“Uh, it sounds like you had a lot of fun last night.”
“That’s me, a fun-loving guy.” He shifts slightly and I stumble back as he moves me into the corner on the far side of the payphone.
We’re blocked from the other end of the hallway and in darkness.
Something feels wrong. He looks at me with a leery smile and he’s standing too close.
His breath smells like cigarettes and alcohol.
“What are we doing back here, Rinaldo? We can talk at the table. Why don’t we head back?” I try to go around him, but he doesn’t move.
“I was thinking about you last night,” he says, staring at me with that smile. That sick smile.
It never goes away, like it’s a mask.
He’s a monster. Nico’s voice in my head.
“Yeah? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about you in that bikini. I was thinking about ripping it off and fucking you on our wedding night. Do you want to fuck me, Karah?”
“Let’s slow down a little,” I say, laughing nervously, but fear pulses down my spine.
The fear of prey before the toothy, starving predator.
He’s big and I’m trapped and he’s giving me a glassy-eyed stare like he doesn’t see a person anymore, only a pair of tits.
“I want to fuck you, Karah. I want to get a taste of what I’m buying.”
“You’re not buying anything, asshole.”
I try to shove past him, terrified but not ready to accept what’s happening.
He grabs my face and slams me back against the wall in one fluid burst of raw violence.
I gasp and see stars in my vision as his hand slips around my throat.
Something flashes into my brain as soon as he grips my windpipe.
An old memory, so old, one that I thought was lost.
Papa standing in his office, hunched over and grunting—doing something. I can’t tell what. I don’t want to remember what. I was just a little girl—
I shove the memory away. It hurts too much—too blinding and sizzling and dark, like a raw poison in the middle of my brain. I force myself back into the moment, because if I don’t, this bastard’s going to kill me or worse.
I paw at Rinaldo’s grip weakly. I’m dizzy and can barely breathe, and the spots are getting blacker and wider, eating up my vision like starving maggots.
“Oh, I’m buying you, little Karah. You’re going to be my wife and you’ll do whatever the fuck I say.” His other hand moves down my body. He cups my breast and squeezes hard. I want to scream, but he grips my throat tighter and I can barely manage to breathe as his fingers dig in. I gag, gasping, and pure terror hits me, hard and sudden.
I try to punch him but he only laughs. He knocks my wrist away with his free hand and squeezes my right breast harder, making me groan in pain.
Nico was right. Oh my god, he was right.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Karah. I’m going to take what’s rightfully mine. And if you want to be my wife, you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut.” He gets closer, grinning, grinning, grinning. “Or I can keep tightening my grip until you turn blue. Your cunt will be just as good dead as it is alive.”
I grab his wrist and try to pull him away, but he’s like iron.
Sobs escape my chest. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to murder me and fuck my body and he doesn’t care.
There’s nothing behind that stare or that smile and I’ve known it all along.
That’s why my brain kept telling me to run.
He’s empty. He’s a monster.
He turns me around, hand still on my throat. I’m crying, but he doesn’t stop. He squeezes my tits roughly and presses himself against me.
I feel his sick, hard cock against my ass and I struggle, terrified to lose my virginity right here, right now, in this damp, dark hallway next to a payphone that smells like vomit, taken by this sick, psychotic bastard, this man I thought I could marry.
God, I was so stupid, so naïve. There are no decent men in the Famiglia. They’re all creatures lurking in the night looking for an easy meal.
I’m crying and that only makes him pin me harder.
“Please,” I manage to croak. “Please don’t, Rinaldo. Please. Let’s wait until our wedding night.”
“How fucking quaint,” he whispers in my ear. “You think I’ll wait? No, bitch, I’m not going to commit to a life with you before I get a ride first. What if your pussy’s like sandpaper? You’d better be ready for me, darling, or I won’t be happy.”
I sob again and he reaches for my jeans. He’s going to yank them down. He’s going to undress me. “Don’t, Rinaldo, please don’t.” He’s going to do it, he’s going to fuck me and I’m about to scream as his grip tightens—