by Julia Sykes
“Really?” Anger bled out to cover my fear. “You didn’t mean you’re going to assault me to keep me here?”
His scowl was back in an instant, and I shrank deeper into the mattress under the weight of his furious glare. “I would never do that.”
It wasn’t difficult to show vulnerability this time. I wasn’t pretending. “Then why won’t you let me up?” Suddenly, I understood why he was hesitant to let me go. “Look. I won’t tell anyone about you. About the Kings. I grew up with the Westies. I know how to keep my mouth shut, so you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll just go back to school and pretend like this never happened.”
His features smoothed, but they settled into a hard mask. “Your father gave you to me. I have to keep you.”
Fury surged, burning through fear. “I’m not an object! I’m a person. You can’t just trade me like currency. You can’t-”
“You’re not currency,” he cut me off. “You’re leverage. I have to keep you to make sure your brother stays in line. You belong to me now, and I have to figure out what to do with you.”
“I don’t belong to anyone! I’m not your property, you bastard! You-”
“Enough!” He barked, and my mouth snapped closed. “Would you rather be with Ortiz right now? I can promise you he wouldn’t hesitate to abuse you. He would use you up and keep you as his whore. The way I see it, I saved your ass. And I took a beating for it. You’re welcome.”
I clung to my anger. “Is that what you want?” I hissed. “My gratitude? Thank you very much for allying with my piece of crap father and carrying me off like some freaking caveman so that you can manipulate my brother into ruining his life. You’re awesome, dude. Really fucking cool.” My temper got the better of me.
His fury matched my own. “Your foul mouth won’t change anything. You’re mine. You can accept that or not. It won’t make a difference. You’re not leaving this room until I figure out what to do with you.”
“What do you mean do with me?” Something terrible occurred to me. “Are you… Are you going to hurt me?”
His jaw firmed. “No. I don’t plan to hurt you.”
I don’t plan to hurt you. Not, I won’t hurt you. The warning was clear: further defiance would bring me pain. Defeat rolled over righteous anger, and my rigid muscles turned to water. My eyes burned, and I looked away from him in a show of submission. I wouldn’t risk abuse; I wasn’t stupid enough to invite pain when it would earn me nothing. Pissing off Santiago wouldn’t get me out of this room.
The silence was heavy. I refused to fill it with the sound of my sobs. I bit my lower lip until the sharp pain distracted me from my anxiety. A single hot tear slipped from the corner of my eye. I jolted when a calloused fingertip brushed it away.
“Don’t cry, chiquita.” His deep voice held a note of strain. I was tempted to read concern in it.
My skin crawled, even as I found reassurance in his comforting touch. Years of being starved for simple physical affection had left me weak, vulnerable to the slightest show of kindness. I couldn’t bear the twisted sensation.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered, still not looking at him. “Please.” Fighting was useless. Arguing was useless. Begging was my only recourse. Doing so didn’t fill me with shame, only a sense of hollow resignation. Big men beat women to make themselves feel powerful. If I acknowledged that he held all the power, he might spare me.
Mercifully, the heat of his touch withdrew from me. The mattress shifted as he got to his feet. There was a heavy pause, and I could feel his eyes studying me, debating my fate.
“You’re not leaving this room until I figure out what to do with you.”
I couldn’t suppress a shiver. Fear of his fists warred with the nearly overwhelming need to run from the threat. I resolutely remained prone on the bed, not allowing my body to betray my need to escape. Running would only result in his strong arms closing around me, restraining me. Possibly worse. Staying quiet and compliant was my safest course of action for the moment.
My hatred of my own frailty didn’t make me any stronger, so I resolutely ignored the burning sensation in my chest. Despite my best efforts, it spread outward, until the heat pooled behind my eyes. It leaked out the corners in fat, warm drops.
“Charlotte.” The way my name rolled on his tongue was revolting. His voice was far too low and comforting. As though he actually cared that I was crying. That was always the worst: the part where I clung to my abuser when he offered solace after pain; the way I apologized for whatever I had done to earn the punishment. Even now, a reflexive “I’m sorry” built in the back of my throat.
I thought I had escaped this when I left Jonas’ house for Hudson U. I was a woman now. I was better than this.
I hated myself, and I hated Santiago.
“Please,” my voice was thick with suppressed emotions. “Leave me alone.”
Another few beats of silence passed before he sighed heavily. I blew out my own breath of relief when his footsteps moved away from me. The door creaked open and closed softly behind him. The sound of the lock clicking back resounded inside me, making my stomach quiver as reality set in.
I wasn’t going back to my apartment tonight. I might not ever go back. My fate was entirely in the hands of a man whose whole life was violence and death. I had only been free of this cruel underworld for two short years, and now my father had ripped me back into it. I had been stupid to think I could ever escape it.
Naïve. So freaking naïve.
It was time to stop deluding myself and start getting a grip on the reality of my situation. My eyes roved around the room again. They found only peeling white walls. No windows. No way out other than that one door.
Besides, even if I could get out of the room, Santiago’s hulking body wouldn’t be far beyond. I would be stepping out into unfamiliar territory and into the arms of a monster. I was desperate, but I wasn’t stupid.
Think. Use your brain. I hadn’t gotten a full ride to Hudson for nothing.
Okay, leaving on my own isn’t an option. Santiago’s good will was my only way out. He had said he needed to decide what to do with me. I just had to convince him that he could trust me to leave him and not go running to the cops. I hadn’t been lying; I knew better than to do that. I didn’t want to end up dead. Or worse, to get Derek into trouble. The Kings would be watching him now. I was leverage against him, but my actions could just as easily get him hurt.
I closed my eyes and groaned, longing for the luxury of my tiny studio apartment and the carefree nattering of my roommate, Rachel. Some of her painkillers would be welcome as well. I was exhausted, and my head still throbbed. I couldn’t think properly like this. My mind needed to rest. I would regroup and talk my way out of this first thing in the morning.
Chapter 3
The sound of knocking woke me. Confusion bogged down my sleep-fogged mind. Rachel and I shared a room, but she was usually quiet and considerate when she had an earlier class than I did. I rolled over on my twin bed and tried to ignore the noise. Ah, the joys of having a roommate.
Still, it was preferable to the huge princess bed I had in my father’s house, where privacy was just an illusion. It might have been “my room,” but that didn’t stop the bastard from flinging the door open whenever he felt like terrorizing me.
Yes, I much preferred Rachel’s nearness. The close quarters might be irritating at times, but at least they were unpretentious. They weren’t just a pretty lie of perfection.
I sighed when the sound of the lock clicking back penetrated the last of my sleepiness. If Rachel was leaving for her eight AM class, I might as well get up and start getting ready for my ten AM.
I sat up, yawning. My head pounded at the movement, and I clutched a hand to the side of my skull.
“How’s your head?” The deep, accented voice obliterated the last of the cobwebs in my mind.
My eyes focused on the man who stood in the doorway. The first thing that struck me was the sheer size of hi
m. I remembered being frightened by his strength, but somehow I had forgotten just how imposing he was. At six foot two, he was taller than average, and his brawny arms were nearly half the size of my waist. There was something about the sharpness of his features that was harsh and slightly mean, especially when his lips were pressed to a thin slash, like they were now. It was as though the very sight of me angered him.
Which made no sense, because I was the one who should hate him, not the other way around. I couldn’t help shrinking back against the pillows under the weight of his disapproval.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he still looked upset, but the words were kind.
My eyes did another assessment of his body, and this time I noticed he was holding a plate, heaped with a pile of scrambled eggs. The steam that rose from them wafted toward me, and my stomach rumbled at the delicious scent. Was that… bacon?
“I’m not,” I lied. Even if I was willing to accept food from him – which I wasn’t – I couldn’t eat bacon. I was on a strictly fruit-based breakfast diet. An apple, a few cubes of melon, no more. Not if I wanted to fit into my skinny jeans.
But damn, it smelled good.
His frown deepened, and my heart stuttered. “You should eat something.” He crossed the space between us in three long strides and shoved the plate at me.
I propped up my back against the headboard, shaking my head. “I don’t want any.”
He glared. “Eat.”
I reached for a strip of bacon before I thought. I wasn’t going to risk pain by resisting. Especially when what I was resisting was yummy, yummy pork. The rich, salty flavor exploded across my tongue with the first bite. Holy hell, I had forgotten how good it was. My fruit diet had lasted far too long.
Reluctantly, I took the plate from him, careful not to brush his fingers with mine. He set a glass of orange juice on the bedside table with an approving nod.
It struck me that this might be considered a sweet gesture, a man bringing me breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, it felt more like being served prison food. Delicious prison food, but prison food nonetheless.
He watched me eat in silence, his stern expression encouraging me to finish every last bite. He wanted me to eat? Fine. That was fine. Maybe he would let me leave after I finished breakfast. If I proved I could be compliant, he might decide I could be trusted to stay in line.
Even after I drained the last of the juice, he still simply watched me. I shifted uncomfortably, cutting my eyes away.
I plucked up my courage. “Um, do you think I could go to school today? I really don’t want to get behind on my classes.”
I chanced a glance at him. He was frowning again.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Please,” the word was touched with desperation. “I won’t go to the cops. I swear. You know who my father is. I’ve never turned on him. I won’t turn on you. All I want to do is live my life, okay. I promise I won’t betray you.”
His brows drew together, but it wasn’t in anger. His dark eyes studied me carefully. “I believe you.” He cocked his head. “If I let you go to class, you have to promise to come back.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to come back here. All I wanted was to be back with Rachel in our shoebox apartment. It seemed like the height of luxury in comparison to my current situation.
His expression turned stern at my hesitation. “I don’t want to hold you prisoner, but that’s what I’ll do if I can’t trust you to behave. Your father and I have a deal. You might not like it, but that’s too bad.” His eyes burned into mine, imposing his will. “You will go to class, and you will return here immediately after. I’ll walk you there and pick you up.”
I held back my retort. He might not be holding me prisoner, but he wanted to keep me on a short leash. My mind churned. I could get out of this. If only I was allowed to leave this apartment, I had more leeway to negotiate. There was only so much Santiago could do to me in public.
Yes, I decided. He might come to pick me up when I finished with my classes, but I would already be halfway back to my apartment by then. I could duck out of class early. Even if he did track me down, what was he going to do? Drag me away kicking and screaming? I wouldn’t report him to the cops, but I sure as hell would call for help before I let him bring me back onto his turf.
I dropped my eyes and nodded meekly. “Okay. Thanks.” I was good at faking gratitude when under threat. It couldn’t be a shameful defeat if I didn’t mean it. It was just a hollow gesture to appease my tormenter.
“All right,” he said after a beat of silence. “The bathroom’s just outside the bedroom to the left. Go freshen up and I’ll take you to class.”
I let out the breath I had been holding and tried to keep my pleasure from showing on my face. “Thanks,” I said again.
I stood and eased past him, trying not to obviously flee from him. Reaching the privacy of the bathroom was a relief.
Then I took one look in the mirror and gasped. How was I going to go to class like this? I looked like a hot mess. Mascara was smudged all under my sky blue eyes from crying the night before, and my mass of light brown hair was a mess. My face was unusually pale, making the dusting of freckles on my nose stand out.
I so need to hit the tanning bed. Derek called them “cancer boxes,” but he had never had his eye on joining a sorority. In my mind, nothing short of physical perfection was acceptable. I just couldn’t be seen like this in public.
But what other choice did I have? I had a feeling Santiago wouldn’t run to the drug store for a few beauty necessities, and there was no way I was going back to my apartment block with a hulking Latin King in tow. Lots of other students lived there. Being spotted with him would be far more damaging to my reputation than a few dark smudges under my eyes.
I did my best to finger-comb through the tangles in my long hair and used the hair tie that I kept on my wrist to pull it back into an unfortunately messy ponytail. The tug against my scalp where my father had hit me stung, but at least the damage was hidden by my hair.
My lightly tanned skin was pink by the time I finished scrubbing my face, but I managed to get rid of the worst of the mascara smudges.
Checking my reflection again, I nodded to myself. My black tank top was tight enough that it didn’t show many wrinkles, and neither did my dark-wash jeans. At least I wouldn’t be showing up to class in sweatpants and a t-shirt. I suppressed a shudder at the very notion. Rachel wouldn’t approve. She had her eye on Alpha Alpha Alpha as well. Tri Alphas most definitely didn’t roll into class with so much as a hair out of place. I would just have to keep my head down and hope no one noticed my unusual scruffiness.
I briefly wondered when I had become so shallow, but I brushed the thought aside. This wasn’t about looks; this was about joining a community. Belonging. I could have sisters. And if I needed to worry about my appearance to get that, it seemed an easy trade.
The thought of Santiago accompanying me to class filled me with unease. A messy ponytail was much easier to explain away than a scary gangster. Hopefully no one would notice him, either.
Yeah, right.
I managed to convince Santiago to leave me two blocks away from class, so I was fairly certain no one had seen us together. Thank god.
“What the hell happened to you, girl?” Rachel’s Boston accent pierced my brief flare of relief. I looked up at the perfection that was my best friend. Her golden blonde hair was sleek and shiny, her makeup just heavy enough to enhance her natural beauty. The subtle dark plum colored eyeliner she rocked made her green eyes pop.
I did my best not to wince at the judgmental twist of her pouty pink lips.
“I met a guy,” I stretched the truth.
My friend’s eyes instantly lit up. “Oh my god, and you’re doing the walk of shame to class? You slut!” She half-shrieked, clapping her hands in glee. I cringed as a few curious sets of eyes riveted my way. Rachel wasn’t insulting me; she was genuinely ecstati
c that I had scored.
If only, I thought wryly. I would have much preferred to end my yearlong celibacy than be in my current situation.
“Okay, spill. I want all the deets.” Rachel was a big fan of unnecessarily abbreviating words, but I had no trouble understanding what she meant. However, I wasn’t too keen to share any details about my particular late-night shenanigans.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, my voice filled with false promise. When I can come up with a believable lie.
Her face fell. “What? No. Now!” She hooked her arm through mine and tugged me in the opposite direction of our Biology class. “Come on. We’ll skip. I demand coffee and gossip. Besides,” she eyed me pointedly. “You look like you could use the coffee.”
I grimaced, resisting the change of direction. “You know I don’t like coffee, Rach.”
She pulled more insistently. The girl was small, but Pilates made her deceptively strong. “Fine, then. We’ll get you one of those awful sugary frozen concoctions that’s more milkshake than coffee. I’m sure you got enough of a workout last night to make up for the calories. Come on. You can even have whipped cream.” She winked at me conspiratorially.
Whipped cream sounded like an excellent idea. After the bacon for breakfast, it seemed to be a day of indulgences. I really might as well give in now. I could start my diet back up tomorrow. Besides, if I wasn’t where Santiago expected to pick me up in two hours, then all the better.
I plastered on a smile and started scrambling for a convincing lie. “His name was Kyle,” I began, allowing Rachel to direct us toward the closest Starbucks.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh! Kyle Brannon? The SA?”
Of course she was hoping I had landed a Sigma Alpha. That lie wouldn’t hold up, though.
“No,” I said with a fabricated smirk. “I met him at a club. He was older. Not a college student. And I didn’t catch his last name.”
She gasped and lightly slapped my arm, but she was grinning. “You skank-faced ho-bag!” She declared in delight, as though it was a compliment. “Who are you and what have you done with Charlotte Carter?”