Chapter 4 Willow
WILLOW
Goosebumps prickle my skin, and I do my best to pull in a deep breath, but all I can seem to manage is a short, sharp inhale.
I’m back in the room I was in when I first woke up in this hellhole, but nothing about it feels comforting or familiar.
I avoid the bed, sitting on the floor instead, my arms wrapped around my knees, as if I can keep myself together that way.
The dress I was forced to get married in hangs off of me in tatters, strips of white satin and lace that don’t do enough to cover me up anymore.
I still keep pulling the scraps around me even more, and my hands shake as I arrange the pieces.
There’s very little light in the room, but I can still catch sight of the red streaks under my fingernails. I curl my hand into a fist, but it doesn’t really help.
My body shakes, adrenaline and fear finally starting to leak out of me, leaving me in a state of something like shock. My face is wet with tears, and every so often, another one tracks down my cheeks, spilling over. I don’t bother to wipe them away.
I take a breath and then another, trying to keep myself as steady as possible. It feels like if I fall apart now, I’ll never be able to put the pieces back together.
Everything hurts, and there’s a headache throbbing behind my eye, so I take a note from Vic’s book, trying to count each breath, letting it center me a little. But it also makes me think about Vic and the others, and that hurts like an invisible knife being driven into my chest.
More than anything, I wish they were here.
The door opens, and I flinch back, trying to scoot deeper into the shadows. I’m expecting to see Troy or hear his mocking voice, but when I glance up, it’s just one of his bodyguards.
That’s a relief, but only a small one.
“Come with me,” he grunts, and I don’t even bother to argue.
I get to my feet, my cheeks burning with shame as the tatters of my dress fall a bit, showing off more scarred skin than I’m comfortable with. I keep my arms wrapped around my torso, trying to keep myself covered as best I can.
The guard looks me over, but there’s nothing in his eyes. No desire, but no sympathy either. I might as well be another piece of furniture in the room instead of a living, breathing human being. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that his boss kidnapped me, or that I’ve clearly been assaulted.
Of course not. He works for Troy, and Troy wouldn’t keep someone who’d care about something like that on the payroll.
“Let’s go.”
He turns to lead the way out of the room, and I follow him, flinching at every sound and trying to keep my footsteps steady. My gaze keeps darting around the hall as if I’m expecting Troy to come bursting out of one of the rooms or around a corner, but we make it to a bathroom without seeing him.
“Get cleaned up,” the guard grunts. “Your husband is expecting you to join him for dinner. There are clothes in there for you. Put them on or I’ll do it for you.”
He stares at me expectantly with that same impassive expression on his face, and I pray he doesn’t have orders to follow me inside or anything. When I step into the large bathroom, he lets me shut the door behind myself, and I finally exhale.
At least I’m being allowed this moment of privacy.
I don’t even want to look at my reflection in the mirror at first. Or even at my body at all. My hands are still shaking as I try to remove what’s left of the wedding gown, and it takes a few tries for me to get the zipper undone.
The tatters of satin and lace slide down my body, and I step out of the pool of it as soon as I can. It’s chilly in the bathroom, and I feel that air rushing over the scrapes and scratches on my body. The places where Troy got rough.
I swallow hard, a lump rising in my throat.
There’s a bruise on my side where he hit me, and when I touch it, it throbs tenderly.
I whip my hand away from it.
When I finally turn to face the mirror, I hate what I see. My hair is a mess, tangled and matted from Troy grabbing it, My eyes are bloodshot and my face is splotchy from crying. More tears fall, and I jerk my eyes down, not wanting to look at myself anymore.
Instead, I focus on the tattoo above my left breast. Right over my heart. The stylized number 24 that Malice put on me what feels like forever ago, and the initials of the brothers.
I turn so I can see the newer addition, which is healed now and no longer has that shine of fresh ink. The flowers stand out beautifully on my skin, wrapped around the harsher lines of the weapon Malice tattooed on me.
If I close my eyes, I can focus on the memory of the hum of the machine, and the way Malice explained why he chose this design for me. How he told me that he sees me as both beautiful and delicate, but also strong and unbending.
I let that ground me, keeping me from breaking down entirely.
Swallowing hard, I turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up before I get in.
I hiss as the spray hits my back, then groan softly.
I’m so sore all over, but the hot water starts to wash away the blood and sweat and everything else, and it feels good to clean away the remnants of Troy on my body.
I let the water beat down on me, easing my tense muscles, the sound of the shower drowning out my thoughts.
I wash my hair thoroughly, taking a minute to tame the tangles before moving on to washing myself up, drawing it out for as long as I can.
I’d stay in here forever if I could, but I don’t want to run the risk of Troy or his guard coming in to get me, so eventually, I shut the water off and step out of the shower.
Finally, I look a little more human. I don’t know if someone cleaned me up when I was brought here from Mexico, and I don’t really want to think about it either way. But it feels nice to be clean now.
Thankfully, the clothes Troy left for me are normal, nothing like the wedding dress that I woke up in. Just an expensive looking blouse, undergarments, and some pants that I step into once I’ve dried off.
The shirt covers my tattoos, but I still know they’re there, and I put my hand over the ones on my chest, taking another deep breath.
I think about the Voronin brothers, remembering the last time I saw them. Malice and Ransom, furious and out of breath, trying to keep us all moving. Vic standing in front of me and then abruptly crumpling to the ground, shot. I don’t even know where he was hit. I don’t even know if…
He has to be alive. He has to be fine.
Neither of his brothers would let him go without fighting like hell to bring him back from the brink, and I know they would have taken care of him. So he must be alive. He’s probably out there somewhere being very particular about stitches and wound cleaning.
All three of them are probably looking for me. By this point, I believe that with my whole heart. They’ve proven time and time again that as long as there’s breath left in their bodies, they won’t stop trying to find me or protect me.
So I have to survive.
I have to still be alive when they get here.
I have to.
Clinging to those words like a mantra, I finally pull open the bathroom door.
The guard is still there, his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t say anything, just motions for me to follow him and leads me down another hall and into a dining room.
It’s not as lavish as Olivia’s, but it still manages to be ostentatious.
Troy is already there, sitting at the head of the table, lounging like some kind of king on his throne.
He looks up when I walk in on the heels of his guard, and I feel a burst of savage satisfaction at the scratch marks that run down his face.
He might have gotten what he wanted in the end, but I didn’t go down without a fight. He took something from me, but at least I took something from him too.
Even if it wasn’t enough.
“Sit down, wifey,” he says, sounding smug and bored all at the same time.
I do as he says, taking a seat gingerly at the table.
A door at the other end of the room opens, and food is brought out on trays. A big roasted slab of meat, vegetables, and bread. It smells good, but I don’t move to serve myself, even as Troy starts loading up his plate.
It takes him a moment to notice, and he swallows around a mouthful of bread as he arches a brow at me.
“It’s not poisoned,” he assures me, smirking. “Why would I do that? You’re my wife. It’s my job to take care of you, right? So I need to keep you fed.”
Every time he reminds me that I’m his wife, I hate it more, and I grit my teeth. “You don’t seem to have any qualms about hurting me, so don’t act like that means anything.”
Troy’s smirk just widens.
“Hurting you and poisoning you are two different things.” He reaches for his wine glass and takes a swallow, smacking his lips.
“I knew you were going to be a wildcat. That’s why I was drawn to you.
I wanted someone with a spark in her. With some fire.
All the other women my parents were interested in marrying me off to would’ve been too easy to break.
Just lying there like limp little rag dolls, taking it.
But you? You make me work for it, and I like that. ”
My stomach turns, and I feel like I might throw up right here at the table. If he notices, Troy doesn’t give a shit, because he just keeps going.
“Of course, I’ll have to teach you how to behave,” he adds with a chuckle.
“I need a wife I can take out in proper society, which means I’ll have to break you.
Stamp out some of that fire. Just enough, you know?
That’s why we’ll be taking an extended honeymoon here.
I told my family that I’d be gone for a little while, so that I could have some time with my new bride.
Just the two of us. It’ll give me a chance to train you. ”
My skin prickles as revulsion fills me, sour and strong.
“You’re such a fucking pig,” I spit. “A monster who gets off on pain and power. You think you’re some kind of prince or king or playboy? You think you’re better than everyone else, but you’re nothing but a piece of shit. Just another spoiled brat who never learned to take no for an answer.”
Even as the words are spewing out of my mouth, I know I should hold my tongue. I shouldn’t be saying any this, because it’s just going to come back and bite me in the ass, but I can’t help it.
“You’re disgusting,” I snap. “You talk about all these other women who would just lie there and take it, but you know what I think? I think no other woman would let you touch her with a ten-foot pole. Not for all the money in the world. Because you’re a creep and a troll, and they know it.
So you have to resort to shit like this, because no one wants you!
And why would they? Why would anyone want a disgusting monster like you? ”
Troy just listens, sitting there with his wine glass in his hand, letting me go off. He looks unbothered for all of thirty seconds before he stands up and jerks his chin at the two guards standing by in the room.
Instantly, they move, grabbing my shoulders and jerking me up from my seat. I stumble as they shove me forward and then force me down to my knees in front of the table. My heart jackrabbits in my chest, cold fear rushing through me in a wave.
Calm as anything, Troy gets up and walks over. He fists a hand in my hair, grabbing it so hard it makes my eyes water.
“I should choke you with my dick for saying shit like that,” he says, his voice even. “But I know you’re such a wild little thing, you’d probably try to bite it off. I promise you though, we’ll get there. One day, you’ll know better than to fight back at all.”
I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to spit in his face.
I don’t want to make whatever he’s about to do to me even worse.
Troy’s fingers tighten in my hair, and for a second, his cool facade cracks. I can see the pitiful, petty anger in his eyes, and I know my words affected him more than he’s letting on.
“But let me give you just a little taste of what happens when you displease your husband,” he whispers, his voice harsh.
He yanks me up by my hair, and I bite my tongue to keep from crying out in pain. The two guards still have a hold on me, and together, they drag me out of the kitchen and down the hall to another room of the house.
It’s mostly empty, but there’s a trapdoor hatch set into the floor.
One of the guards hauls it open, and I peer down into a coffin sized space under the floor.
Oh god. Oh fuck. No.
My breaths turn shallow as panic overtakes me. I try to back away, but the other guard keeps a tight hold on my arm, not letting me move.
At Troy’s nod, the two burly men shove me down into the little space, and before I can get my bearings, the hatch is slammed closed. Over the sound of my frantic heartbeat, I can make out the sound of a lock clicking into place.
I’m locked in. Trapped.
Footsteps echo overhead and then… nothing.
I’m locked in, and I’m alone.
It’s dark, and I can barely see my hands in front of my face.
There’s nothing down here, no room for anything else other than my body, and I curl into myself as much as I can in the cramped confines, trying to remember how to breathe.
There are tiny gaps in the floorboards, so I don’t think I’ll suffocate down here, but the air feels thin as it rushes into my lungs.
I get lightheaded, which makes my heart beat even faster.
My head starts to swim, and I feel like I might pass out, panting through my mouth, every fiber of my being raging against this enclosed space. My hands scrabble at the trap door, trying to find a latch or a handle or something, even though I know it’s useless. They locked me in. I heard it.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to breathe in through my nose and hold it for a bit, counting under my breath the way Vic does when he’s overwhelmed. One. Two. Three. Four. I let it out slowly and then do the whole thing over again.
I tap my fingers against my thighs, and the feeling of the fabric of my pants under my hands is grounding.
I’m still here. I’m still alive.
Each little ritual helps me cling to sanity, keeping me from spiraling out of control entirely. Tears leak from my eyes as I hold on to a single mantra.
Survive. Survive. Survive.