He grips my chin with his fingers and bends down, eying me with never-ending pools of black. “No one likes a whore, my sweet.” He smashes his mouth against mine, and I revolt, holding my breath for the second time in five minutes. I am starting to feel light-headed. He breaks the kiss and leans away, stroking my cheek. The same cheek he hit three weeks ago, the same bruise that was now a pale yellow against my skin instead of a deep purple. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than telling me. “A trophy for all to see.”
A trophy.
I gulp, wondering what that means. I don’t ask. I keep my mouth shut like a good little pet.
Because at the end of the day, that is what I am. Something for him to stroke, feed, and hit if he sees fit.
“I want to leave within the hour, so hurry up. I want us to have a good day.”
“Yes, Kendrick.”
“My sweet?”
I drain the rest of the mimosa and set the empty glass on the side of the tub. “Yes, Kendrick?” The water swooshes when I move my hands under the surface to swirl the bubbles over my body so he can’t see me.
“Don’t wear a bra with the dress. I want to be able to see those rosy nipples through the fabric.”
“But that means everyone else would see me, Kendrick. I thought … I thought you didn’t want me to be a whore?” Stupid me. I asked a question. I’m never supposed to ask questions.
In a blink of an eye his hand is around my throat, and he squeezes, bringing us nose to nose. I don’t fight him. I should fight him, I know that, but after so long fighting the same man and the same abuse, fighting gets tiring.
My soul hardens. My heart is numb.
And the only man who can bring me back to life is Sebastian.
“If I’m asking you to do something for me, that isn’t you being a whore—that is you following a command. You’re a whore if you do it on your own, without my permission, but that isn’t the case, is it, my sweet?” His thumb presses against my jugular, and I gasp, my body arching out of the tub, and his eyes don’t fall to my exposed breasts like a normal man.
He watches me, waiting for me to defy him, but I relent. I always relent. “Yes, Kendrick. I’m sorry,” I say through choked words.
Kendrick kisses the side of my temple and sighs. “I accept your apology. Don’t question me again. I can understand where you would seem confused. Part of me is glad you do not want to be a whore. It shows how much you are worth.”
Worth.
I don’t like the sound of that either.
He glances at his watch and sighs. “Forty-five minutes, my sweet. You need to hurry. I want to get there and find parking before it gets too busy.” He lets go of my throat, and I inhale a lungful of air, sinking into the tub. Tears prickle my eyes, but I lock my emotion down. I can’t let Kendrick see my weakness.
He’d capitalize on it.
He enjoys tears too much.
“Yes, Kendrick. I’ll be ready.”
“Good, my sweet.” He leaves the bathroom door open, leaving me motionless in the tub.
When I hear his footsteps descend the marble steps, I bury my face in my hands and cry. I wish some days he would kill me. This isn’t a life. I am a puppet, a punching bag, something below human, but worth something to him. I hate Kendrick with each passing breath that leaves my lips.
After I add a few tears to the bathtub, I gather myself and find the frozen composure again. I sit up and pull the drain out of the tub, then turn on the shower to wash off the bubbles. My mind drifts to Sebastian. I bet he is happy and in love with someone right now, someone who isn’t me.
My eyes burn, threatening to break the composure that is so hard for me to seek, and I swallow it down. If Kendrick sees my swollen eyes, I’ll get punished. Kendrick treats me too well for me to be sad over everything.
His words.
I hope Sebastian finds love and moves on from me. This is the direction of my life; this is what is meant to be for me. I turn off the shower, a bit depressed at the thought of the Sebastian with someone else, but it helps me reach into that frozen, numb part of me.
Opening the curtain, I step out on the soft carpeted rug and snag a towel out of the cabinet. The towels are soft and fluffy, luxurious against the skin. I turn and look in the mirror above the vanity. I turn my head left and right and inspect the abrasion on my neck. It isn’t too bad, a soft pink that will fade in an hour or so, but I hate that he always feels the need to leave a mark.
I let the clip in my hair go and watch the long dark locks fall over my shoulders in messy waves. I realize there are worse circumstances. I know there are people bound and being sold to others to be used for sexual pleasures and in rundown houses. I try to look at my situation as luck.
Sure, Kendrick is an abusive asshole, but I live in a beautiful home. I am well fed. The ankle bracelet is a bit brutal, but I have had more freedom in a week than I have ever had before. I need to be thankful of my situation, but it is easier said than done. Comparing isn’t the right thing to do. There is always someone in a worse situation.
My freedom has been clipped, I am under the control of an abusive man, and no matter the luxury he tossed at me, I’ll always want more than this life.
Knowing I only have a little more time, I rub strawberry lotion into my skin and moisturize my face with a beautiful oil that leaves my flesh feeling silky. I drop the towel on the bathroom floor and then remember Kendrick doesn’t like a mess. I want to leave it there so badly, to really piss him off, but what little liberty he has given me, I want to keep it.
With a sigh, I bend over and hang the damp towel on the rod, then walk to the bedroom to see a light lavender cotton dress laying across the ruby colored-comforter. The material is soft, and the neckline plunges into a deep V with two strings to tighten the bosom.
A trophy.
Something that is meant to look good for someone to feel accomplished and reassured about themselves.
It is disgusting, but I play the part well.
I slip the dress over my head and then slip the sandals on my feet, a silver strap makes its way across the top of my foot. I walk over to the bathroom against and spray a bit of perfume, the kind Kendrick doesn’t necessarily love, but allows
It is my favorite perfume.
Sebastian couldn’t get enough of it. He would tell me I smelt like a field of wildflowers after a long steady rain, and it drove him crazy. Maybe that is why I wear it so often, for Sebastian, for something good to come out of this situation with Kendrick. If it is something as a comforting and simple as perfume, then so be it.
I run my hands down my front while I stare at myself in the long mirror hanging at the end of the bathroom, against the far wall. The mirror itself is framed in real gold, but what I see doesn’t make me feel as beautiful as the mirror appears to be.
Kendrick will get what he wants. My breasts are barely contained in this dress, and the dark circles of my areolas can be seen through the thin material.
“My sweet! Let’s go,” Kendrick calls for me from the bottom of the staircase.
And like the good pet I am, I answer his order for me and go to him, waiting for the treat of the farmer’s market to show what a good girl I’ve been.
Chapter Five
SEBASTIAN
I still feel like I got the life sucked out of me after a week of being back from the warehouse. At least I wasn’t fucking dead, that is a huge bonus. Jaxon is in bed, recovering from a broken arm, the same arm that he banged a rock against the ground to get my attention. He is badass. Heaven’s leg is broken in three spots, and he needs a blood transfusion with how much blood he lost from the wounds. Grayson’s side is healing. After yanking out the steel rod, it was a through and through, an easy stitch-and-go, according to Jaxon.
Owen is fine. Four stitches on the back of his head and he is still a stubborn ass. Maybe I had hoped the solid smack against the wall would knock some sense into him.
Nope.
And sinc
e we are the only two able to walk without passing out, we are on a grocery run together. Owen is just a joy to be around, really—a pure fucking joy.
“Get out of the way, asshole!” he yells out the window and gives the guy next to us the bird.
A poor old man who can barely see over the wheel. Jaxon would have his ass. “Do I need to drive? I’m tired of you yelling at everyone. You’re making my head hurt.” I rub my temples, wishing I would have had him come alone. The man is a damn menace and annoying.
“He was going ten under the speed limit. I don’t have time for that bullshit.”
“All we have his time. Do you know how long it is going to take for everyone to get back on their feet? Months, Owen. Months. And that old man wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was doing the best he could. Maybe you should start giving a shit about others around you instead of your inapt ability to always be a complete asshole!” I shout and slam my fist against the leather dash.
His hands turn over the wheel, clutching his fingers tight until his knuckles are glowing white. He doesn’t say anything. He knows.
“Whatever the hell your problem is, fix it, or you’re going to end up hurting someone you care about.”
“At least I didn’t blow up the group.”
“Oh, you sure about that? After I told you to walk away, you grabbed onto the vault, or don’t you remember? If you hadn’t touched the damn vault, the explosion wouldn’t have happened!”
“Or maybe if you did your goddamn homework, Sebastian, we would’ve been better prepared, and we wouldn’t have nearly died.”
“Right, blame someone else for your actions. Pretty fucking typical.” I lean my elbow against the door and place my head on the window, letting the cool feel of it rush over my sweaty skin. I don’t know why I'm being like this. Owen is … Owen, and he isn’t going to change. I have a lot on my mind, mostly Gabriella, and how after so long of searching for her, I haven’t found her. It’s weighing on me. I’ve failed her.
“Whatever,” Owen huffs and takes a left into the town of Trinidad. The street for the most part is shut down. Huge tents line either side of the road, and they go on and on, probably to the end of the city limits, which is only about a mile or so.
I’d forgotten about the market. I was ready to go to the grocery store. This was perfect. The day was beautiful, a light cast of gray skies, typical weather for northern California, and people have umbrellas strapped to their sides just in case it pours. Rain is always likely at some point during the day.
We park at The Lighthouse Grill, a restaurant that is so delicious people from all over the country come to Trinidad just to try it. Owen slams the truck in park and pouts for a second.
I hat fighting with him. Owen tends to bring the aggression out in people, and I fell right into it, knowing better. He is a big guy and a bit of a teddy bear deep inside.
Real deep.
“I’m sorry, Owen,” I apologize first since I’m the one who jumped all over him about being an ass to that old man. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. My head has been all over the place, and I’m stressed out.”
“I understand,” his deep voice fills the cab of the truck. “I know I need to work on my temper. I’m trying, but nothing works. I didn’t mean to blame you for the explosion.”
“It’s okay.” I know he means it. Owen never says anything he doesn’t mean, and he was right. I should have found the bombs inside the wall, but I didn’t. That would be another thing to add on to the list of failures in my life. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go enjoy the market and maybe bring Quinn some girly shit, since she is surrounded by testosterone.”
“I don’t know,” he says, clicking the door open. “You’re so thoughtful, I’m sure she gets plenty of girliness from you.”
“Fuck you,” I laugh and get out of the car. Our doors shut one after the other, and we stand side by side as we watch the locals enjoy their weekly market of fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, and homemade gifts, like candles and jewelry.
We tower over most of the crowd, and it’s surprisingly quiet for people here. The smell of fresh popcorn and cotton candy drifts through the air, and Owen and I groan in unison.
“Cotton candy,” he says
“Popcorn,” I reply, licking my lips.
The stands are next to each other, and I buy a freshly popped bag of buttery, salty popcorn and Owen grabs a pink cotton candy. It’s the size of his head. Watching his sausage-sized fingers pluck the candy from the stick is amusing, but I’m not going to give him shit for it. We all have our vices.
We walk down the market first to see which vendors catch our eye, and on the way back through, we stop at the ones we decided on.
“Homemade cheese.” Owen points to one of the last tents. “I fucking love cheese.” He shoulders his way through the crowd, causing shouts of disproval from a few people who are staring at him with daggers in their eyes.
I slither my way through the crowd. “Sorry about him.” I wave to another person who is complaining about Owen. “Sorry. So sorry. Have a great day.” I finally stand next to Owen, feeling people burning a hole in my back since I’m standing next to their new enemy.
“I’d like the goat cheese, all the flavors. Sebastian, they have a blueberry spread to die for. You have to try it.”
“No, I’m—” He shoves it in my mouth before I can get my entire protest out, but as I chew, I realized it is good. Really fucking good. “Can we get five of those?” I ask through a full mouth, trying not to spray crackers everywhere.
“Swiss, mild white cheddar, sharp cheddar, actually, can we have one of everything?” Owen asks, pulling out his wallet.
“That’s a lot of cheese,” the woman behind the table says with shocked green eyes. “What will you do with all of it?”
“Eat it,” Owen said in a ‘duh’ manner.
She shrugs and takes his money, then gives us the change.
The sight and sounds of the market make me feel more relaxed. Maybe it is the fresh air and the all the scents; maybe I haven’t gotten used to the freedom of being outside instead of being bars.
The sun makes a quick appearance through the clouds, raining light across the tents before vanishing again. Trinidad is such a beautiful place, small town, kind locals (most of them), and good food. The views are amazing too. There is always so much to do here. I never want to live anywhere else.
Next, we stop at a fruit vendor and nearly buy everything since there are so many people living in the Cliff House. Peaches, plums, oranges, and grapes. Oh, the fucking grapes are so sweet and juicy, I had to buy three bags of them. California has the best vineyards, and I would fight anyone who argued with me.
After getting our assortment of fruits, we stop at vegetables, and nearly buy them out too. It’s a good thing there are multiple vendors for the same products.
Last, but not least, are the meats. Fresh steak, chicken, pork, every cut a man can dream of.
We buy steaks and chicken. Quinn liked chicken and for some reason, beef has been making her sick, so we take the necessary precautions. Our arms are full after that, and we decided to make another trip down the street after putting the bags in the car.
“Round two?” Owen asks as he shuts the trunk door.
“You know it.” I slap his shoulder. The wind takes that moment to blow across my face, and scent is one I am intimately familiar and stops me in my tracks. I close my eyes and inhale, breathing in as much as I can.
Gabriella.
Wildflowers and rain.
My eyes snap open, and I glance around, standing on the tip of my toes to look over the crowd to see if I can spot her.
“What is it?” Owen asks.
“It’s her. I smell her. I smell Gabriella. The perfume, Owen. It was there. It was like I could touch her.” The ghost of her, anyway.
“Dude, the chance of her being here… That could be anyone woman wearing the same perfume.”
A spear of despair shoots
through my heart as I continue to spin in pointless circles. It had to be her. “Owen, she’s here. I feel it. She has to be here.”
“It isn’t her.” Owen grips my arms and lowers his head. “Wake up, Sebastian. It isn’t her. You haven’t found her since you got out, and the chances of her being here, all along, are slim.”
I knock his hands away and stand chest to chest with him. “It’s still a chance. I’m going to look. I’ll regret it if I don’t.” I smell it again. The perfume. The perfume that has haunted me for far too long. If searching for Gabriella means I come up empty-handed, fine. I am empty-handed now, so what is the difference?
“I don’t want you to be disappointed. I’ve seen you work on your computer, checking your files, checking deaths from all over the place and not getting anywhere. If she were here, right under your nose, that would be—”
“Cruel,” I finish for him. “That’s just the way life is.” The wind carries the sweet fragrance again, and my eyes nearly roll to the back of my head at the memories playing like a roll of film in my mind.
Her on the couch, her hair up in a tangled not on top of her head. I’d steal a small touch by leaning too close, my hand brushing her thigh, our arms heating from contact, and when she moved, I’d smell those wildflowers, and it would drive me crazy.
One time, I got carried away. I buried my nose into the side of her neck and inhaled. My right hand cupped her jaw as she leaned into me, the sexual energy grew, and her chest rose and fell in heavy pants. I whispered my lips over her neck, not kissing her, but holding back from devouring her until she was a writhing mess under me.
The key sliding into the doorknob was the only thing that yanked me out of the trance she had put me in. I barely made it to the other end of the couch before my brother walked it. I had to put a pillow over my lap to hide my erection.
It was the closest I had ever come to losing myself in her, and I hadn’t even felt her skin against my lips; not really, not in the way that I really wanted to.
I give Owen one last slap on the arm before I head into the crowd, doing my best to follow the scent of the wildflowers that are slowly seducing me. This time it’s me pushing through the people, uncaring if I make them fall or piss them off.
Cruel Seduction: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 2) Page 4
