Beautiful Monster (Dark Lies Duet 2)

Siân is speechless, her brows knitted tightly together as if everything I’ve just said to her was in another language. I push off the tub and pace the bathroom.

“I’m not letting you go. This is your life now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to make it pleasurable for you.”

“Pleasurable?” She laughs sarcastically. “You can’t be serious.” She stands, completely unbothered by the fact she’s naked and soaking wet in front of me.

Not that I mean to, but my eyes trail the droplets of water that runs from her neck down over her breast before beading on her nipple. I swallow and force my attention back to her face. I may not feel the way others do, but getting hard right now wouldn’t bode well in my favor.

“After everything you’ve done, you’re now asking me to teach you how to be nice to me. That should be pretty fucking simple, Christian,” she raves and throws her hands around. “But you know what, after meeting your father, I’m not surprised. What happened to you?”

Licking my lips, I allow a sigh to roll through me. “Look, Siân. I don’t feel emotions like you or anyone else. I’ve had a hard life because I was born into a world that would fucking demolish me if I didn’t toughen up. I don’t feel sorry, and I like to hurt people. By the time I was fourteen, I’d killed a man, and I felt nothing but contentment. I don’t know how to be gentle or patient.”

“But you do. Well, maybe not so much on the patient part, but you were gentle with me once.”

“And I still had to hurt you to feel something,” I announce, and she freezes, the weight of my words seeming to finally sink in for her. “But if you can teach me what you need, show me how to be softer with you, then I can do that. I’m not letting you go. You will be my wife, and you will do what I say and if you can prove that I can trust—”

“Pot-fucking-kettle, Christian,” she interrupts.

“Trust you, I will let you be with Cynthia whenever you want. But you don’t have to hate it here,” I propose.

She shakes her head. “You’re a psychopath.”

All I can do is stare at her for what feels like an eternity. “I am. You’re going to need to get used to it.”

9

SIN

It's been days since the basement, and I've barely spent five waking minutes with Christian since then. He always sleeps with me but usually doesn’t fall into bed until well past midnight, when I've already been asleep for a while. By the time I wake up, he's gone.

Whenever I ask about it, he gives me the same explanation. Business.

It isn't that I care about him or that I'm worried. I only wish I knew what he was doing. If he’s going to keep me here, force me to love him, the least he can do is answer my questions. With each passing day, the sense of having no control over my existence looms larger, threatening to smother me. I'm not even allowed to know what goes on elsewhere in the house. A bird in a gilded cage.

In truth, I should thank him for this sudden removal of himself from my presence. Otherwise, I might fall into the trap of latching onto his kindness and tenderness after he used me so brutally. I might want to look at the way he cared for me afterward and tell myself that he was the real Christian. The one I fell in love with. This cruel, dismissive, hurtful version of him is only an act. I might twist myself into knots out of desperation to believe he didn't really fool me.

At least I'm allowed to have some books in my room now. I think it's more a way of distracting me, so I don't plot my next escape attempt, but it's something to do. I've just cracked open a book about the history of medieval Italy from the library downstairs when the bedroom door opens.

Immediately, I sit up on the bed, clutching the book to my chest like it's a shield.

Then I drop it, too surprised to worry about myself when I see the blood on Christian’s clothes. “What happened? Are you hurt?” My heart’s in my throat, and I can't believe I care, but who wouldn't be surprised?

He only brushes off my concern with a bitter laugh. “You’re worried? Over what? I thought you hated me. Shouldn't you wish I was dead?” He’s still scoffing on his way into the bathroom. Within seconds, I hear the water running. I guess that's all I'm going to find out.

I shouldn't take him seriously, but I can't help mulling over what he said. I should want him dead. And I do. I wasn't kidding all the times I've said it. I meant it with all my heart, and I still do.