Making the King: A dark forced marriage romance (The Cruz Kings MC)

Chapter Two

The snores coming from Rochus are almost perfectly timed with the soft laps of the ocean. The few days I’ve been here, I’ve refused to join him on the bed, or take the couch. I’m sitting on the floor, hiding in the darkest corner of his house. Shack… whatever the hell it’s called.

One thing I learned in prison was to never let your guard down. You’re never more vulnerable than when you’re sleeping, off in whatever nightmare your subconscious concocts for you. That’s partly why I stay awake during the night, napping at odd times during the day when I can.

The other reason is my nightmares… the ones I’ve had since Julietta took her last breath. I can still hear the sounds she made as she choked on her own breath after she was stabbed to death. My beautiful, brave, and kind sister bled out on the dirty shower tiles.

She didn’t deserve that. Julietta was the best person I’ve ever known, and nothing could ever be good enough for her. Let alone living her days out in prison after killing her husband not long after my wedding from hell.

If I allow myself, I can recall the feeling of her matted hair, and too thin body as she gasped for air she no longer needed. I knew she was dying, but I still held her and sang to her.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky.

Esta noche allí estarás,

Cual diamante brillarás.

There isn’t a perfect Spanish translation of the song, so toward the end, I was stringing words together from my memory. It’s the song Julietta sang to me at night when I felt scared of the future. Even though she had to endure her own hell, she always found the strength to be there for me.

At least until she got married and had to leave our home in San Francisco to move in with her husband. The years after that were the hardest to endure. I missed her so much my soul fucking hurt.

I don’t think about San Fran as my home, and I haven’t since the day she moved out. Now, I guess I have no fucking home. A place to live, yes. But that doesn’t make it a home.

Shaking the memories from my head, I look out the window. The sky is clear, making it all too easy to see the stars as they shine so brightly.

“Te amo mi corazón,” I whisper into the night. “I love you so much your absence hurts.”

So far, I’ve done a good job of avoiding certain things in my mind. Like, who am I without her? She was my heart, my conscience—everything that was good inside me died with her.

The price for Julietta’s freedom was my soul, which is forever blackened.

I feel my eyes misting, but I don’t allow any tears to escape. Julietta told me to be strong, to never bend to anyone, and to take control of my destiny.

“No one can keep someone like you down, Cara. Give them hell and then get the fuck out of there. Promise me you’ll find a way to be happy.”

“I promise,” I murmur as I look up at the stars.

Unconsciously, I close my hand around the cross hanging from the necklace my sister gave me before she died. I still don’t know how she managed to keep it in prison without anyone knowing.

A sinister smile stretches my lips as I recall the two women who tried to take it from me. Needless to say, one of them didn’t live to tell the tale, and the other never bothered me again.

I reach for the cigarettes on the floor and light yet another one. The ashtray at my feet is already full, so much so the ashes I flick into it land on the floor. The dutiful daughter still living somewhere deep inside me wants to get up and empty it, but that’s not happening. No way in hell am I risking waking my darling husband.

With a sneer on my lips, I look down at the laptop resting on my legs. When Rochus first mentioned I’d be doing bookkeeping, I hoped there’d be an easy way to get my hands on some of their money so I can get the hell out of here. Sadly, I’m only given access to the fucking expenses, which is hella boring.

Since I’ve already completed the shit I’m expected to do, I take full advantage of having the laptop and start snooping through the other docs and sheets. It only takes me a few minutes of looking at the strip schedule to spot an error.

“Estúpido,” I mumble to myself.

One of the girls—or Diamonds, as they call them—is listed for a shift on a day they’ve also given her time off.

“Do you ever fucking sleep?” I stiffen as Rochus turns to his side and switches on the bedside lamp.

Despite my best intentions of ignoring him, I look up from the laptop. The white sheet he clutches when he’s deep in slumber is barely covering him, so his torso and one leg are on full display.

My heart skips a beat as I involuntarily take in his toned physique. He really isn’t bad to look at. Such a shame all those muscles and enticing grooves are wasted on someone who was willing to buy and marry a child.

I don’t actually care about my age, that’s the least of his offenses as far as I’m concerned. Whether I was sixteen or twenty-five, he bought me, and that’s something I can never forgive, let alone forget.

Rochus clears his throat, and as I look into his grinning face, I know he notices me checking him out.

Puta.

“None of your business,” I sneer, finally remembering to answer his question. “And if you think I’m going to let my guard down around you, you’re badly mistaken.”

He nods like that’s what he expected me to say. “Are you at least going to shower and change your clothes today?”

I want to shrink in on myself, embarrassed he’s basically telling me I stink. He’s probably right. It’s been three days, and I’ve barely eaten or drank anything, trying to avoid the bathroom as much as possible.

It’s not just that I can’t look at bathroom tiles without remembering my sister, it’s yet another time where I’d be vulnerable.

“Come on,” Rochus says, sitting up on the bed. “Is there… I mean… do you need help to shower?”

When my expression turns murderous, he immediately holds his hands up.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes out.

Pretending not to notice the curious way he looks at me, I refocus on the laptop. I highlight the error in the schedule and leave a comment with a suggestion of who can fill in without it messing with the other schedules.

Within seconds, there’s a reply to my comment from someone named Cain. Curious about who he is, I click on his profile picture. Though he looks a little older, it’s clearly the guy who was at the church on my fucking wedding day, the one paying my dad.

Good catch, Cara. I owe you!

The six seemingly small words make me smile.

He’s right… he owes me. Maybe if I help out, I can garner enough favors for my freedom.

I’m so engrossed in my thoughts I don’t notice Rochus has moved until his hand closes around my upper arm, and he hauls me to my feet.

“Enough of this,” he growls.

I kick out at him, but narrowly miss him when he moves to the side.

“Let go of me,” I demand, outraged he’s touching me.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. On our wedding day, he did say he couldn’t wait to fuck me, so this must be him reaching the end of his patience. Panic claws at my throat and I shake my arm, trying to dislodge his grip.

Rather than doing as I say, he moves until his body is flush against mine. Then he effortlessly throws me over his shoulder.

“Rochus!” I cry out, and slap his back, but he doesn’t budge.

As he carries me over to the small bathroom, my breath quickens. No. I’m not going in there. I flail my arms and legs, doing my best to hurt him. Despite landing a few good punches, he doesn’t react apart from a grunt or two.

“You’re going to have to play nice eventually,” he says as he puts me down on the bathroom floor.

My vision wavers, and it feels like the walls are closing in on me.

“I won’t let you fuck me,” I scream as I fight to keep my panic at bay.

Rochus chuckles. “I’m not in the habit of forcing anyone to have sex with me. But I don’t want to smell you all day. So get in the fucking shower.”

When I try to push past him, he quickly darts out the door, slamming it behind him. As I hear what sounds like furniture scraping against the floor, I jump into action and throw myself at the door.

It’s too late.

Whatever he moved is barricading the door, preventing me from getting out. Not that it deters me from kicking and punching the fucking door.

“Let me out,” I scream.

No answer.

“Rochus!” I snarl his name.

When that doesn’t work, I spin around and look for anything I can use to help me escape my new prison. Of course, there’s nothing. As I go through the cabinet and shower, I don’t even find a razor. The motherfucker must be hiding it.

Swallowing, I try a different tactic. “Please let me out. I promise I’ll be nice.”

Still no answer.

My heart thunders in my chest, and I swear the damn walls are moving nearer. If I don’t get out of here soon, they’ll swallow me whole.

“P-please,” I sob, not able to control my panic.

I can’t be in here much longer. The walls are almost touching my arms, and the light is flickering. If it goes out, I’ll… I can’t… I have to get out.

I only have one thing left to bargain with. Rochus doesn’t know I’m still a virgin, or maybe he does since I’ve been locked up since we got married. But unlike many other inmates, I didn’t indulge in any kind of sexual activities. I’m as untouched as I was three years ago.

Fuck, I really don’t want to give my body to him, but I will if it’s my ticket out of this cursed room.

“I’ll make you feel good if you let me out,” I offer, my voice breaking off on a whimper as the light flickers again.

When he still doesn’t let me out, I start kicking and punching again while screaming at the top of my lungs. I even ram my head against the door.

I scream until my throat hurts, and the light disappears. Falling to my knees, I wait for the room to swallow me. To…

“Jesus fuck!”

I barely hear the roar or feel my body being jostled as he lifts me up and carries me out of the bathroom.

“Cara?”

Gasping, I greedily inhale as much air as I can. Despite the oxygen in my lungs, it doesn’t feel like enough, and I continue to take in as much as possible. It’s like a vicious circle, though. The more I breathe, the more lightheaded I feel. Yet I can’t stop. My brain keeps telling me to carry on, so I do.

“Stop it!”

With each exhale, it feels like I’m depleting my body of the much needed air. I don’t even try to answer him, instead I fight to make the room stop spinning.

Closing my eyes, I sag in his hold on me. I’m vaguely aware I’m in his lap, my head resting against his chest. The hairs on his chest tickle my nose.

The longer we sit there, the less I battle to breathe. My body relaxes, and I force my breathing to match the rise and fall of his chest.

It’s still dark outside, and the only light illuminating the room is the bedside lamp. Its yellow light creates an almost cozy atmosphere.

When I try to open my eyes, they feel heavy so I decide against it. Barely aware of my actions, I burrow my head into him and breathe in his scent. Rochus smells of citrus and the forest mi abuela took us to for a picnic once.

One of Rochus’ hands runs up and down my back, warming me everywhere I feel cold. I shouldn’t be cold. Not when I’m fully dressed. Though a part of me wants to punch him for touching me, I ignore it. For the first time since I was a kid, I allow someone to hold me.

I’m so tired and weak from denying myself more than the bare minimum of food and water that I’m honestly not even sure I could fight him if I wanted to. Rochus is big, and from his need to always remove his shirt when he’s in the house, I know just how ripped he is.

Before long, I feel myself drifting off, and despite knowing I shouldn’t sleep when he’s around, I don’t have it in me to fight it.

I’m back in the prison, my sister lying on the floor with her head in my lap.

“It’s okay, Cara,” she whispers, with a smile on her lips. “I’ll be free soon.”

“No,” I cry. “Don’t leave me. Por favor quédate.”

Even though I know she can’t, I beg for her to stay with me.

“No one can keep someone like you down, Cara. Give them hell and then get the fuck out of there. Promise me you’ll find a way to be happy.”

The shiv in my hand clanks as it falls onto the floor. It’s covered in Julietta’s blood.

“Cara!”

I dart my head around, looking for whomever called my name. There’s no one else here, though. There never is.

“You must go to him,” my sister whispers.

“Who?” I ask, bewildered. “We’re all alone.”

She laughs, but unlike the other nightmares, she doesn’t sound like she’s dying. She sounds happy. “To your husband, of course.”

“I don’t trust him,” I say, confused.

This conversation is all wrong. That’s not how my nightmares play out. Julietta dies over and over, and we never talk about anything else.

“For fuck’s sake, Cara!”

I look around again, trying to figure out where the voice is coming from. Fisting the shiv, I hold it tightly in case someone is playing a trick on me.

“You need to wake up,” my sister sing-songs. “And you need to stop living in the past.”

Jerking awake, I shoot my leg out, instinct telling me to kick first and ascertain the situation later.

“Fuck!” Rochus grumbles.

Without wasting a second, I roll to the side and off the bed, positioning myself in a defensive crouch. As I narrow my eyes and look at Rochus who’s sprawled on his back, I register the fact I was on the bed and he’s only wearing his boxers.

“What did you do?” I snarl.

Realizing I’m still fully dressed, even wearing my heeled boots, I relax a little. It’s enough to notice the red welt matching the toe of my boot spreading on his chest.

“What did I do?” he sputters as he gets to his feet. “You fucking kicked me, you psycho. I was only trying to wake you up.”

I blink, feeling confused.

“Why did you take me to your bed? Trying to fuck me while I was asleep?” I spit. Even as I say it, that doesn’t feel right.

No, wait. I fell asleep in his arms after he… he…

“You fucking locked me in the bathroom, you puta,” I hiss. My Spanish accent is coming out heavier than usual.

During the three years in lockup, I’ve worked hard to rid myself of my accent, and it’s gotten a lot better. Though, there are still times, like now, where it’s hard to hide, especially when Spanish insults slip out as well.

Rochus runs a hand down his face, and to his credit, he looks shamefaced. “I’m sorry about that,” he sighs. “I didn’t know you were going to have a fucking panic attack.”

Shit.

He knows my weakness now.

“So what?” I say, scathingly. “If you think I’m weak enough for you to take advantage of me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

His eyes twinkle with amusement as he runs his hand across the mark from my kick. “You’re definitely not weak,” he chuckles. Then he schools his features, removing all traces of amusement. “And just for the fucking record, I won’t take advantage of you.”

I roll my eyes because isn’t that exactly what someone about to take advantage of me would say?

When he takes a few steps back, I finally get to my feet as well. Lord, even with the distance between us, he dwarfs me. At five-foot-nine I’m used to being amongst the tallest, but Rochus’ six-foot-five makes me seem like a child. Which I suppose is apt since I’m his fucking child bride.

“What happened to Julietta? That’s your sister, right?”

I glare at him. “Excuse me?”

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that, but a part of me feels violated since he knows that about me when I know nothing about him. I suppose it’s possible he came across her name when he purchased me, but that doesn’t exactly make it better.

“You were screaming out her name in your sleep. Does she… I mean… is she okay?” He looks confused, but he sounds like he’s worried.

Huh, maybe he does actually care.

“She’s fine,” I say, my voice almost cracking. “She’s dead, so she’s in a better place.” I look upward, hoping what I’m saying is true.

“How did she die?” he asks.

A yawn escapes me, and I take my time stretching while I consider if I’m going to reply or not. It’s not like I owe him an answer, yet I find that I want to give him one. At least part of the truth.

I look into his dark eyes, surprised I can see my own reflection. “A monster killed my sister,” I croak.

“When?” he asks, taking a step closer to me.

Although I want to flinch away from his intensity, I stay in place. “Almost a year ago. It wasn’t long after I got transferred out of juvie.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Who told you?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “No one had to tell me, Rochus. I was there, holding her as her life literally bled out of her.”

“What?”

Rolling my eyes, I continue. “She was in prison for killing her husband, and we served our sentences together.”

I watch as Rochus opens and closes his mouth several times. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, still holding his hand over where I kicked him.

“Fuck. I should have kept an eye on her,” he says, sounding like he feels… responsible.

Now I’m the one who’s lost for words. Why does he even care? He only saw her once, when he married me.

“Whatever,” I sniff disdainfully. “She wasn’t yours to look after.”

“Maybe not, but—”

“No buts,” I hiss. “Just fucking drop it.”

He runs a hand through his short, dark hair. “Fine,” he spits back. “But I still want you to take a goddamn shower and put on some clean clothes.”

At the mention of a shower, my hands begin to shake. I ball them into fists to stop it, which doesn’t help. So I end up hiding them behind my back.

“Unless you want me to kick you again, you better rethink that,” I hiss.

He holds his hands up. “Yeah, whatever. Look, I get you don’t want to go into the bathroom, so I have an idea.”

I arch my eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate.

“Follow me.” That’s all he says before spinning around.

Doing as he says, I trail after him and follow him through the back door out into the laundry area and small garden.

Pointing at the hose attached to the tap in the wall, he says, “There. If you don’t want to go into the bathroom, you need to shower out here.”

“Absolutely not,” I hiss. “I’m not going to—”

“Enough!” he barks. “I didn’t fucking touch you while you were sleeping, and I’m not going to perv on you either. You can keep your underwear on for all I fucking care.”

While I contemplate the compromise, he walks back inside. I’m still busy mulling the idea over when he returns with soap, shampoo, conditioner, a towel, and some clean clothes.

“Have at it,” he grins, slamming the door after him as he disappears again.

I tentatively move over to the hose while trying to gauge if he can see me from the window, and if any of the neighbors can watch me. Since I can’t be sure, I decide to take his advice and keep my bra and panties on.

Showering in your underwear isn’t as easy as it sounds, and it doesn’t even feel like I’m getting completely clean. It’ll have to do though.

I swear I hear Rochus laugh as I switch on the tap, spraying myself in the ice cold water from the hose. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than going into the bathroom. In record time, I wash my hair and as much of my body as I can.

Afterward, I use the towel he left for me to dry, and then to hide my naked body as I strip out of the drenched underwear. Though it’s awkward, I manage to put on the fresh bra and panties underneath the towel.

I get dressed in the black jeans and purple tee Rochus left for me. It fits like a glove, but is nowhere near as comfortable as my leather stuff. I need to get my hands on some money so I can buy more because that shit is all I want to wear.

Looking down at myself, I can’t help smiling at the purple. It’s so unlike me that it makes me want to laugh. The only time I’ve ever had purple anything was… oh, right. The highlights I had when we got married. Does he think I like purple? Or is this a coincidence?

Wait, didn’t he say someone else had picked out my clothes? I know it shouldn’t matter either way, yet I think I like the idea of him picking this specifically for me.