Chapter 22 Thalia
The morning after getting fucked in the graveyard, Silas woke up early and undid the cuffs. He showered me and then put me in another pair of tights, with a matching bra and panties. He didn’t touch me, though. Not in the way I was anticipating.
My body is still going through withdrawals from the way he spit in my mouth and fucked me with the barrel of his gun. I know I have fantasies that are not common to other women, but I never expected them to ever play out. Fuck, I didn’t even know what kinks were beneath the surface. Gunplay definitely makes the list.
I bite down on my lip as I watch Silas get dressed. He’s wearing tight jeans that illuminate that round ass of his, a black tee, black cowboy boots, and a black baseball cap. I notice the rooster patch, and the small lettering reads, “Cock.” I look at the bulge in his jeans, then quickly look away before he catches me. Alexa, add cowboy porn to my watchlist.
Silas sprays himself with cologne, and my hands grip the comforter tight.
“Going somewhere, hubby?” I let the green venom coursing through me take aim. He turns and arches a brow. He moves across the room and bends down to kiss me, but I turn my cheek. Rough hands squeeze my cheeks, and he forces his mouth to mine.
“I have work to do,” he says.
“And what am I supposed to do while you go to work?”
“Cook, clean, wait for Daddy to come home.” He winks, and my thighs squeeze together. I let out a harsh breath. It doesn’t help that he towers over me in height. I cross my arms and lift my chin.
“The fuck I will, Silas. You can’t turn a whore into a housewife.”
“I can if the whore belongs to me.”
My smirk falls, and I roll my eyes. This motherfucker has a way of riling me up. I am a master at pushing people’s buttons, but Silas has no fucking buttons.
“I’m not your property, Silas.”
“You are whatever the fuck I say you are.” The same large hands that had squeezed my cheeks wrap around my neck. My airflow diminishes with the pressure. He leans in, and his hot breath sends electricity to my core.
“There are armed men outside the house and spread across the entire property. If you so much as step a foot outside of this house, they will find you, and I will fuck that tight ass of yours in front of every single one of them.” He releases me, and I fall back, catching myself on the bedpost.
“So fucking romantic.” I rub my neck. His rough touch lingers there, and I can feel the heat accumulating between my thighs. I should just throw my feminism in the dumpster right now. This man is fucking me the way I’ve always wanted someone to. I wouldn’t call him a Casanova. But who wants a Casanova when you could have orgasms like that? His dark, demon-possessed eyes study mine.
“Tell the truth and shame the devil, mija. Are you wet for me?” He reaches down the front of my panties to confirm his own suspicions. He swirls his middle finger around my clit, then fills me with the digit. His mouth lowers to mine, and he growls into me.
“So fucking wet for me.” He adds another finger and fucks my pussy. I arch my back against the bedpost, and he thrusts harder. I feel those tornadoes building in my core. I hold on to the bed, desperate for release. He removes his finger, and my neck stiffens. My eyes shoot to his, pleading, but he has that sinister look again. He brings his fingers to my lips and paints them with my arousal.
“Don’t act like I don’t still give you butterflies.”
“You never gave me butterflies, Silas. Those were cucarachas . You infested my soul with your bullshit.” He licks his fingers clean, then lets out a loud laugh. He walks toward the door, and the moment he is out of sight, I grab my suitcase. I scour it with one goal in mind: find my hammer.
The first day Silas didn’t come home, I felt relieved. I didn’t have to confront the battle that was being waged between my head and my heart. The day he left, I wasn’t in the house alone long before an older woman arrived. She introduced herself as Veronica, but insisted I call her Vero. She was quiet at first, and when I asked her about using her cell phone, she gave me a stern face. I bit down on my tongue, only because winning her over would be my only chance at escaping.
“Se?ora Macias,” she calls from the kitchen, and I grimace at the name.
“You’re a Macias now.”
I push the memory far from the war that has been waging inside me since the moment I saw his face again. Years of delusion about what our lives would have been were the weapons my heart was using against my mind. That and the fact my vagina had joined as a loyal ally.
Vero calls again, and when I reach the kitchen, I can already smell the fresh tortillas. On a plate are scrambled eggs and homemade beans. Vero steps out of the sliding door and plucks a fresh avocado. I hadn’t been to Mexico since I was a little girl, and I had forgotten the nostalgic feeling of being on my ancestral land.
I peer out the window at the expansive land that surrounds the home. I know the graveyard sits to the right side, and to the left, I see the animals and the farm stretching far beyond my view. Vero told me she has been attending to the house for the last year and had given me a private tour.
Most of the rooms in the house are empty. I let my mind play and dream up ideas for what I would do with each room. Daydreaming is not dangerous. Succumbing to the delusions of what ifs, though, would be. The home is big, but it also feels lonely. Day three without Silas makes my heart weary.
I need to find a way to contact my family. I miss them. Despite my fucked up inability to empathize with them, I still love them. I still need them in my life. I will apologize for my behavior at the party and beg at their feet if I have to. Okay, scratch the begging part. Thalia Consuelo bows to no one.
The lonely days here at the gothic ranch are starting to take a toll on me. I pace the house, plotting Silas’s murder. Do you know the types of thoughts a mentally unstable bad bitch can conjure when in a weakened state? I have all but convinced myself Silas has another family he is attending to. That isn’t uncommon in Mexico.
It has only been five days, and this man has broken me. But I think I had been broken long before now. Maybe when the threats started. If a psychiatrist saw the way I had ranted to the chickens on the ranch, I would likely be locked up. You can only get so much from talking to chickens. I am desperate for human attention. Every night, I touch his side of the bed, where my fingers linger in the cold, empty space. Every morning, I lie awake, staring up at the ceiling, thinking of Silas and his second family. In that rage, I plan another escape, which motivates me to shower and get dressed. Then I wait patiently by the door like a little dog for Vero.
The woman was a bit cold at first. Granted, I had tried to tempt her to betray her boss, whom she talks about as if he is her lord and savior. She’s warmed up to me, though. I found her soft spot when I asked about the town’s history. This woman knows everybody and everything about everybody. I don’t even know the people she is telling me about, and yet I am hooked on the gossip.
Vero’s sister is on husband number three, and every one of them has mysteriously died within a year of marriage. What a badass . I might need to learn some pointers from her. Every morning, I wait by the window, and every night, I beg Vero to stay a bit longer. She never had her own children, and her husband has passed, so it doesn’t take much convincing. The only downside is I have to watch her favorite Spanish novelas, despite the cringeworthy love scenes.
I’m sitting inside the large window in the front sitting room that overlooks the driveway. My eyes bounce between the clock and the window—nine oh-nine. Another twenty minutes pass, and my chest expands when I finally see Vero coming up the long driveway. She’s not alone, though. Another person walks beside her. The closer they get, the more I can make out the other person. Her bust is hidden behind a black dress shirt, with rolled-up sleeves displaying an array of tattoos. She wears black dress pants and shoes. Her hair is long and tightly braided to show her faded undercut. They get closer to the house, and I run to the couch and pretend to read a book on the table.
“Se?ora Macias,” Vero calls out before her eyes find mine. Her brows pinch together, and her eyes zoom in on the book in my lap. I look down to find The Holy Bible sitting there. Not a book I would usually choose. Vero shakes her head, then looks at the tall woman that dwarfs her.
“Se?ora Macias, this is Alejandra Macias.” Our new visitor walks toward me and offers a soft hand.
“Ale,” she says. I extend my hand to hers and take in the similar but more delicate features she shares with Silas. She has his straight nose and full lips. Her eyes, however, are not the same demon-possessed ones Prince Uncharming has. Hers are lighter and friendly.
“Where’s Silas?” I ask, dropping my hand back to my side.
“Miss him already?” I raise a brow, unamused, and she laughs.
“He should be back tonight. He sent me to come check on you. Is everything alright? Vero been good to you?”
“Vero’s been a fucking saint.” And she has been. She makes me the best café de la olla, she hand washes my clothes, and yesterday, she ran me a bath and brushed out my hair. My mommy issues are definitely showing through with the amount of times I have teared up when this woman does something kind for me. The same way Olivia had cared for me when we were younger.
“Do you have a phone, by chance?” I ask Ale.
“I do, but I’d like to keep my life,” she responds.
I sigh and walk up the stairs, back toward the bedroom. I flop to the bed and lie there. Ale follows me and stands in the doorway. She looks down at the vanity, where Silas left the picture of our wedding day. She picks it up and smiles at it.
“You know he did all this for you?” I sit up, and she walks to the bed to sit beside me. “Aurelio would never give Silas much information on you; not if it was something that would jeopardize your safety. But Axel—Axel would play with Silas’s emotions. Bribe him with small tidbits about you. What you liked, your favorite movies, your favorite color.” She smiles to herself, and I look down at the picture in her hands.
“It wasn’t long before he didn’t have to ask Axel anything. Your fame had spread all over the border towns. When the time came to restore the house, Silas built something fit for his Goth Queen.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down. In my life, if I wanted something, I had to be the one to make it happen. I had to make sacrifices, even if it meant swallowing my pride to access my trust fund. People didn’t build things for me. They watched in awe as I built them myself. They’d praise me for my strength, but they were ghosts the moment my strength wavered.
“Why didn’t he come back for me?” I whisper. The silence grows between us before Ale clears her throat.
“At first, it was because he didn’t trust you. After, it was because Aurelio warned him not to.”
I stand up and cross my arms as I begin pacing the room. Ale grabs my arms to stop my nervous behavior.
“I don’t know why he brought you here, Thalia, but I do know anyone who tries to take you from him again, myself included, would find themselves six feet under.”