Beauty in the Broken

“Like the choice to marry you?”

“Um.” The scrawny man licks his lips. His scrawny vocal cords suit him. “The princess cut is rather nice.”

“These are my best diamonds,” Damian says, ignoring the man. “If you don’t choose one, I’ll pick for you.”

“Wouldn’t that make for a difference?”

He’s on me so fast Scrawny yelps. One hand is in my hair and other around my neck. He’s not hurting me, just holding me like an animal forcing his dominance.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Spite yourself. Tell yourself you hate those stones for everything they represent. Tell yourself whatever is going through your pretty little head, but don’t expect me to publicly disgrace you by leaving your finger bare.”

My Adam’s apple bobs against his palm when I swallow. “It’s not bare.”

“By a diamond magnate’s standards, it is.”

He lets go. I stumble, but he’s ready, catching me before I fall.

This is as much as Scrawny can take. He snaps the case shut and is on his feet, heading for the door.

“She’ll take the teardrop,” Damian says, holding my gaze. “It seems most fitting.”

The man is gone before I’ve found my bearings.

“Russell,” Damian calls down, “tell security Tony’s good to go.”

“Yes, sir.”

Downstairs, men are lining up with firearms. No wonder Tony is so antsy.

Damian walks to the door and kicks it shut, cutting off my view of the commotion in the foyer. I breathe faster. I pushed him. I’m still to discover his limits. The closed door doesn’t help. It’s not locked. It’s not locked.

“We have unfinished business,” he says as he advances on me. “You broke the most important rule I gave you. What did I say about visits with your father?”

“He never set foot on your property.”

“So, you broke two rules. You visited with your low-life father and left the property without Russell.”

“Russell wasn’t far. He was just outside the gate.”

“Number three, you hurt yourself, and that won’t happen again. Not on my shift, and my shift lasts for as long as you’re my wife.”

“I didn’t hurt myself.”

“You cut your wrist raw on the handcuff. Number four, you took a pill you clearly know is too strong for you. Number five, you threw my gift and consideration back into my face.”

“I don’t need your consideration.”

“I beg to differ, but if it’s a point you wish to push, I can play your game.”

“The last thing I need is you turning me into a showpiece with a big, fat diamond on my finger.”

His expression darkens. “Marrying me turned you into a showpiece, has it?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “And a whore.” I could call him a whore for marrying me for my late husband’s money.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be treated like a whore, angel.”

“Do your best. This time, try to be a man about it and do it while I’m awake.”

He snaps. Nothing in his stance changes, but I feel it. It crackles on the air. This is the breaking point. This is his limit.

“Go to the desk,” he says. “Bend over and pull up your skirt.”

He’ll have to drag me there. I’ll never go out of my own will.

“Ten lashes,” he says, “two for every rule you broke and every destructive thing you did to yourself. I’ll add another five if I have to make you walk to the desk.”

I don’t move. I can’t give in.

“Very well, Lina.”

He walks to the fireplace. My stomach is tight with tension. I follow him with my gaze and gasp as I take in the wall. Distracted by Tony and his diamonds, I haven’t noticed how the wall above the mantelpiece has been transformed. An array of whips and paddles hang on hooks, neatly spaced. My mouth dries up. I attempt a futile effort at swallowing away the dryness. He stares at the collection for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, and finally removes the paddle, which he places on the corner of the desk. In a few strides, he’s in front of me, taking my arm and forcing my feet to move to his desk. With a hand around my nape, he pushes my upper body down while throwing my long skirt up around my waist. I struggle, but he easily grabs my wrists and pins them behind my back. He’s not careful of my injury. My skin burns under the bandage where he applies pressure. He transfers both wrists to one hand while the other moves to my underwear. With a single yank, he pulls down my panties. I stop squirming. I pinch my thighs together, hiding what I can, but his palm caresses my globes and scorches my heart with shame.

“Count, Lina.”

“Go to hell.”

“Sixteen lashes. I’ll keep on adding one until you learn to count.”

He picks up the paddle and lets me feel the cool wood on my lower back. Slowly, he drags it over the crevice of my buttocks. I start squirming anew when he reaches my sex. Flames leak over my cheeks because in this position he sees everything.