11. Camilla
Ihaven’t slept in days.
Every sound in the penthouse makes me jump, and I fucking hate the version of me I am while I’m here. I’m a fucking badass. I know that. I can kill a man three times my size with my bare hands in under a minute if I put my mind to it, but being locked up like a fucking princess in a tower seems to have taken some of the bravado I’ve spent my life building.
I sit with my back against the wall, my gaze trained on the door, as I wait for my first meal of the day to be delivered. Charles doesn’t seem to be around much, which works well for me, but that also means I’m mostly confined to this room.
You’d think I’d be used to it after being at the compound for so long. But that was different. I was never alone, I always had company, and deep down, I knew none of them were going to hurt me.
Or at least three out of four weren’t. Kaos was always a wild card.
The thought of the man has rage simmering under my skin. If I ever get the opportunity, I’ll kill him myself, consequences be damned.
Footsteps on the landing make me sit up straighter, my eyes glued to the door, and I hold my breath once I’m sure it’s about to swing open.
Charles appears in the doorway, wearing a perfect three-piece suit that fits his body like it was made just for him. His hair is slicked back, but as his eyes peruse my barely-covered body, I recall exactly why I’ll never think of this man as attractive.
The only clothing in this room is lingerie, and today’s bright pink teddy is the most covered I’ve been since the day I was brought in here. He’s such an asshole.
“I like this color on you,” he notes, and I bite my tongue against the retort that settles there. “Come down for breakfast.”
I open my mouth to argue but quickly snap it shut when he gives me a pointed glare. “Do as you’re told, Camilla. You’ll quickly find that keeping that pretty mouth shut anytime my cock isn’t in it will be a much smarter idea.”
I glare at him, but stand from my seat, tugging on the silky material to ensure I’m not about to slip out of it. That’s all I need.
Once I’m within arm’s reach, he slides his hand around the back of my neck and holds me firmly, ensuring I couldn’t escape him even if I wanted to. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise on his lips has bile climbing up the back of my throat. I fucking hate it.
He guides me out of the room and down the stairs, careful to match his pace with my slower one. I’ve been doing my best to stay limber while I’m here, but being locked in one room isn’t doing me any favors. Not to mention the limited training I’ve done since I left the De Marco estate. I’m not as fit as I used to be, which means when it comes time to fight and run, I’m going to have my work cut out for me.
The table is set, but only for one person, which makes my brows tug together in confusion. Why have me come down for breakfast if only one of us is eating?
When we reach the table, he pauses beside the seat with a plate piled with bacon and eggs and a bowl of muesli beside it, topped with yogurt.
“Kneel,” Charles commands, and it takes a moment for the word to filter through my mind.
I glare up at him. “Not a fucking chance,” I snap. There’s no way in hell I’m kneeling for this asshole. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I’d do anything of the sort.
He moves so fast, I miss the backhand coming until it’s too late. Pain radiates across my cheek, and when I reach for something to catch myself, there’s nothing to hold on to.
My ass hits the cold white tiles, and I let out a squeak as pain radiates up my back. It’s nothing compared to when his men tracked me down that alley and beat me, but the pain that’s bloomed across my face takes a moment to breathe through.
Charles stands over me and crouches so our faces are so close I can taste his breath. His fingers wrap around my chin in a punishing grip, but I force my features to remain neutral. “When I tell you to do something, Camilla, I expect you to do it. You may have been able to get away with this shit before, but I expect obedience at all times.”
“I’m not a dog,” I snap.
He chuckles as his fingers move into my hair that hangs loose around my shoulders as an added line of protection given my state of undress. He drags me toward the table, and agony blooms throughout my scalp. “Until further notice, you will kneel beside me while I eat my meals, and if you’re well behaved, I’ll consider allowing you to eat.”
“So you’re going to starve me if I don’t do as I’m told?”
“If that’s what it takes.” He shrugs. “I don’t want a fat wife, so it might do you some good to skip some meals.”
I glare at him, the fucking asshole. I’ve never had any body image issues, but if I didn’t know better, I would think he’s trying to give me some.
If he wanted an insecure little mouse for a wife, he chose the wrong woman.
Instead of biting back, I allow him to place me where he wants me, my legs curling under my body until I’m kneeling as he requested.
“Much better,” he hums and takes his own seat.
I stare down at my bare legs and listen to the knife and fork on the plate, all the while ignoring the rumble in my own stomach.
We sit there for long minutes, him eating peacefully and me quietly seething at all that has transpired this morning. If I didn’t already know I needed to get the fuck out of this apartment, I sure as hell do now, but I’m no closer to having a plan than I was when I arrived.
“You will accompany me to my bachelor party tonight.” He breaks the silence, and it takes a few seconds for his words to register. Why the hell would I go to his bachelor party? “Seeing as you haven’t had the chance to meet any of my friends, I thought this would be a nice way for you to get familiar with them.”
There’s something in those words that doesn’t sit well with me, and a dusting of goose bumps moves over my skin. What exactly does he expect me to do tonight?
“We’ll be heading to one of my clubs. I will have a dress delivered for you, and I expect you to do your hair and makeup to match it. Don’t let me down, Camilla. You won’t like the consequences if you continue to defy me.”
I don’t bother responding as hope flutters in my chest. He’s taking me out of the apartment. This is my best, maybe my only, chance to escape, and I won’t waste it.
I refuse to go down without a fight.