Chapter 11
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Julia
I can’t believe I mistook him for my mom. Diosito, how about you open a hole in the ground so I can crawl in there?
I wish I could have told him why I slept so deeply and felt so relaxed.
I’ve been on the road for seven days. Seven days of sleeping with one eye open and one closed, seven days of nightmares about Martin haunting me, seven days of hearing my mom’s scream and seeing the flames engulf the house I grew up in.
And it wasn’t just that. It was him . My body seems to have gotten the message that he’s here to protect us, and every part of me relaxed so much that you could have run a bulldozer over me without me feeling anything.
I quickly slip on a pair of black pants, some sneakers, and a top he left for me and step out of the room.
He’s waiting for me down the hall, typing something on his phone. When he notices me, he says curtly, “Back. We need to take care of something.”
I frown at him but don’t comment. Who knows what his problem is this morning, making him so grumpy. At least he didn’t douse me with the cold water over my head; otherwise, those five minutes would have turned into thirty, given how long it takes me to dry my hair.
As we enter the room, he heads toward one of the nightstands, where he retrieves a toiletry bag filled with creams and...makeup?
“We need to give you some bruises, or they’ll suspect something’s not right.”
His words land heavily on me, confirming once again what kind of madhouse I’m in. Here, if a woman isn’t battered, she’s clearly not doing her job right.
Great .
In ten minutes, my hands are covered with purple bruises, but I notice him frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
He studies me and, without saying a word, places a hand around my neck. For a moment, panic and anxiety surge up through my chest, and all I can think about are Martin’s hands on me.
What is he doing?
I place my hand over his, though aware he’s not pressing down, because I don’t understand what he wants to do.
He pulls out a pencil and gently traces around his fingers, and then it clicks. He wants to draw bruises on my neck that resemble his fingerprints.
As he does this, his scent of rosemary and something woodsy, incense-like, washes over me, and I close my eyes.
It’s just for a moment, but I swear my senses relax just from the presence of these aromas.
When I open my eyes, his gaze meets mine, and it’s impossible not to get lost in his eyes. I don’t think he realizes what a masterpiece they are, and I wish I could memorize them. They are this unique shade of gray, and there’s something warm in them. Something human. Vulnerable.
Physically, I know I can’t offer him any comfort, but I hope my eyes convey how sorry I am for what he’s endured here.
He hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t needed to. The trauma in his eyes is so visible that I feel it weighing on me physically.
He clears his throat, and a bit of that vulnerability disappears.
“I don’t need your pity, Julia. You’re ready now. Let’s go!”
I feel the moment snap, and I’m not sure why this bothers me. Because it wasn’t pity I felt, it was the need to console him somehow, and that’s a bigger problem. Because I’m not here to stay.
The hallway is lined with landscape photographs, some black and white, others in color, and I notice just how many rooms there are.
How many people live in this house?
When we reach the ground floor, I hear voices coming from the left and know that’s where we’re headed. We enter a dining room that’s more suited for the Queen of England and her entire dynasty than for a normal family. Four men turn toward us.
At the head of the table is the old man with a slimy grin on his face. I saw the state of the girl from yesterday when he forced his assistant to drag her out of the room.
The sight of blood covering half of her body was nothing compared to what I’ve witnessed.
The only thing that helped me maintain a neutral expression was everything I saw on that ship that brought us here.
Dozens of girls, raped, beaten, tortured, some with visible wounds, all designed to send a message: don’t try to escape if you value your pathetic life.
“Maksim, I’m delighted to see you grace us with your presence this morning.”
The old man’s voice resonates, and I have to suppress the shiver running through my entire body. His voice is like a sticky residue on your skin that makes you want to scrub it off.
Maksim ignores him and takes a seat at the table, leaving a chair for me beside him.
“Since when do we dine with all the whores?”
The new voice belongs to a blond man in his thirties, who scrutinizes me with suspicion. I remind myself to keep my head down and follow the advice of the only person who seems to care about my safety.
But there’s malice in this man’s gaze. It’s as if the light intentionally avoids hitting his eyes.
The next second, he lets out a scream, and when I glance at his hand, I see a knife lodged in it. My eyes widen involuntarily as I watch him try to grasp the handle to pull it out, but the tip is stuck in the table.
I turn to Maksim, who calmly chews slices of apple.
What the hell? Did he just throw that knife because of me?
“Maksim,” the older man’s voice rings out, calm but with a hint of irritation.
My roommate remains silent, continuing to eat those damn apple slices as if nothing happened.
“Uncle, he’s losing control. Who knows what he’ll do next? And for what? Because I spoke about his new whore?” The blond man yells, and I involuntarily grimace at the word.
“Her name is Julia.” Maksim’s voice is calculated and cold. “You received a warning yesterday.”
A silence falls over the table, and I want to sink into the ground at how thick the tension is.
“She’s just a piece of meat, Maksim,” the old man states while meticulously cutting vegetables on his plate.
“She’s my piece of meat.”
“I won’t let her sit at the table with us; who knows what diseases she carries?” the man finally says after pulling the knife out of his hand.
Maksim ignores him, but I understand his tactic, although I don’t think he realizes his silence only draws more attention to us.
I don’t want to give this jerk any reason to think I’m diseased, so I start to rise; I don’t need to eat here, and I don’t want to cause any more problems.
I’ve likely already caused enough.
Instantly, a hand wraps around my wrist, and when I turn with a frown, I see Maksim looking at the men at the table, his voice firm.
“Julia will sit at the table next to me every day. If anyone has a problem with that, you know where to find me after breakfast, and we can settle things in a more...permanent way.”
I think I forgot to breathe, hearing the venom in his voice, but something warm settles in my chest.
Suddenly, his hand tightens painfully, and he turns his gaze to me. The man looking back at me now isn’t the same one who distracted me to administer an injection I was terrified of. It’s the face of a man who is hollow inside.
“And you , when I tell you to do something, you will do it. If I tell you to kneel beside the table, you will. If I tell you to eat from my lap, you will. If I fucking tell you to lick this knife, you will do what you’re told. Understood?”
There’s such malice in his tone that I struggle to keep tears from welling up in my eyes. I know he has to do this, to show them I’m nothing to him, just a new toy he currently wants close, but the way he has to denigrate me to maintain his image makes my stomach churn.
I force myself not to cry and slowly sit back down. My appetite is almost nonexistent, but I remind myself I need strength to escape from here. Because now, more than ever, it is clear that I need to get out.
I try not to look up from my plate too often, and the conversation at the table turns to some ports and missing cargo.
I don’t know if that cargo represents other girls like me or something else, but I attempt to get a read on the people who were sure to make my life a nightmare if the man to my left hadn’t intervened.
The old man is clearly in charge. You can tell by his position at the table and how everyone’s tone becomes calmer and more respectful when speaking to him.
Immediately to his right is Maksim, and to his left is the blond individual, who holds a blood-soaked napkin to his hand.
One day, I’ll take your eyes out. I swear it, cabrón.
The rest of the meal unfolds extremely slowly, but eventually, Maksim stands up from his seat.
“Let’s go.”
Two words. One order. And in that moment, I feel a surge of anger, wanting to do the same to him. Rationally, I understand why he talks to me like this, as if I were his pet, but emotionally, it hurts.
As we leave the room, I notice something in his energy transform; it becomes calmer, more collected. I don’t dare say anything to him because all that would come out of my mouth is venom.
I don’t know how I’ll survive in this house, being treated like this in public without having any escape. I’m on the verge of becoming just like that wildcat he keeps calling me.
You can’t take everyone’s eyes out, Julia, por Dios!
No, but I can try. I close my eyes as I walk beside Maksim, feeling how I’m almost trembling with nerves and frustration.
I’ve never been silent, never been the submissive type.
Yet over the past few days, I’ve begged more than I have in my whole life.
And even though I know why I do it, I wish I could be myself without repercussions.
I had to bite my tongue several times during breakfast to not respond to insensitive remarks from some of the soldiers at the table.
Trapped in the chaos in my head, I feel something touch my pinky finger.
When I look down, I see our fingers intertwined, and without realizing it, I frown at his gesture.
“I’m sorry.”