They wouldn’t stop.
“The pain will stay with you for a few days, so long as he only has you the one time. I don’t think that will be a problem. I hear their club is filled with women, sluts, who want to give them everything. I bet even if the women don’t want to, they still do it.”
Abriana clenched her hands into fists. They were now talking about rape; only in their world it wasn’t rape.
Whatever a man wanted, he got. There was no force or rape in their world. Men wanted you, they had a right to you, especially your husband.
It was a man’s right to have his wife. She couldn’t say no. She was merely a possession for him to use for his pleasure.
Abriana didn’t know how much she could stand.
“I need some air,” she said, standing up.
She left the room before any of her family could protest. There was a small balcony overlooking the church grounds. Her room had the perfect view of the graveyard. How … odd?
Was it giving her a message?
She’d end up dead soon.
The door opened and shut silently behind her. Abriana glanced back to see her sister, Chantel.
“Hey,” she said.
“Did you hear everything they were saying?” Abriana asked. “Like it’s okay.”
“To them it is okay.” Her young sister came to her, putting a hand on her back. “It’s going to be okay, Abriana.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You’ve got to.”
“Does it really matter if I follow through with this wedding? They all laugh and mock me anyway. I’m a laughingstock.”
“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about a thing. None of those bitches would ever marry him.”
“This is not helping.” Abriana gripped the balcony, taking several deep breaths.
“I don’t know if your biker will be kind and gentle, but sex doesn’t have to be brutal. It can be … nice.”
This made Abriana turn to her sister.
“You’re not old enough.”
Chantel shrugged. “I know what I’m talking about. It can be a wonderful feeling. Especially if your guy knows what he’s doing.”
“You’ve had sex?”
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“I … what about Dad?”
Chantel’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t care what he thinks. He’s not the boss of me.”
“I hate to disappoint you. You do realize we’re at my wedding. We don’t have control, and if he ever finds out the truth…”
“You’re the older sister, Abriana. You’re the one that is tied to this. You’re the one being used as a pawn. I’ll be free to live my own life. I can do whatever I want.”
Abriana stared at her sister and felt sadness.
Chantel really believed she could do and say whatever she wanted and there would be no consequences. If their parents ever found out the truth of her lack of innocence, she’d be made an example of.
Abriana had seen them make examples of women before, and it wasn’t good. Some of those women, even daughters, were never seen again. The rumors though, they were the worst. Some of them believed they were sold to the highest bidder into sexual slavery. Others believed they were killed. Or another, they had to work at the whorehouses.
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
“Who is the lucky man?” Abriana asked.
“That I can’t say. I just … he makes me feel amazing. You know, and I don’t want that feeling to ever stop.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do.” Chantel hugged her.
The door to the balcony opened. Their mother smiled. “It’s time. They’ve arrived.”
This was what she’d been dreading.
Actually, she’d been worried that Ugly Beast—she was never going to get used to his name being that—would realize he didn’t want her, and not turn up.
Chantel left, offering her another quick, comforting hug before leaving.
She took a deep breath and followed her mother into the room.
“Your father is just outside. You look stunning, Abriana. Better than even I thought you could look.” Her mother kissed her cheek. “He is lucky to have a stunning bride, that is for sure.”
No other words were spoken. Her mother left, and then her father entered the room.
Gable didn’t look happy, but then, he never did. He stared up and down at her. “You’re going to have to do.”
She didn’t expect anything less.
You’re too ugly.
Fat.
We’re never going to be able to use you.
She was used to the insults, the slights. His disappointment was no different than any other day.
Only now, she couldn’t exactly do anything about it, or then, in fact.
It was the pain of his blows that she hated and feared even more so.
Stepping in front of him, she waited for the strike. He couldn’t mark her face, but her body, would he risk it, considering the wedding night?
There were still some bruises left over from the last beating he’d given her.
“You will hold your head high. You’re a Vigo and belong to Garofalo. I want you to remember that. You are ours, no one else’s. You will serve your husband, but you will also serve us.” He gripped her shoulders tightly, and she simply nodded. “Good. You will learn to do as you’re told. Do not make waves. You will be the perfect bride.”