“Oh,” I gasped. One half of Tweedledee and Tweedledum blocked my exit—Arlo, maybe. It definitely wasn’t Tough Tino, who was big enough to lift a house.

Arlo leaned against the frame. He wasn’t as big as Tough Tino, or even the Beast, but he was still something to run from. With his arms folded, he sneered at me.

“Going so soon?” Arlo asked. I shook my head, unsure of his intent. I was going back to the Beast, nothing more, but the way the man leered at me made me think there was something more behind his words. I averted my gaze and tried to walk past him, but he shoved me back into the bathroom.

I was so exhausted. Seriously, so exhausted. My body ached with all the fight it had gone through. All I wanted was for someone who loved me to hold me and tell me everything would be okay. As I stared at this leering, predatory man, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I traded in hugs and kisses for bruises and cuts. At least I could fight this man, though. At least my family wouldn’t suffer if I give this man a few bites and punches.

I reached for the first thing I could get my hands on—a porcelain tissue dispenser—and threw it at his head. He dodged and it shattered against the door. It nicked his temple a bit, but other than that, he was unscathed. He lunged for me and pinned me against the window.

Oh, memories.

I kneed him in the groin and he doubled over. I pushed him aside and ran for the door—the bastard had locked it! Why is it always so hard to unlock something when you’re high on adrenaline? I fussed with the lock but by the time I had it opened, he was pulling me back by the hair.

He threw me to the ground and my head banged against the toilet then landed with a thud on the tile. A thwack of pain shot through me, splintering through my body and then settling to a dull throb between my eyes. I was dizzy. I may have moaned. I tried to move and stand, to keep fighting, but he stood on my thigh. With my head hurting so badly, I heard and felt more than saw the next moment of torture.

I heard him undo his belt. I heard him pull down his pants. Then he was on top of me. He pawed at my gown, looking for openings. When none could be found, he tore it down.

My beautiful blue fairytale dress was ripped apart by his meaty hands. I cried out when his palm grasped my breast, so hard and ruthless. Tears burned my lids. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to shed any more tears for this reality.

I’d put on lingerie, but I may as well have worn nothing. It was basically a spider web with the support and coverage it provided. The white silk and lace offered no protection from him. His rubbery head probed me. His sweaty palms pawed me. Just as I resigned myself to being violated—really violated—the door burst open. Broken pieces of wood flew everywhere. I opened my eyes, looking beyond the sweaty man on top of me to the one in the doorway.

If I thought I’d made the Beast angry before, I was wrong. He looked completely undone as he stood in the doorway. His bluegreen eyes were blacker than onyx and every vein in his body bulged. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. I was afraid, and I hadn’t even done anything.

Arlo let go of my hair and I immediately scrambled away. I didn’t want to go near the hulking Beast, nor did I want to stay near the man who had just tried to rape me, so I took refuge behind the toilet. The Beast, paying me no attention, advanced toward the man. My vision was slightly obscured as I grasped the porcelain base.

“Look I was only…she’s just a slave…” Arlo tried to plead. It wasn’t working. The Beast towered over the man, whose pleas came out in various high-pitched squeaks. “Please! Boss, it won’t happen again.”

The Beast reached down, grabbing Arlo’s neck. I stared in horrified awe as he lifted Arlo up by his throat, my own eyes widening when Arlo clawed desperately at the Beast’s hands, gasping for air. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to happen. On the one hand, Arlo could go fall in a pit of lava for all I cared. On the other, I’d never seen anyone murdered…never thought I would have to.

From beyond my internal musings, I heard a sickening crunch. I peeked to see the man hanging from the Beast’s hands, his arm like limp spaghetti. He was alive. Barely. It was a good thing I was near a toilet.

“Come,” the Beast said when I was finished unloading all of my earlier crudités and canapés. He picked me up by the arm and dragged me past the body. I almost vomited again.

The Beast dropped me off in his room. There was something comforting about the dark gray and gold room now. Stockholm syndrome, I thought bitterly. I shouldn’t have been comforted by the black sheets and gray walls, but I was. I was glad he’d dropped me off here instead of my room.

He’d left to go “deal with some things.” Probably the body clinging to life outside the bathroom. Arlo. Distantly, like headlights through fog about to run me down, I wondered if I wanted him to live.

No.

I’d looked at his body breathing shallowly as Beast carried me past. I remembered being angry at the rise and fall of his chest. Never in a million years would I imagine myself in this situation, though—praying for someone to die.

I held my knees up to my chest. Nothing made sense anymore. I’d fancied myself noble when I traded my life for my papa’s but now that all felt like a lifetime ago. I wondered if he’d moved on. Maybe he was watching reality TV and eating takeout like I was never even there.

Probably.

I still wore the periwinkle fairytale dress, but it was impossibly ripped. I grasped the tatters to my nearly exposed breasts, lace flowers hanging off my body in shreds. One leg peeked out of the rags, and I noticed the red scrapes decorating the smooth skin. I probably got it trying to run from him, scraped my leg on the ground or against him. It was as if little fairies were clawing their way up my leg.

I sighed. What a wonderfully rotten life. I wondered if this was how princesses really lived.

“Hey.”

I snapped my head up at the voice, so fast I nearly got whiplash. A girl stood in the doorway. She was dressed impeccably in a buttery winter coat and white trousers, a colorful Hermès bag on her arm. The scarf on her neck was probably Hermès too. She had beach-blonde hair that shone even in the dark, freckles on her golden skin, and a smile.

A fucking smile.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

She walked over to me. “I’ve been sent to tend to your wounds.”

Tags: Mary Catherine Gebhard Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net