16. Liana
SIXTEEN
LIANA
F alling.
I was about to be pulled under and get swallowed by the darkness.
Caged like an animal. Starved. Naked. Beaten.
The strangers laughed while I silently recited my vow of revenge, memorizing their faces. My husband’s. His mistress’s. The Courier’s.
The metal door shut with a heavy thud, snuffing away the last flicker of light, and I was alone.
Shackled. Bloodied.
Shivers racked my frame as I pulled my knees to my chest, the iron shackles clinking against the concrete. Resisting the urge to allow my mind to wander, I imagined all the ways I’d make them pay. All the ways I’d make them suffer.
I focused on the darkness, letting it consume me and absorb all my rage and hate until it was all I could do to breathe. Until I became what I feared the most: empty, broken, and evil.
Like my mother.
My eyelids shot open, my chest heaving like I’d just run a marathon.
A dream. It’s only a dream .
But as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I knew that particular recurring nightmare was my reality. I was so close to becoming my mother. Or maybe I’d already become her and didn’t even know it.
I shook my head of the dark thoughts and looked around the stateroom that had become my prison. Time dripped between my fingers, almost tauntingly, reminding me how helpless I really was.
Until he docked, I’d be stuck on this yacht.
Sitting up, I slid off the bed and made my way to the window, pulling back the drapes and letting the sunlight clear away the remnants of sleep. It was a new day; Giovanni and I had come to a reluctant treaty, and I was determined to look ahead to the future.
I wasn’t in the mood to see him or talk to him, so instead, I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
I stripped out of my borrowed clothes and stepped into the scorching hot shower. Washing off the sins and grime that clung to my body and soul was an impossible task, but I gave it my best shot and started my cleansing ritual.
I reached for the bottle of exfoliator on the shelf and scrubbed… then scrubbed some more. Repeat with soap. With body wash. Until my skin turned raw and red.
But self-disgust was impossible to clean away.
My ragged breaths mixed with the steady pitter-patter of the shower rain. Slosh. Splash. Another breath.
The shower door opened and I startled, doing my best to cover my body.
Giovanni stepped inside wearing his three piece-suit, shoes and all, his face a thundercloud, and turned off the water.
“What are you do?—”
He grabbed my arm and tugged me out of the shower, water droplets spilling onto the tiled floor.
The furious look on his face told me he wasn’t happy about something. “You’re about to rub your skin off.”
Oh.
I waved my free hand. “That’s nothing.”
His eyes flashed dangerously.
“Nothing?” Why is he yelling? “You’re about to rip your skin off and that’s nothing ?”
He towered over me, his expensive suit clinging to his body like a second skin, and my eyes dragged over it, core clenching. Not good.
He returned the move, slowly sweeping his gaze over my naked body, and goosebumps raced along my skin.
I found myself needing another shower, albeit a cold one this time.
I scoffed.
“You’re exaggerating.” The yacht gently rocked, the two of us staring at each other. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the shell of my ear, drawing a shudder out of me. I swallowed. “You said you wouldn’t touch me,” I reminded him.
“I said I wouldn’t touch you against your will,” he drawled in a dark tone. “Your body is asking me to.”
“My body’s lying to you,” I spat. “It knows how to deceive men. I’ve done it plenty of times.”
That must have awakened him from whatever spell he was under, because he straightened and took a step back.
“Your things, as promised,” he said, tilting his chin toward the open bathroom door where a pile of what looked like brand-new clothes were stacked on the bed. I rolled my eyes slightly. Should I even bother asking him how he managed a shopping spree in the middle of the ocean?
He reached for a towel and handed it to me. I dried myself off, then wrapped it around my body, my gaze never wavering from him. In my experience, men didn’t resist their lust that easily, and there was no doubt the man liked what he saw. His eyes suggested it, and the bulge in his pants confirmed it.
“What do they mean?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I moved past him and made my way into the room to inspect the merchandise. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”
“The tattoos on your back.” My hand froze, closing tightly on a Chanel silk midi dress. “What do they mean?”
All those tiny tattoos covering my back—waves, car, bicycle, origami, graduation hat, and so many more—were all things I never got to do. I could lie. Make up a cool story about it.
But what came out of my mouth shocked even me. “They’re the things I always wanted to do but never had a chance to.”
Pain that had become my permanent friend danced circles around me. I waited. For what, I didn’t know. Maybe for something—anything—to chase away these ghosts that suffocated me.
“Put a bathing suit on.”
Giovanni’s voice seemed to do just that.
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to check off some of those things, starting with your swimming lessons.”