Chapter 4
Four
NATASHA
My father would have beaten the shit out of me if I’d let Julian’s men drive me home last night and he saw me get out of the car without Elliott there. Elliott always sends me home in a cab. Every time. I would think that it would bother my father, but it doesn’t seem to.
And honestly, I’m okay with that.
I’m always surrounded by the men my father assigns to me, and being in the taxi is the only time that I’m alone. I mean, aside from the driver, but they don’t care about me. They don’t even know who I am.
The fact that my father is okay with Elliott sending me home in a cab is insane to me, but he allows it.
No one was around when I got home, and I was able to sneak up to my room without being noticed.
I’ve managed to cover the bruises on my jaw with makeup, but there’s no hiding a split lip.
My father prefers for me to wear dresses, but I put on a pair of white wide-leg slacks and a cream sleeveless blouse so I can hide my knee.
I’ve managed to avoid my father all day long.
I’m not sure where he is, but he’s not home, so I’ve spent most of the day in the library, alternating between reading in a cozy chair and sitting with my one true love: the piano.
Movement at the entrance of the library catches my eye as I finish a song, and I smile at my mother, but that pulls on the split lip, and I wince.
“What happened to your face?” she asks. There’s no warmth there. No concern. Just curiosity.
“Elliott.” I shrug a shoulder, and her eyes narrow.
“If you fuck this up for your father, he won’t be happy.”
“I haven’t fucked anything up,” I reply.
My mother is the one person in this world that I feel comfortable speaking my mind to.
I’m never disrespectful, but I do stand up for myself.
She hates me almost as much as Papa does, but she’s never laid a hand on me.
“He got mad, that’s all. Mama, I don’t want to marry him. ”
She smirks and sits on the couch nearby. She’s dressed impeccably in a red dress, her blond hair styled in a fierce bun at the nape of her neck, makeup painted perfectly. The Botox she gets regularly hides any of the lines that show her age.
“I didn’t want to marry your father, but here we are.” She tilts her head, watching me. “This is the life we live, Natasha.”
“I know. I just don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it, you just have to follow orders.” She examines her perfect red-tipped nails. “Your father needs this alliance.”
“I know.”
She checks the time, and a little smile tugs at her lips. “It’s time for my tennis lesson.”
That’s code for I’ll be fucking my tennis coach for the next two hours in the guest house.
“Enjoy,” I reply and start to play again, but then my phone pings with a text.
Elliott: I apologize for last night. I’d like to take you out for dinner tonight to make it up to you.
I close my eyes on a deep sigh. He always apologizes. Doesn’t mean that anything’s going to change. But my father needs this, so I’ll suck it up and play nice.
Me: What time should I be ready?
Elliott: Thank you, baby. I’ll pick you up at 7.
I wince. Baby. Ugh, I hate it when he calls me that. Or anything at all. The man gives me the serious creeps, and I have to marry him?
Suddenly, heavy footsteps stomp down the hallway, and my father barrels into the library, his face masked in rage. Viktor, his number two, is right behind him, with fucking excitement on his ugly face.
“What did you do?”
Frowning, I stand from the piano and back away from him. “What do you mean?”
“What the fuck did you do to earn that beating?” He points to my lip. “Your mother just told me that Elliott hit you last night, and I want to know what you did to earn it.”
My mother just threw me under the bus so my dad would be occupied with me and she could flit away to fuck her tennis coach.
That’s pretty on brand for her.
“Papa, it was a misunderstanding.”
“That’s bullshit.”
My back hits the bookcase, and I don’t have anywhere to go, so when Papa reaches me, he slaps me, reopening the wound on my lip and making me see stars.
“What. Did. You. Do.”
“I didn’t do anything.” My voice is so quiet, it’s almost nonexistent. “I promise.”
“A man only punishes when it’s necessary.”
If I wasn’t so good at keeping a straight face, I would laugh at that. Men hit women all the time, whether they deserve it or not.
“He’s already apologized,” I tell him. “He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”
“If you ruin this for me,” he threatens, getting so close I can smell his rancid breath, a mixture of cigars and vodka, “I’ll kill you. You’re only good for one thing, and that’s this alliance. Without it, I’ll put you in the ground and not think twice about it.”
I believe him.
“Yes, Papa.”
He slaps me again, on a roll now, and then punches me in the ribs, making me cry out before I can stop myself. Crying only makes it worse.
It feels like the beating goes on forever, until finally I’m on the ground, and he kicks me one last time in the stomach and spits on me.
“If you wear slacks in this house again, I’ll break your fucking legs. You’re getting married in three days. We’ve moved the wedding up.”
He leaves, and when I hear the footsteps disappear down the hallway, I curl in on myself and let the tears come.
I watch movies and read books, and I see men being kind to women in them, but that’s just fiction. People don’t really act like that.
Except Julian, who actually helped you last night.
He was kind. His touch was gentle. His eyes are hard, and he never smiles, never has a tender expression on his face, but I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt me.
No one has ever told me that they wouldn’t hurt me before. They haven’t even tried to lie and say they wouldn’t.
Because hurting me is inevitable.
Slowly, I pick myself up off the floor and make my way to my rooms. I have a bedroom, sitting room, and bathroom on the second floor, on the opposite side of the house from my parents. It’s quiet over here, and the only place in the mansion where I feel somewhat safe.
Of course, they wouldn’t let me have a piano here. No, that would have been too generous.
Stripping down, I stand in front of the mirror and take stock of my injuries.
It’s bad this time.
Bruises run up and down my ribs on both sides. My lip is bleeding again, and I have new bruises, including next to my eye. The strips on my knee broke open and ruined my pants.
I’m a mess.
It’s not even the pain that bothers me. Not anymore. I’ve gotten used to ignoring it.
It’s the fact that the people in my life think that this is okay. How long am I supposed to endure this before I go out of my mind?
I have only three hours before Elliott will be here to pick me up, so I get into the shower and let the hot water soothe my injuries. Once I’m out, I take some pain medicine and then get to work trying to cover the worst of it with makeup.
I choose a floor-length white sleeveless dress, and dry and curl my hair, and once I’m ready to go, I walk down to the foyer to wait for Elliott.
I don’t have to wait long.
He and my father are laughing at something, and when they see me walk in, they both smile at me, like they have a secret.
This can only be bad for me.
“There she is,” Elliott says and holds his hand out for mine. Papa knows that I don’t like to be touched, and he glares at me, willing me to ignore the offered hand so he can beat me some more.
So, I take a breath and slide my hand into Elliott’s, ignoring how sweaty his palm is.
“Hello,” I say, and keep my face blank when he leans over to kiss my cheek.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear.
“Thank you.” I offer him a small smile, ignoring the pain in my lip, and then before I know it, we’re in his Range Rover, headed into town.
“You really do look great,” he says, offering me a smile.
“Thank you.” I swallow and glance his way. He’s sober tonight, and he looks handsome in a dark suit. Deciding to be kind and make the most of the calm, I reply, “You look nice too.”
Elliott offers me a grin that’s just this side of smarmy. It’s like he can’t help but be a pervert.
How is he Julian’s son? They look similar, but their personalities couldn’t be more different.
“I’m glad you think so. I have plans for us tonight, Tash.”
Fuck. This doesn’t bode well for me at all.
Sobriety only lasted halfway into dinner before the fourth glass of wine caught up with him.
Elliott takes a bite of his steak, and then he leans over to act like he’s my lover, whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
Gross.
“Your tits are fucking amazing in that dress.”
I sigh and take a sip of water. “Thanks.”
“After this, we’re going to Rapture.”
No.
“Oh, I don’t—”
“We’re going,” he says, his voice harder now, and he narrows his eyes, practically daring me to argue.
I’ve already been beaten twice in the past twenty-four hours. I’d rather avoid a third time. I don’t think my ribs can take it. I’m so damn sore, now that my meds are wearing off, and I realize that I forgot to put some in my handbag.
“You’ll like it.” His voice is calmer now, and he smirks as he sips his wine. “And don’t worry, there will be other girls there to show you the ropes.”
“Uh, what?”
“You’ll see.” He winks at me, and my stomach sinks to my toes.
I hurt everywhere, and I’m not in the mood to have to fight off Elliott’s advances tonight, least of all at a sex club in front of strangers. I don’t care how fancy it is, I don’t want to go.
Dinner passes too quickly, and then we’re back at his car, and he should not be driving after all the wine he consumed with his meal.
“Do you want me to drive?” I ask, and I immediately realize that I said the wrong thing when he rounds on me and cages me against the side of the vehicle.
“What are you saying, Tash?”
I swallow hard, tying to keep my face expressionless. “I just haven’t had anything to drink, that’s all.”
“Get. In. The motherfucking car.”
He pushes away from me, and I do as I’m told, even though I know that this is absolutely not safe. I spend the entire twenty-minute trip fighting off a panic attack as Elliott weaves through the lanes, cutting off other drivers and laughing like a lunatic because I’m scared.
I hate how much he loves to frighten me.
“You need to lighten up, babe,” he says when he parks in front of the valet, and I immediately get out of the car, ignoring the way my ribs are singing. My jaw aches. My eye socket throbs.
Fuck, I hurt.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and drags me through the front doors where there’s a reception area. “Hey, Beth.”
The tiniest woman I’ve ever seen gives Elliott a cautious smile. “Hello, Mr. Stavros. Is this your guest tonight?”
“My fiancé,” he confirms. “Natasha.”
“Welcome to Rapture,” Beth says with a genuine smile for me. “If you have any questions—”
“She doesn’t.”
Elliott’s acting almost manic, with jerky movements as he pulls me down a dark hallway and then into what looks like an opulent lounge. People are sitting at tables or at the bar, chatting and drinking. It looks like any high-end cocktail lounge, and it puts me at ease.
This I can do.
There are no naked bodies, no one is having sex. It seems normal. And even better, everyone here is dressed to the nines, in designer clothes and beautiful jewelry. There’s nothing seedy about this place.
“I’ll take an old-fashioned,” Elliott says to the bartender, a stunning brunette with curves for days. Her pretty smile turns to me.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“Just water, please.”
“A dirty martini,” Elliott replies, shaking his head. “You’ll need the liquid courage.”
The bartender eyes me. “What do you want?” she asks me.
“Just water.”
“An old-fashioned and a water, coming up.” She bustles away, and Elliott squeezes my hip, where he’s holding onto me.
“Keep pissing me off and see where it gets you, Tash.”
Julian said he wouldn’t hurt me again.
But I should have known that was a lie.
Elliott knocks back two drinks in fast succession and then takes my hand and leads me to a set of doors.
“It’s time for something a little more . . . fun,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
My stomach sinks again, and I hold my breath as we walk inside.
The room is beautiful, draped in white and awash in soft colors. Sensual music tinkles in the air, and there are people having sex, kissing, laughing.
A woman is bent over a bench, and a man is using a leather whip to hit her, and I feel like I’m shrinking in on myself.
I don’t want to be here. There is nothing about this that excites or entices me.
I also don’t want to be hit anymore today.
“Come on. I’ll give you a tour later,” Elliott says as he drags me through the room to another hallway lined with doors. He pushes one open, and we step inside, and I freeze.
It’s not empty.
There’s a king bed, and a woman, beautiful with long dark hair and a slim body, is already lying there, naked, and grins at Elliott as he drops my hand and approaches her.
“Hey there, handsome,” she says as she moves onto all fours and crawls over to him.
He frames her face and kisses her hard, and I want to turn around and run.
“Come here,” he says, gesturing to me. “This is Miranda, and she’s going to play with us tonight.”
“Us?” I ask, feeling all the blood drain from my face.
“I’ll be careful,” Miranda says with a smile. “Since it’s your first time and all.”
My eyes shoot to Elliott, who’s smirking at me.
“Take your clothes off, Tash.”
I shake my head, and that pisses him off, so he slips his hand into my cleavage and rips the dress in two. It’s still hanging on my body, and I try to cover myself, but he slaps my hands out of the way.
“The sooner you realize that you’re mine, the better. We can make this fun, or we can make this painful. It’s really up to you. But either way, I’m fucking you tonight. After everything I went through last night, you owe me this, and I’m collecting.”
“Let’s make it fun,” Miranda suggests with a wink. “Babe, why don’t you and I get started, so Tash can see how good it’s going to be.”
He watches my face, and then he smirks. “Good idea. You sit right here. If you make a move for that door, I’ll break your fingers.”
I gasp, and he smiles, pleased with my fear.
I can’t do this.
But he jerks me into the chair, then turns to Miranda, and as he strips out of his clothes, he kisses her.
I close my eyes.
“You’ll watch this,” he says. “Open your eyes, Tash.”
I follow his orders and watch the horror unfold.