My brow arches. “Then tell me.”
“Why?” she asks softly, confusion etched on her features.
“Why not?”
Priscilla doesn’t answer; she just focuses on what she came here to do. Clean up her resource. That’s what we have been reduced to. A means to an end, nothing more. My blood simmers until it comes to a full boil. Anger rears its ugly head, making it hard not to bash her head in, shockingly enough I swallow the urge and instead try to make small talk. “How many?”
She freezes before slowly dragging her gaze to meet mine. A long and low sigh escapes her lips before her chin lowers to her chest, muttering, “Just a couple before you two.”
Priscilla resumes her work, and my stomach rolls before it sinks to the pit of my being. I swallow hard, leaning into the wall as if somehow I can escape the woman before me. But there’snowhereto go. There’s a tingle in my chest, one that I try to push away, to keep her talking because that’s the only way out. “If you want a baby so badly, why not just leave him? You’re clearly younger.” I raise a brow, studying her movements to somehow decipher if there’s any kind of hesitation within them. She stops, glaring daggers at me. Her head slowly tilts, studying my angle. “You know nothing. Wives aren’t meant to walk out of their marriage when things get rough. Once our family is complete, this won’t happen again.”
I can’t help the snicker that escapes from my lips. Or how quickly my hands ball up at my sides. “That’s the thing, what if it doesn’t stop. What if–?”
Priscilla gives me a stern look, cutting my words off before I have a chance to voice reason. “I’m just here to help. You need that cleaned out,” she mutters as she begins to set up.
My eyes follow each movement of her hands as she starts to clean the outer layers. The stitches are swollen, crusted with pus, and pulled so tightly you can’t see the ragged edges. Drifting my attention towards her face, I notice a bruise on her cheek. The purple mark tells me it’s new. A flower freshly bloomed. He must have gotten to her, too.
“He did that to you?” I ask, knowing I shouldn’t.Why the fuck do I care?But that’s the kind of man that I am. The kind who cares about others. A man who was raised to never lift a finger to hurt a woman. A man who is struggling with my upbringing every time this woman appears. Priscilla doesn’t answer, but her silence is the only response I need. Harryhurtsher, too. Her shaky hands continue to clean out my wound. “It was my suggestion. I wanted a child so desperately that I didn’t care how it happened.” Her voice breaks a bit. “But now, we are too far gone, and the only way it would be worth it is if that child happens,” she adds as tears fall from her eyes. Silence is all I give her because pity or humanising her would change the fact that she is responsible. Priscilla sighs as she discards the gauze she used to clean the wound. “You want to stop him from touching her. Someone needs to get pregnant,” she murmurs. “It would work better if I were the one who carries this child.”
I give her a disgusted look, and she flinches as if I slapped her, but I don’t care. Not when she laid out the rules for the game. One, I will play willingly if it means keeping Ronnie sitting on the bench. “I’ll do it,ifyou keep that bastard from touching her,” I say through gritted teeth, a smile spreading across her face. “I don’t care what happens to me. But I do care what happens to her.”
“Are you in love with her?”
I look over at Ronnie, who seems more settled. It takes a minute for me to answer. “Yes, always been.”
“I thought—”
“We are,” I answer her question before she has a chance to finish it. Ending the small talk, since she’s trying to bait me. I need a deal, not a fucking heart-to-heart. Looking down at her hands, I notice she’s done and now sits on the ground with a look of desire. Heavy and lustful, her shaky hands move towards my jaw. A tear streams down her face, and her head tilts when our skin connects. Every nerve in my body sets off, and the urge to recoil becomes hard to repel. But I remain firm. It’s not like I have much of a choice. I either get this woman pregnant, or they will force me to watch Ronnie get raped by Harry, or worse, force me to do it. I know I promised her and Iwould. Even though to me, it still feels like a violation. This wouldn’t be a choice if we weren’t in this situation. She’s only choosing the lesser evil. But I’m a man of my word, if it comes to it—Iwould. Doesn’t mean I want to. After all these years, touching her should be a gift, not a punishment wrapped in everything I ever wanted. I gulp, swallowing the knot building in my throat, trying to focus on Priscilla, who waits for my answer. The only response I can muster is action. My hands move down to my pants, unbuckling them, giving her access to my cock. “Get what you need.”
Priscilla’s eyes widen in shock, but she quickly composes herself and nods in understanding. Her hands tremble slightly as she reaches for me, and I try to steel myself against her touch. I try to be anywhere but here…
This is the means to our escape.
This is the only way.
It takes everything in me not to snap her neck for objectification. The invasion. The complete parts of me—they’ve ripped away. The feeling just makes me angrier, and I slam into her harder, my hips moving faster, pounding into her. I close my eyes and fuck her until the warmth gathers in my core. Pleasure and shame merging into one sickening orgasm. Letting out a deep breath, I tumble into the feeling, letting the wave of guilt and pain crash over me once again. And Ispill inside her. “Ronnie…” I whisper, the sound barely audible, my hands falling to my side. Priscilla remains frozen, unsure of what to do. I wish she would get off. I hope that this will be enough to give her the child she needs.
“Get off me,” I mutter under my breath. Wrestling the urge to puke, as my stomach churns. “Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me.”
Thankfully, she complies without a word. The cold burrows into my heated flesh when she steps away. I look down at the ground, not daring to look at Priscilla. The bile works its way up my oesophagus, and before I know it, I’m gagging. My eyes blur and burn with tears. I can’t even look at Ronnie without feeling like shit.
“She’s lucky to have you.”
I don’t respond to her. What the fuck am I supposed to say?Yeah, it must be nice… Instead, my lips part to mindlessly mumble, “You could be lucky too. Not every touch should leave you banged up and bruised.” Priscilla freezes for a moment, letting my words linger in the air before clearing her throat. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she says before disappearing behind the door. I lean the back of my head against the wall, place my arm on my right knee, and just watch over the girl I’ve been in love with ever since I was a kid.
Chapter Twenty
Veronica
Cramps…
Intensive and unyielding cramps pull me out of my sleep. I groan, curling deeper into myself, trying to soothe the ache. My shaky fingers slip past the waistband of my pants, and sure enough, the wetness on my fingertips tells me I’m bleeding. Finally, I’m on my period, which I’m sure won’t please Harry. I know I should be scared, but I can’t help but feel a small window of relief, and trust me, that’s been hard to come by. Thankfully, this means he won’t touch me, and for that, I couldn’t be happier. Without waking Iz, I sit upright and begin to tear pieces from my shirt, exposing my midriff.
I can’t just bleed into my pants; I need some kind of dignity to hold onto in this hell. Not that it would do much, the piece of fabric is thin and too small to hold any real flow. This is just for me. I fold the cloth into a rectangle before placing it between my legs. Once I’m done, I lean back into the cold wall, watching the slow rise of Iz’s chest. Thanks to the moon that illuminates his skin, I can make out his features in the darkness of the basement.
Once again, my finger moves towards the empty air and traces the outline of his nose, the pout of his lips, before my eyes land on his leg. The bandage is now clean, which makes me feel a little better about it. I can tell he’s in pain; his features, instead of relaxed, are pained even in his sleep. I ball my hand into a fist before bringing it to my mouth and biting down. It’s become a habit, one I hate for him to see. He’s already chipping, and fuck, there’s barely anything left inside of me. I can’t let him see me this way. So I clamp down, reopening the fresh marks. Thetang of blood fills my mouth, something that would have disgusted me before, now instantly soothes me. That’s how broken I am. The sensation has become a sudden rush for me. The pain mingles with the memories of Priscilla and Iz. The spot in my chest becomes instantly tender, aching with no reprieve. Suffocating me. I hate her. Bringing my knees to my chest, I rest my head on the firm bone.
Is it bad to say that I’m happy it was him and not me?
