaving you there with him. You would have fought for me, but I did nothing.”

  Lily untangled herself from Jess’ arms. “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

  “So what happened? Why did Marco throw you back in the room like that?”

  “A vehicle has been spotted approaching the property.”

  Her face lit with hope. “Do you think it might be someone here to help us?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  She didn’t want to shatter whatever small amount of optimism Jess might have found, didn’t want to tell her that she was listening, with dread in her heart, for the sound of gunfire clattering through the house.

  They sat together, waiting, hearts beating hard with equal hope and trepidation.

  Monster (Twenty-nine Years Earlier)

  Though only a small boy, Monster knew he was strange.

  He saw it in the eyes of the people who brought his meals and occasionally even played with him. Something about his face made it hard for them to look at him directly, though sometimes he caught them staring at him, only for them to quickly avert their eyes the moment they thought they’d been caught.

  His father didn’t allow any mirrors in the room, but he was able to touch his face. He could tell one side felt unlike the other—the texture of his skin raised slightly, soft and puffy. He knew it was different, but unable to see himself, he didn’t know why.

  But Monster couldn’t miss what he didn’t know existed. He didn’t know his room was bare of mirrors because he’d never come across one before. Nothing in his room offered any kind of reflection—even the metal of the faucets in the bathroom were buffed to a matte glaze.

  His food was normally served to him in plastic bowls or plates, with plastic children’s cutlery with rounded edges so he couldn’t harm himself or anyone else with it—though the thought hadn’t yet occurred to his young mind.

  That day, someone different must have been working in the kitchens, and no one else noticed the mistake when his lunch was brought to him. But Monster did. His eyes alighted on it the moment his lunch—a soup of some kind, with a chunk of bread—was brought to him.

  A spoon—a large, silver spoon.

  His heart instantly beat harder, a rush of heat sweeping over him. Should he say something? He wanted to, but was scared of the repercussions. They might tell him to stop being stupid, that he was old enough for an adult spoon now, but because he’d question it, they would take it away. His father might hear him speaking to the woman who’d brought his soup, and hit him for speaking to an adult without permission.

  So many quandaries went through his head, that, by the time he’d even come to a decision, the woman who had brought him his meal turned and left the room, shutting him in with the prohibited spoon.r />
  He hesitated, feeling guilty for even going near it, but he was also hungry. Other than lifting the bowl and drinking the contents—something else his father would happily punish him for to improve the boy’s table manners—he had no choice but to use the cutlery.

  Monster picked up the tray and settled himself cross-legged on the floor. He quickly wolfed down the bread, something he could eat without his stomach twisting up with nerves that he was doing something wrong. When he’d finished, he paused and looked down at the spoon.

  Cautiously, he reached out and picked it up. It was heavier than he’d expected, weighted in his small hand.

  He caught sight of something and his heart lurched. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Bringing the spoon closer, he realized he was able to see something in the curved bowl. It was distorted and shiny, the light from overhead glinting against the metal, making it harder to see. He narrowed his eyes and moved the spoon closer and then further away again, his arm stretched out. Was that him? Yes, but no. His refection was blurry and upside down. With his heart in his throat, he flipped the spoon over and stared at the back.

  He inhaled sharply, his fingers tight around the spoon’s handle.

  He knew now why his father called him ‘his little Monster.’ It wasn’t a term of affection.

  He lifted his fingers, just as the monstrosity reflected in the back of the spoon lifted his fingers, and touched the black mark which covered one side of his face. His left eye peered out of the darkness. He ran his fingers across the massive dark stain on his skin, and the creature reflected in the back of the spoon started to blur as his eyes filled with tears.

  No wonder no one wanted to look at him. No wonder his father didn’t want to let him out of his room.

  With a cry of shame and revulsion, he flung the spoon across the room, so it clattered to the floor. He no longer cared about any punishment he might receive due to his possession of the item. He should be punished. He deserved it.