8. Cara
8
CARA
W hen I woke up to my first day as a married woman, the first thing I noticed was the complete, utter silence. It cloaked me, pressing me down into the bed I'd found in one of the many guest rooms here.
Declan left me at the door, and this was the first room I found that seemed prepared for a guest.
Guest? I was no guest. For the next six months, I would be a resident here.
This wasn’t anything like being at home, at the only residence I knew at Mom’s farm.
No sounds of animals woke me up. No urgency filled me with the rush to feed the sheep and horses. Not a single beep nor chirp of the birds and other wildlife out in the open land.
It was… unsettling. Like I was the last person alive on Earth.
As I opened my eyes and took stock of the tenderness between my legs, I realized that meant this foreign pain signified that my mother would be one day closer to getting her life-changing surgery. In exchange for losing my virginity and marrying Declan, she was that much nearer the chance to have a semi-normal life.
He raped me. Thinking it felt like a crime, but I had to succumb to accepting it as my new reality. I was married. And my husband had raped me.
I blinked, zoning out at the ceiling as the tenderness lingered with a dull throb.
Declan had raped me. He'd accused me of trying to run away right after our damn wedding, and he took his anger out by slamming into me so hard, and holding on to my hips with such a forceful grip, that bruises would no doubt line my skin for days.
I lay there, rubbing my eyes and waiting for a reason to get up.
This should have felt like a vacation. A blessing. A stroke of luck. Waking up with zero obligations like what welcomed me at the farm should’ve felt like a break that I never imagined I could have in life.
It didn’t.
Recalling how forcefully Declan had overpowered me at the door scared me. His gruff treatment bewildered me, and until I could figure out how to acclimate to him, I wasn’t sure how to behave, what to do, and how I would stay sane for the next six months.
I’d never had sex before. At the farm, I lacked the time to make friends, socialize, date, or get to the point that I could sleep with someone. From dawn to dusk, I worked my ass off and tried to multitask to handle everything for my mom.
That didn’t mean I hadn’t thought of how I might lose it. The brutal possession Declan had done last night wasn’t it.
“Does it matter, though?” I whispered aloud, still waiting for something to propel me to get up.
It couldn’t matter. Eventually, I would’ve probably tried to spend a little more time to figure out how to pleasure myself in the privacy of my own room. Just to take the edge off and seek release. That was only a human need, anyway.
Not once did I ever plan to marry, to have a family. I couldn’t get pregnant, and I’d come to terms with that a long time ago. All I ever had was my mother, and after she was gone, I knew that I wouldn’t want to be a burden for anyone else but myself.
“Good luck with that.” I rolled my eyes as I sat up and winced at the soreness down there. Sitting was worse, and I shifted to stand and ease the pressure on my ass where he’d slammed into me with his hips.
For the next five months and twenty-nine days, I would be with Declan, and already, I felt like the biggest burden to the grumpy asshole. He was so nervous about my running. I got it. I did run when I first saw him. That first impression wasn’t helping my situation, but last night, I was sitting on a damn bench, not running. If he was going to be a caveman and haul me over his shoulder everywhere, or lock his fingers around my arm, I would scream.
I got it. He thought I was his. But did that have to mean hovering and supervising my every move? Treating me like a prisoner?
I narrowed my eyes at the reflection in the mirror, angry at the possibility that he’d plan to do just that.
He’s not hovering now. I didn’t know where he was in this huge house, and I really didn’t care. Last night, I showered in this guest room, and once I found some women's clothing in the drawers—surprised to find both his and hers sets of garments—I hid away.
Distance helped. Because without his dark, molten gaze on me, it was far, far easier to forget about how good it felt when he pushed me to come.
“Let’s just forget about that,” I quipped quietly to myself.
Something had to be wrong with me to be turned on by that brute taking me so hard, and the less I thought about it, the calmer I would feel about this situation.
I doubted I’d be able to avoid him all day, though, so with all the courage and confidence I could gather without caffeine to fuel me, I opened the door and entered the hallway.
The whole house was quiet. No one stirred. I didn’t detect a single sound of activity anywhere, but it didn’t prompt me to call out for Declan. Or a staff member. He had to have one here, because like my father’s home, only bigger, my husband resided in an enormous mansion. He sure wasn’t the one dusting and sweeping around here, and everything looked immaculate.
It was a lot like being the only guest in a museum.
Quiet. Still. So many pieces of artwork and finely crafted furniture.
And locked in.
A lot like a prison, too.
I drew a deep breath and walked down the hall, peeking through open doorways, curious what else would be revealed here in the light of the day.
My exploration was cut short.
Two guards rounded the hallway and ran after me.
“Hey! Stop!”
I flinched, startled, and did the opposite. Seeing two humongous men chasing me down incited fear, and I turned and ran down the plush rug. Tall and fit, they reached me in no time. Their hands gripped my arms. One shackled his arm around my waist, and as he lifted me into the air, I kicked and thrashed.
“What the hell are you doing? Put me down. Let me go!” My orders fell on deaf ears, and they teamed up to contain me like I was a wild animal about to run.
First Declan and his highhandedness. Now these guards. What the hell kind of life did I marry into? I knew my father was affiliated with a crime family. I suspected that was why my mother had never reached out to him. Even if she wasn’t too proud to go back to him after I was born, she was smart enough to avoid being tied to a Mob man. Here I’d gone and married one. Declan was so clearly a Mob leader. I didn’t expect a peaceful existence as his wife, but was I even that? Or a prisoner?
The pair of guards didn’t let me go, not once. Together, they tried to force me toward the door where Declan had raped me last night.
Anger trumped the fear searing through my veins. I was livid, exhausted and fed up with this rough manhandling. I could walk. Why couldn’t they fucking tell me what to do, where I could go, and let me walk like a normal person?
“We need to get her to the estate,” one said to the other, grunting as he fended off my kicks.
“She’s not cooperating, though, is she?” the other snapped back.
“Then sedate her.” The first one gripped my arm and wrenched it back, preparing to jam a needle into me.
“Stop!” My throat was hoarse from screaming, but I refused to let them treat me like a prisoner like this. I would protest and fight back until my last goddamn breath. They would win. They were bigger and stronger, armed with muscles and drugs. But I refused to make it easy for them.
“What the fuck is going on?”
The two men went still at Declan’s bellow. They didn’t release me, holding me tight as I still wrestled to get free. My husband’s loud footsteps sounded down the hall as he rushed up to us, and I slowed my efforts to escape. Panting and furious, I stared up at him.
“She was trying to run,” the second guard said.
“I was not ,” I shot back.
The guard narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw like I’d pissed him off by arguing back.
“You surprised me.” I exhaled long and hard, weary and tense. “You ran after me, and I reacted in fear.”
“She ran from us, sir,” the first man said. “We were attempting to transport her to the estate as you’ve requested, but she’s straining to get away.”
Declan furrowed his brow, noticing the syringe in the man’s hand. He knocked it to the floor, gripping the front of the man’s shirt.
“Are you fucking stupid? Drugging her?”
The guard nodded. “A sedative. Just to transport?—”
“No drugs.” He punched him hard. “She’s my wife. She could be carrying my fucking heir.”
I stayed quiet, biting my cheek. Actually, no, I’m not. He had no clue I would fail him with that task.
Once he finished punching the guard and warning him not to drug me—ever—he turned to me. His chest heaved. His eyes burned with impatience and annoyance.
“You'd better behave.” He pointed at me, and the second guard released me. I rubbed my arm, glaring at my husband.
“You'd better fucking behave, or I’ll teach you another lesson about what happens if you try to run from me.”
Of course, he’d assume that I was putting up such a fuss because I wanted to run. I doubted there was anything I could do, anything I could even say to persuade him that I wouldn’t escape until our deal was done.
Six months, asshole. Then I will run.
Instead of finding anything to tell him, any placating agreement to lower his rabid obsession about keeping me under his control, I settled for nothing at all.
Glowering at him, I tipped my chin up and relied on silence, loathing him with every fiber of my being.
No matter how good he'd felt when he forced that orgasm out of me last night.