Chapter 28
TWENTY EIGHT
RUELLA
A warmth I’ve never felt before pulls me from sleep, the gentle press of weight across my stomach sending a flicker of panic through my veins.
My body goes still, breath caught somewhere between dream and waking.
The instinct to scream claws up my throat, but I swallow it down before I startle whoever lies beside me.
My eyes adjust to the dim light. This isn’t my room.
The sheets are darker, heavier. The bed frame carved from deep wood.
A television glows faintly on the opposite wall, its reflection rippling across the floorboards.
I close my eyes and inhale slowly as last night begins to play out behind my eyelids, the fundraiser, Asher’s voice cutting through the noise as he claimed me in front of everyone, his hands, his mouth, the quiet that followed.
He’d promised three more after the first, and he’s nothing if not a man of his word.
A smile ghosts over my lips as I stretch, the ache between my thighs both tender and electric.
A soft snore interrupts the memory. I turn, and there he is, Asher, utterly at peace. The sharpness he wears like armour smoothed away in sleep. My chest tightens.
He appears almost holy like this.
And he’s mine.
For now.
I run my fingertip down the bridge of his nose and the wrinkle it causes from the sensation makes him look younger than his years.
When he settles again, I slowly shift out of his embrace and replace myself with a pillow.
I roll my tongue around my mouth and grimace; it is as dry as the Sahara Desert from all the tequila.
I grab one of Asher’s t-shirts from the back of his chair by the desk and pull it on before heading to the kitchenette.
After guzzling down two cold glasses of water, I decide to make a coffee with the overly fancy coffee machine on the counter, I give up trying to work it out and select a random button on the touch screen.
When I am happy with the sound of grinding beans, I glance around for my bag and phone.
The barely usable clutch is dropped on the floor to the side of the sofa and my cheeks flush at the memory of Asher using my mouth last night.
He played my body like a fiddle, everything that came out of his mouth was like liquid gold, melting me into putty in his hands.
And holy hell, did he know how to use those hands.
I shake my head from the memory and grab my bag, hoping to text Piper to make sure she had a good night. I wanted to get closer to her to be able to get some information, but instead my night turned into something else. Asher derailed it, but it was worth it.
I groan when I go to open my messages but find my phone out of battery. I search around the living area and find a charger.
“Yes,” I leave it by the side table and wait for it to get a little battery while I finish making my coffee.
I bring the warm cup to lips and enjoy the burn when I take the first sip, half leaning against the counter.
The sun is just rising above the horizon, casting a golden glow around the apartment style room, in odds with the frost I can see glistening on top of the trees.
I am lost in the quiet of the morning, more peaceful that I have ever felt after the best sleep of my life. I don’t think I have ever felt as safe as within Asher’s warm arms.
The buzzing of my phone goes on and on and on with text after text coming through.
I rush over and grab it, seeing what gossip Corden will have for me after leaving him at the fundraiser.
My face drops.
“Shit,”
Yes, there are messages left from Corden, Deena and Piper. But it is the ones from my father that have me grabbing my things and quickly leaving as quietly as possible.
I feel my eyes burn with unshed tears as I run barefoot through the empty house and through the north wing towards Hastings.
My focus lingering on the hidden passageway, covered by the mysterious gothic golden mirror.
I never told my father about finding the codes left by Marlowe, I had too much on my mind. No wonder he is so pissed.
Hopefully if I get back to my room and give him a call, telling him about the code and the passageway, he won’t come by and force me to give up Piper’s information.
I am shivering and my toes are numb by the time I successfully get to the stairway to my room without seeing anyone. On a good day, it would be too early for the other students, but after last night there will be a few sore heads this morning.
I unlock my door, ready to head straight for my bed, when my phone buzzes dragging my focus away as I let the door close behind me.
I start to type out an apology, but a voice has my blood running cold.
“So instead of doing what I put you here to do, you are busy off spreading your legs for someone,”
My attention snaps to the chair by my desk and widen at the sight of my father. He is sat with his leg crossed over the other, suit crumpled slightly and a furious look on his face.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he stands to his full height.
His hands rubbing down the front of his jacket as he cracks his neck to the side.
I feel my shoulders drop. There is no use in defending myself when he gets like this, unfortunately I have seen it a thousand times, and each time ends the same.
“You would think the promise of money and freedom would keep you focused, but here we are,” He steps up to me, his overly polished shoes practically on top of mine.
“I have been sat here most of the night waiting for you to get back. Every hour giving me more time to think of what I want to do to you,” The lifting of his hand making me flinch, but he just smiles as his finger runs down my cheek. “Anything new to tell me?”
I pause. It’s a little too long for his liking. His other hand lifts fast as he back hands me, the force making my neck crack along with the blood flooding my mouth from my inner cheek.
I ignore the pain and make sure I put space between us, putting myself in a fighting stance and clocking his every move for the next attack.
He snickers, “You try this every time Ruella, but even after all those classes, you still aren’t strong enough to stop me,” He starts to move closer, and I back up, cursing when my t-shirt meets the wood of the door.
“Now, do you have anything new for me?” He repeats and I decide I am done.
Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him.
Even now after everything, I think there was a part of me that hoped if I found out where Marlowe is he might start to see me different, start to see my worth.
Yet, no matter what I do, this man will never want me or love me. I am done living like this.
“No,” I say with hatred oozing from my veins.
“Well, that’s disappointing Ruella,” He rolls the gold ring on his middle finger.
“Fuck you,” I shout, my hand shoots out and I manage to punch him in the face. His head tilts back and he lets out a condescending laugh, lifting his hand to wipe the smidge of blood away from his lip.
I go to hit him again, but he grabs my fist, twists and punches me in the ribs.
The act knocks the breath from my lungs as I bend over.
The pressure in my side making me almost pass out.
He grabs me by the throat and smashes me into the door, my vision going blurry as I claw at his hand tightening around my airways.
He comes into my face, the smell of stale cigars and peanuts wafting from his mouth makes my stomach roll.
“Now, you are going to take your punishment and then in three days’ time you are going to hand over those documents. All of them,” He scowls. “Got it?”
I stay silent. I will hand over the documents, but Pipers will not be included. I will never put her on this man’s radar. I mentally give myself two weeks to come up with an escape plan, one that doesn’t include my father and might allow me to keep Asher.
Asher.
He fills my thoughts and I let every memory and feeling wash over me as my father starts his punishment. With every punch I remember Asher’s caresses, with each feeling of helplessness, I remember his safe arms. In some way I know I will be okay.
And when I pass out, it’s not with my father’s vicious face being the final thing I see like usual.
It’s Asher.
***
There is a pounding on my door and it won’t stop. It drags me from my uncomfortable sleep, my head already pounding without the added assault on my ears.
I roll over and wince at the pain in my ribs and face, my left eye isn’t as swollen as it was yesterday, but the cut on my lip keeps opening with each minor movement. I sit up with a groan, my eyes protesting the afternoon sun as it dips low enough to blind me from my window.
The pounding stops and I almost sink back down into my pit of sorrow when his voice booms through the gap in the door.
“Open the door Ruella,”
I rub my temples as I fight to stay silent. I want to go to him and open the door, I want to breathe him in and never let him go, but how would I explain this.
“I know you are in there; I spoke to your lecturers, and they said you are sick,” What happened to confidentiality.
“Corden said you haven’t left your room,” He sounds agitated.
“Why aren’t you replying to my texts?” That one comes out a little quieter.
I wanted to reply, but I could only see out of one eye and each time I went to pick up my phone my ribs protested.
I have barely been awake today other than sending an email to the academy to explain my “sickness”.
I still stay silent.
I listen as a puff of air leaves his mouth.
“Ruella, if you don’t answer and open the door, I am going to kick it in,” My eyes widen, he wouldn’t really.
“Three,”
I stay.
“Two,”
I shift nervously. The door is solid enough to hold him, isn’t it?
“One,”
I jump up, ignoring the pain in my body. “Wait,” I shout. “Hold on you psycho,”
“Guess we are a match made in heaven then. Open the door,”