17. Grace
17
Grace
S team billowed, rising to the mirror and shrouding my reflection, softening the severe black circles below my eyes and concealing the healing bruise on my cheek. I swiped across the misted surface, my fingers smudging the moisture, inducing water droplets to cascade down the silvery glass.
Each breath of the thick air left a weight settling in my lungs. Tightening the robe's rope across my hungry belly, I braced myself for the lingering aftermath.
I could do this.
I could walk downstairs and eat like a normal human being.
I could sit by the pool.
I could tend the garden with Rosa.
Would he even allow me around her?
Conflict threaded through my dull green eyes, the skin beside my lips etched with the wrinkles of stress.
Despite the damage inflicted by the mats and the dirt caked into my skull, my hair gleamed after three scrubbings yesterday evening and another a few moments ago.
Brushing my hair hadn't taken as long as it did with Rosa, but my weak muscles tired halfway through. I switched to my non-dominant hand, and by the time I finished, my muscles quivered with exhaustion, and my shoulder ached.
I stared at myself in the mirror a moment longer before running my hands over my face, sucked in a ragged breath, then opened the bathroom door.
My eyes flicked to the two men standing across from me, their hands poised in front as if I might draw a weapon and execute them both. Elias instructed them to stand outside my door, and when I emerged, they trailed in silence .
Chills cascaded over my skin, bare feet padding across the marble as I hastened to my bedroom door, clicking it shut with a soft snick. The echo of their booted footsteps halted behind me.
The room's natural overhead lights bathed the space in a soft glow, complemented by the three lamps—one on each bedside table and another on the dresser.
Flipping the closet light on, I selected a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, underwear, and a bra, along with some white socks, each fitting with surprising ease.
How did he know my size?
The baggy clothes Rosa had dressed me in during her 'breakout' mission were relics from her youth, discovered in a hall closet—a box filled with more boxes, housing an array of male clothing and knick-knacks.
Shuffling around, I seized the sneakers and slipped them over my feet, my shoulder aching with the motion.
Standing, I rose to my tiptoes and bounced, assessing the feel and comfort, then sauntered towards the bed.
Three A.M.
The world was asleep, but my mind ran a million miles a second.
Why was I here… in this room?
What's the catch?
What else did he have planned for me?
Would I ever be able to leave… alive?
My backside sank into the edge of the mattress as I settled, the tips of my shoes grazing the floor.
Nausea twisted in my belly as I gazed out the window into the enveloping darkness.
What would happen when the sun came up?
Would those men still be there?
I tilted sideways, my body collapsing onto the bed, damp hair wetting the pillowcase. The high-pitched laughter of a woman drew me up as though someone put me in reverse, and I turned toward the window.
Who was that?
The harsh, internal lights cast a blinding glare against the window, but outside, the spotlights trained on the driveway bathed it in a hue that rivaled the brightness of day itself .
Four people, three men, and a woman, walked up the drive, the woman stumbling about in a drunken stupor.
She flaunted a short black dress adorned with shimmering tendrils, accentuating her plump breasts pushed high and snug together. A cascade of long, sleek hair graced her back, and her slender legs crossed over one another, adding an alluring elegance to her stride. She gripped the man beside her as she walked.
His suit bunched under her fist as she laughed out his name. "Elias, take me to bed. I need you." She pouted, her lower lip pushing out.
"I'm not fucking you when drunk."
"Please…" She twisted her body, blocking his path towards the front door. "I didn't have that much."
"No." He towered over her, even in heels, and pushed her hair away from her face. He fisted her hair and tugged her head to the side. "How can you suck my cock when you can't even stand straight?"
She laughed again, leaning into his body.
This was forbidden.
A moment between Elias and his… girlfriend? Wife?
What would he do if he saw me?
I'd pressed my ear to the door while Andrés met with Miguel once. He'd caught me and threatened to cut my ear off if he or anyone else caught me eavesdropping.
After his beating, it was the last time I ever listened in on a conversation… until now .
"Why stand when I can be on my knees?" She flashed a seductive smile, her teeth biting into her lower lip. Her gaze shot upward and met mine.
My heart leaped, and my stomach plummeted as I rolled back against the wall, pressing myself flat against it.
Shit.
I darted for the bed, threw back the covers, and crawled inside—shoes and all. My stomach turned over in nausea-inducing waves as I sucked in air.
She would tell him I was watching them and…
What if he thought I was a spy, now?
I tugged the comforter to my chin, the lights not allowing a single shadow to dance against the walls.
A car door slammed, echoing through the night alongside my breathy exhales. Voices seeped through the floors, slipping through the walls, and encircled me.
In the compound, keeping secrets from Andrés or Miguel could lead to beatings or worse, depending on the severity of the secret.
I squeezed my eyelids closed, working Andrés' face from my mind.
The male voices surged, like someone tweaking the dial on a radio, while my rapid breaths made my head swim.
I strained, tracing the path of their voices through the sprawling mansion, my shoulders tensed like coiled springs and my legs quivering.
The voices stopped, leaving no lingering trace of Nadia's laughter.
Footsteps stopped at my door.
My heart drummed in my chest, and my stomach turned like a freak storm on the high seas.
The door creaked open, and I pulled the comforter over my face.
"Where are you going, Grace?" His deep voice penetrated the protective cloth brushing against my nose and eyelashes.
His shoes announced his approach in the quiet room like ominous drumbeats foretelling an impending war.
My chest slicked with sweat, my cheeks flushing as my breath beat back against my face.
The bed dipped down, and the covers pulled away through my fingertips.
"I asked a question." Elias' face tightened as he fixed his gaze on me. The lines on his forehead deepened, and his lips pressed together. "And I expect an answer."
My fingers were a short distance away from his black suit pants and a crisp white button-down shirt. A lone strand of hair strayed onto his forehead, adding an air of disarray to his otherwise polished demeanor.
"I… I heard a noise outside."
He raised his chin and glanced down at my shirt, his fist holding the covers I needed back over my face.
"Going somewhere?"
I shook my head. "No. I promise. I just—"
He bowed his head, exhaling a sigh tainted with the faint scent of alcohol. "Did I not tell you escape would be futile?"
The room closed in as claws dug into my lungs, squeezing every bit of oxygen out of them. "Yes, but…" I sat, the tight comforter pinning my legs. "I wasn't—"
"You weren't? Explain your attire and shoes."
I glanced at the impression of my shoes pressing up through the comforter.
He thought...
Screams, agonizing screams fill the center veranda.
Andrés raises the whip over his head and brings it down on the boy whose name I do not know.
His back splits in a clean line. The blood oozes from the wound. His anguished cries choke off as his eyes roll back, and he collapses face first.
My eyes widened as he tipped his head down. Sweat clung to my chest as I shook my head. "Sorry, I just…" I grabbed the covers and yanked, but his grip kept them in place. "I'll take them off. I didn't mean… I wasn't planning to—"
"Grace." He leaned in, his pointer and thumb tipping my chin up. "That's not what I asked."
My vision flickered about the room, my pulse stuck in my throat.
"I was only trying them on."
A man who wants for nothing wouldn't understand the basic comfort of proper footwear.
"At three in the morning?" he crinkled his left eye. "Why?"
He brushed his knuckles against my cheek, his fingers wrapping around the base of my neck, my damp hair sticking to my skin.
I shrugged, and he raised a brow.
"My father always taught me to be prepared."
"Prepared for what?"
I chewed my inner cheek and glanced up at him. "A fight."
"Who are you looking to fight?" His grip tightened. "Me?"
I shook my head, my chest squeezing like a vice. "No. I-I mean…"
A smirk played on his lips as he released his hold. Standing, he moved towards the door. "Make sure you don't give me a reason to fight you."
I nodded, licking my dry lips. "Elias? Can I ask something?"
He squared his shoulders as he put his hands in his pockets. "Depends."
"May I spend time with your mother?" I glanced down at the bed and tossed the covers away from my feet, kicking the shoes off and to the floor.
He raised a brow as he shifted on his feet, his focus lasered in on me. "Why?"
"It's just…"
She's the only person who has treated me as a human being in years.
"I heard that social interactions can benefit individuals with Alzheimer's."
He set his jaw, turned his head to the side, and marched back to my bedside in three long strides. His fists clenched at his sides, and his nostrils flared.
My throat closed as I leaned away from him, my knees drawn up. "I'm sorry."
Thick fingers laced through my hair and jerked my head back, spreading thousands of sharp needles into my skull. "I don't want your apologies." He brought me face-to-face with him, his biceps flexing, his breaths heavy through his nose. "I want to know who told you about her."
His fingers dug into my cheeks as my lashes blinked like Morse code, signaling anyone for help.
What did I do wrong?
I shook my head the best I could. "N-no one." His grip tightened. "I mean, Rosa did. In the garden." My molars bit into my cheeks, the copper tang spreading across my tongue.
"Liar."
"I'm not lying. I swear it." My voice trembled as I wrapped my clammy hands around his wrist. "She told me she didn't believe the doctor's diagnosis. That she hadn't forgotten a single thing since you were born."
A change flickered over his features; the harsh lines at the corner of his eyes lessened, and his lips parted enough to show the tops of his white teeth.
"And it's kind of obvious." I licked my lips as his fingertips loosened around my cheeks and slid down, tightening around my wild pulse. "In the short time we were together, she'd repeat herself or forget she'd said something."
His gaze dipped down as he applied pressure. "After all I'm doing for you, Grace, I hope you remember to tell me the truth.
I nodded, the copper in my mouth dissolving. "Yes. I'll remember."
"I hope so." His grip slid out of my hair and off of my throat. "I'd hate for you to forget my generosity."
A slick sheen of sweat prickled against my spine as he stood.
"Keep your interaction with Rosa limited. I'd hate for her to grow attached to you." He reached over and clicked the light off at my bedside—not that it did a bit of good with the three other lights on.
My fingers replaced his on my throat, rubbing the soreness as he left.
"Breakfast is at eight." He flicked off the main light, dousing me in a dull glow, then closed the door behind him.
A strangled sob stuck behind my pressed lips, my ragged breath whistling through my nose.
If I couldn't speak with her, then who?
Even though we were prisoners in the compound, I still had friends.
Jorge was a friend. He'd told me stories of his sister he wished to see one day.
The guards were off limits, here and at Andrés'.
Except for Miguel.
Miguel would treat me as if I were something special—an object, but a special object.
He and Andrés would argue about my treatment, but in the end, nothing changed.
Biting my inner lip, I laid down, throwing the covers up to my chin, and willed my heart to stop pounding, the stabbing in my chest to reside.
I want to go home.
I want to be free.
My eyelids burned, and my vision blurred with tears left unshed.
I swiped across my face with the comforter, clearing my eyes before closing them.
Stars danced behind my eyelids as I squeezed them, picturing myself flying through galaxies far away from here—far away from anyone who could ever hurt me again—far away from this...