Salvatore.
Then they’re just gone.
“Can we move her without breaking anything?” The matron circles the bed, studying me.
“Yeah, yeah. No worries. Nothing broken.”
Matron scoffs again. I would too if I could.
“Okay, let’s take her to the shower. Miranda!”
When I come to again, I’m in my bed, not on it, cuddled by cool, heavenly soft sheets. I smell nice. I smell of lavender. My limbs are heavy, but I lift my arms and study the bandages around my wrists. I have on soft pink pants and the long-sleeved top that goes with it. On the chest and the butt sits an image of Hello Kitty. I don’t have to look to know it. It’s my outfit.
“Hey,” says a soft voice. “You’re awake.”
I turn my head and squint at the sun, seeing the silhouette of Miranda who sits on a chair next to me, reading a book.
“What day is it?” I rasp.
“Sunday. Same as when you came.”
“What time?”
“You’ve slept for hours. It’s four in the afternoon. Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink?”
She holds up a glass with a straw. I begin to shuffle to sit.
“No lie. I’ll help you.”
“I can sit, it’s all right.”
“But… Matron told me to make sure you rested.”
“I can sit,” I grit out, and make it the rest of the way, falling with my back against the headboard, wincing. I had forgotten how beaten my back is. “Give me the water.”
I drink several large swallows, grimacing because my throat hurts. Then I hand her the glass again, my mind spinning.
“My God, you’re sweating. Lie down, or she’ll kill me, Carmen!”
I let her put me back under the duvet.
“How do I look?”
Her features change. She chews her lip and looks around us. “Do—do you want a mirror?”
“Yeah.” I’m already falling asleep again. “I’m so tired,” I mumble.
“You’re all drugged up, girl.”
She comes back with my little vanity mirror and holds it up for me. There’s a swelling on my left cheek and I’m a little blue under the eye. I trace the swelling, trying to remember last night. It was so rough. Pain. Fear. Humiliation. All those brutal hands. I thought I would look much, much worse. Funny what the body can take.
Then a horrifying thought strikes me.
“How’s my ass?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he tear me for real, Miranda?”
Miranda’s mouth falls open and a look of horror settles on her face. “I don’t know. Want me to get the matron?”
“Yes!” I fight the sleep that wants to claim me. This, I need to know.
She literally flees out of the room. She’s so afraid. I’m her worst nightmare. I’m everyone’s worst nightmare. It doesn’t take many minutes before she’s back with the matron in tow.
“How are you feeling, honey?”
“I’m high on drugs,” I slur. “Am I broken? My ass? My pussy? Will I be all right?”
The matron looks afraid too. It’s not a comforting sight. But then she nods. “You’re a little torn, Carmen, but that’s it. You’re not as bad off as we thought when you first came home, with the blood, and all the bruises. Doc thinks you were in shock more than you were physically damaged. You were lucky. It could have been worse. You scared me good, though.”
I scoff bitterly. Lucky.
When I wake again it’s in the middle of the night. I ache again. Even the smallest of movements makes stabs of pain shoot through me. Everything between my legs. A dull discomfort in my lower belly. My head pounds. I look up. Someone sits on the chair, but this is a slimmer person.
“Who’s there?” I whisper.
“It’s Yannica. Do you need anything?”
“A shitload of morphine.”
She laughs, a light tinkling sound. “I’ll get the matron.”
I sleep through the whole next day, high on drugs. They make me eat a little yogurt even though I have no appetite. The morphine dilutes not only the physical pain, but also the memory of how it got there. The doctor comes by, putting on new bandages.
“Have you patched up many girls, Doc?” I ask.
He shoots me a gaze, then looks back down at my wrist. “A few.”
“Only a few?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Were they as bad off?”
He pushes his glasses up his nose and meets my gaze, then he shakes his head.
“Do you know the monster?”
“Mr. Salvatore?”
I don’t answer. He knows who I refer to more than well.
“I’ve worked for him for many years.”
“So you make it easier for him?”
He jerks. “Easier how?”
“To beat up people. He just beats them to a pulp, then he calls his good ol’ doc to patch them back up so he can beat them again. Right?”
He stands and clears his throat. “If I quit, he’d kill me, Miss Moreno.”
Now I know why he has aged so unfortunately. His face has the color of ash. He looks beaten.
The knock on the door has us both jerking, then it opens and the matron sticks in her head, a little smile on her face. “You’ve got a visitor.”
My heart races. For a moment I think it’s him. The beast. Then I realize she would hardly be smiling in that case. She looks behind her, cocks her head at someone, then opens the door wider.
Next to her stands the blond Viking. I look at him in shock and sink deeper under the duvet. I am not in shape for visitors!
The doctor clears his throat. “I’m done here. I won’t need to come back for this. I’m putting you on Advil from now on. You don’t need the morphine.” Then he disappears with the matron, who gives me one last glance, looking pleased.
Fear grips my heart. I really do need the morphine.
The door shuts and the Viking and I are left alone. Something is different about him. He’s got an edge to his face when before he had such innocent, beautiful features.
“Can I come in?”
“You’re already in.”
He laughs and little dimples appear in his cheeks. “True. Can I sit? Is it okay?”
“I look terrible.”
“I know.” He carefully sits on the edge of the chair that has been occupied day and night by girls sitting guard.
“Well, thanks.”
“How are you holding up?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I—I’ve been thinking about you. Non-stop actually.”
“Why?”
He looks at his lap. “Do you want me to go? Maybe this was a bad idea?”
I reach for him, putting my hand on his. “No. I’m sorry. Don’t go.”
We both stare at the white, fresh bandage.
“It didn’t go very well,” I mumble.
He knows what I’m talking about. Putting his other hand over mine, warm, strong, clean, he lets his eyes roam my face. “No, it didn’t. Why did he do this?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything. What’s the weather like?”
He laughs again. “You wanna talk about the weather?”
His laugh is contagious. He’s so cute when he smiles, his blue eyes glittering, an even row of white teeth. I smile back. “Guess not. Are you from here?”
“Yeah. Grew up partly here and partly in Iowa.”
“What do your parents do?”
“Dad’s dead, and I haven’t talked to Mom in six years.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say about that.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“Colombia?”
“That’s nice. From where?”
“Do you know Colombia?”
He shakes his head and a goofy expression settles on his features.
>
I laugh. “I’m from a little village in the mountains. Not much to speak of.”
“How’d you end up here?”
I study him, realizing we’re still holding hands. His touch warms me. I like it. “I guess I was looking for a better life…”
We grow silent. There’s not much to say about that. I didn’t find it.
“Ever think about going back?”
“I can’t.” My heart hurts, thinking of Mamá and Papá, and I close it against the pain, like so many times before.
“Why?”
I just shake my head.
“You don’t wanna talk about it?”
“No. Do you miss your mom?”
At first he puts on a mask of indifference. I’m good at reading people. There’s not one girl in my business who doesn’t become an expert on that. Then it drops, the mask, the pretenses and a young boy appears in its stead.
“Never had much of a mom.”
I hold his hand tighter.
“How’re your parents?” he asks.
Unwanted images of warmth and love snake into my mind, of Mamá cooking mondongo soup. I had love. Then I just left them. I was fifteen, headstrong, thought I knew everything. I hurt them so badly. I haven’t dared talk to them again. It was three years ago. I wonder what they’re doing? Do they miss me?
“They’re good people.”
“But you wanted something else?”
I nod.
“Did you find it?”
I scoff. “What do you think?”
He clenches his jaw, then he reaches for my face, stroking away a strand of hair from my cheek, putting it behind my ear. “Do you ever think of getting away, Carmen?”
“I didn’t think of it much.” I glance around me, as if the walls have ears. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. I don’t care. “Now I can’t think of anything else.”
“I wish I could help you,” he whispers.
I’m honestly stunned. “Why? You got it all set for you, climbing the organization, aren’t you?”
Storm clouds sweep over his face. “Yeah,” he grits out. “I guess I am.”
I shake my head slowly. “You’re in over your head, Lucas.”
He flinches. “What makes you say that?”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure what to tell him. I just see it. Anguish oozes off him like steam from hot asphalt after rain.
He stands abruptly, dropping my hand. “I gotta go.”
The door falls shut behind him and a feeling of loss settles in my chest. I scared him away. He’s older than I am, but he’s still just a boy. A boy who wants to play tough. Does he know what path he has chosen? Does he know it will rob him of all the humanity he just displayed, coming here, to a battered whore, holding her hand?
I turn on my side, wincing. The ache between my legs, in my stomach, throat and face is manageable. Squinting against the harsh light of day, a heavy weight falls on my chest.
The physical pains are manageable. The ache in my heart isn’t.
Chapter 9
Carmen
Faceless monsters chase me. There are hands everywhere, pulling, twisting, ripping me apart. I scream from the pain as they spear my every orifice again and again, tearing my little body to pieces, but all they do is laugh. The hoots echo between invisible walls, going round and round until my mind is filled with it. Greedy bodies claim mine. I’m a person! I want to scream it at them so they understand they can’t do this, but to them I’m not. To them I’m no one. They will kill me. I know these are my last moments as something chokes me, pulls me under. There’s water, oily, filthy water. Below the surface cold, black eyes meet mine and there’s no return. I can never go back.
“Carmen!”
I scream and flail, realizing the hand I’m gripping is warm and tender, little coarse hair on its back, it’s shape very well known.
My heart slams as I open my eyes. “You came back.”
“You had a nightmare.” He sits on the chair, scanning my face, worry etched on his features.
I glance at the clock. It’s four in the afternoon. “Daymare.”
He follows my gaze. “Fine. Daymare. How are you doing? Have you been up? You look better. It’s—” He gestures to my face. “Not as swollen.”
“I took a shower. I feel like a million dollars.” I grin at him.
“You’re amazing.”
“No, I’m not. What makes you say that.”
“You seem to be bouncing back… like… there’s a light in you despite all this.”
My chest clenches at his words. “There’s no light in me, Lucas.”
He cocks his head. “I see it.”
He holds my eyes until I look away, my mouth suddenly dry. His hand on my cheek makes me snap my head back to meet his searching gaze again.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
He flinches and pulls back his hand. “What do you mean?”
“You look different. As if you’re full of pain.”
Lucas stands so abruptly the chair topples. He grabs it before it falls to the floor. Shoving a hand through his thick blond hair, he moves over to the window, turning his broad back to me.
“The view from here isn’t bad.”
“You don’t wanna talk about it?”
“No,” he mumbles.
“Salvatore?”
His shoulders tense up, and I don’t even need his verbal answer. Something has happened to this boy since the first time I saw him. Whatever it is, I find myself wishing I could have taken it for him. I have nothing left anyway. It might not be too late for Lucas.
“I won’t ask again, I’m sorry.”
He darts to my side, kneeling next to me. “It’s—” His eyes turn glossy and he swallows hard.
I lay my hand on his cheek, and he grabs it, holding it there, careful not to touch the bandages.
“So much pain,” I whisper. “He causes so much pain.”
Lucas looks down and nods. “Yeah.”
“Do you know what I used to love when I was little? What made me forget about the world?”
He shakes his head.
“I loved to read. There are some books in the common room. Do you want to read to me?”
His features transform, soften, and for the first time since he picked me up that fatal night, I see his beauty again. My Viking.
“I’ll be right back!” He darts to the door, and spins on his heels. “What do you like?”
“I’d like to see what you choose.”
A smile spreads on his face. “Be right back!”
I know my respite will be short lived. I know this is a little piece of a heaven that is not meant for me, but Lucas shows up faithfully, day after day, and reads to me. He chose The Fellowship of the Ring. I hadn’t read it, neither had he, and together we’re falling into a dark world of elves, love, friendships, and a mysterious dark force.
I don’t need fantasy to know there are monsters, but knowing that in the world of the book, they will eventually be beaten, strengthens me. Maybe they can be beaten in the real world too?
Late one night, I tiptoe to the common room, looking to see if we have the other books in the series as well. I really need to know how it ends. Upset voices coming from the kitchen make me freeze. A man and a woman. The matron and…
Luciano Salvatore.
I nearly vomit and throw myself between an armchair and the wall, crouching, my heart slamming in my chest. Why is he here? I should get back to my room, but morbid curiosity makes me stand, makes my feet move on their own accord. I need to know what they’re saying.
“You’ve got to calm down, sir.” The matron sounds tense, a bit cautious, but unafraid.
“You’re in no position to tell me what to do,” he slurs.
He’s drunk. My God. A drunk Salvatore in my house. The hair on my nape rises, my mind tells me to run, my feet take me closer. His mere presence makes my wounds ache, like a tooth cavity does when you even think of something sweet.
“Don’t forget I own you. You and all of this,” he growls so viciously I nearly rush inside, wanting to save my brave matron.
“How can I forget,” she answers, her voice tainted by bitterness.
“You’re one fine woman, Elena. I should’ve found you when you were younger. We would’ve made pretty children together.”
She scoffs, and so do I.
“You,” she spits, “a father? You couldn’t nurture a snake.”
It grows silent, and in the quiet house, my worry grows. Did she go too far? Is he going to hurt her? I know without a doubt I’d throw myself in there if he did. I also know I’d die, but I don’t care.
“I guess you’re right.”
His voice is subdued. Nothing like the mafia boss I met a week ago. In that moment there’s something human to the cruel beast that is Salvatore. I don’t have to see him to know it. It’s the one thing he wants. A child. I would laugh, hadn’t it been so beyond fucked up. Why does he think he should have the honor to care for a new little life? A shudder runs through me as I think of the hallucination with the spiders. He’d breed a monster, he’d raise a new Luciano.
I tiptoe back to my room, my back crawling from knowing he’s here, so near, but I make my way back safely. I don’t sleep the rest of the night, though. He is everywhere. He permeates my whole life. I wish Lucas was here. My blond, strong man with the warm hands and soft blue eyes. I want to listen to his rich voice as he reads to me, hour after hour. I want to just snuggle in and be little again. We’ve only held hands, and I don’t even know what he thinks about me, but in this moment my whole being aches for him to be here.
Lucas
Her bruises fade a little more each passing day, and her soft, exotic beauty returns. I love seeing her face like this, without makeup. It makes her look her age. I was shocked to learn she’s younger than I am, only eighteen. She’s lived such a hard life and it has made her see the world through her own set of glasses, and they’re not rose-tinted.
Reading to her keeps the questions at bay, the self-doubt, the nauseating knowledge of what I almost did. I fill the room with words, paint another realm between us. It’s more fascinating to look at her response to the story than the story itself is. It actually bores me a little, it just goes on and on. So much text and so little action.
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