Chapter 19 #3
The part of me that understands survival requires violence. That trusts no one. That learns to inflict pain before it can be inflicted on me.
The part that my father beat out of me when the police brought me home—because I'd complicated things. Because I'd ruined his precious deal with the LaRiccias.
You survived because of me, the voice reminds me. Because you learned the rules. The real ones. Not the bullshit they teach you in school or church.
Power is the only thing that matters. Control is the only safety.
I open my eyes and look at Emmaleen.
She's still bound. Still waiting. Her body tense with anticipation and fear.
And she's mine now.
Mine to protect.
Mine to keep safe from men like Rico. From families like the LaRiccias who would gut her and dump her body in the river without a second thought.
Mine to punish when she breaks the rules that will keep her alive.
The monster shifts inside my chest, settling into place like a key turning in a lock.
Yes. You understand now.
I do.
I hate it. Hate that this is who I am. Hate that I can't separate the protective instinct from the need to dominate, to control, to break her down until she's so thoroughly mine that no one else could ever touch her.
But I embrace it anyway.
Because the alternative is letting her go.
And I can't do that.
Won't.
Even if it makes me a monster.
I pick up the crop again.
"Emmaleen."
Her name tastes like possession on my tongue.
"Yes, Sir?" Her voice is hoarse. Wrecked.
"Do you understand why you're being punished?"
A pause. Then, quietly: "For the demerits I earned today."
"No."
I crouch beside her again, close enough that she can see my face. See whatever darkness is living in my eyes right now.
"You're being punished because you need to learn that this—" I gesture to the restraints, the collar, the marks on her skin, "—is the only way I know how to keep you safe."
Confusion flickers across her face. "Safe from what?"
"From everyone. From the LaRiccias. From Luca finding out you witnessed Rico's death. From my father, who would trade you just as easily as he traded me if it served his purposes."
I brush a strand of hair away from her face with surprising gentleness.
"From yourself. From the part of you that thinks you deserve men who hurt you."
Emmaleen's breath hitches.
"I'm going to hurt you," I tell her honestly. "But only in ways you can survive. Only in ways that make you stronger. Only in ways that teach you to trust that I will always—always—protect you."
Even when it means becoming the monster.
Especially then.
I stand, moving back into position behind her.
"Jino thinks we're building a slave," I say conversationally, tapping the crop against my thigh. "He thinks this is about breaking your will until you have no choice but to obey."
Crack.
The crop lands across the back of her thighs. She cries out, but it's different this time—less surprised, more resigned.
Good.
"But that's not what this is." Crack. "I don't want a slave." Crack. "I want you to choose this." Crack. "Every single day." Crack. "I want you to wake up and decide that being mine is better than being free."
Crack. Crack. Crack.
She's sobbing now. Full, gasping sobs that shake her entire body.
But she hasn't used her safe word.
Hasn't begged me to stop.
The monster purrs its approval.
She's strong enough. You chose well.
"Fifteen more," I tell her. "Count them."
Her voice is broken. Barely audible. "One."
Crack.
"Two."
Crack.
"Three."
I watch the marks multiply. Watch her skin turn from pink to red to something darker.
Watch her break.
And I hate myself for it.
For needing this. For needing her to understand that the only way I know how to love is through control. Through the careful application of pain that keeps us both safe from the real monsters outside these walls.
Because the truth is, the monster inside me isn't the thing I should be afraid of.
It's the only thing standing between Emmaleen and a bullet.
Between her and a shallow grave.
Between her and the same fate my father tried to give me when I was eight years old.
"Fourteen," she chokes out.
Crack.
"F-fifteen."
I set the crop down immediately.
Done.
She's done.
We're done.
For now.
I move to her restraints, unbuckling them quickly. Wrists first, then ankles.
When she's free, Emmaleen doesn't move. Just lies there, trembling, her face pressed against the marble.
I gather her up carefully—so fucking carefully—and carry her to the throne.
Sit down with her cradled in my lap like something precious.
Something worth keeping.
She curls into me instinctively, seeking warmth, comfort, safety from the man who just brutalized her.
And I give it to her.
Because that's the game, isn't it?
Break them down. Build them back up. Make yourself the source of both pain and relief until they can't tell the difference anymore.
Until they need you for both.
The monster knows this.
Has always known this.
"I've got you," I murmur against her hair. "You did so well. So fucking well."
Emmaleen doesn't respond. Just shakes silently against my chest.
And I hold her.
Hating myself.
Needing her.
Knowing that tomorrow, Jino will have her. Will touch her, train her, push her further into this life I'm building for her.
This cage.
This prison.
This salvation.
This is love, the monster whispers. The only kind you know how to give.
And may God have mercy on both of us.
Because I won't.