Maria, the always strong, always confident, never taking anyone's shit kind of woman, is trembling in fright when she pushes the caddy into my arms, not even meeting my eyes. "Clean. Clean," she whispers, pleading with me and probably having no idea of the beating I just endured.
I glance at Jackson, who stands only a few feet away. He stays silent, but I can see the hard, disapproving stare he's giving his cousin.
The only eyes on me are from the one person I don't want to be staring at me. And if looks could kill, I'd drop dead on the spot. Lucien's cold glare sends a shiver up my spine. It's as if he's looking right through me.
Huffing, I set the caddy down and snap on a pair of sterile gloves. Then I retrieve a small, plastic garbage bag and begin to pick up the broken pieces of my plate and the larger pieces of food, placing everything into the bag.
"Start scrubbing the floor after you're done cleaning up your fucking mess. I want this entire room spotless," Lucien demands with a tight voice. Then he looks up at the others in the room and says, "Don't let her leave until it is."
And with that, he turns and leaves the room, leaving the three of us staring after him in bewilderment.
The entire room? That will take me all night. This room is bigger than most people's apartments.
Maria eventually brings me a bucket of water and adds a copious amount of some kind of anti-bacterial floor cleaner.
"I'll help," she whispers, but I wave her off.
"I made the mess. I'll clean it," I tell her before hiking my skirt up to my knees and kneeling on the floor. No one else should have to clean up after something I did. It was my decision to act out, so now I have to deal with the consequences…even if I'm alreadyfeelingthem.
I grab a sponge, soak it in the soapy water and begin to scrub. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I hold back my anger and my tears.
Angrily, I dump the sponge back into the soapy water and scrub the floor vigorously.
Jackson looms over me, and I can tell that he wants to say something. But he keeps his mouth shut, and so does Maria. No one needs to say anything that hasn't already been said. And besides, I'm too mortified to even talk to them right now.
I keep my face placid, schooling my features even though my knees are already starting to hurt from being pressed against the hard, unforgiving tile.
I scrub and scrub and scrub the floor even though it feels like knives are stabbing through my kneecaps, my back is so sore that it takes everything in me not to scream out in pain, my fingers are completely numb, and my entire backside and thighs feel like they're on fire from the beating I received earlier at the hands of that monster.
My body is screaming in protest, but I don't stop. I focus on the task at hand, wanting to complete it just to spite him. I'm sure Lucien expects me to break.
Well, he has another thing coming.
Because I won't break. Not now. Not ever. This is a cakewalk compared to what I've been through in the past. He just doesn't know that.
When I've gone around the entire room and am at the same place in which I had started, Jackson softly says, "That's enough, Adeline."
I stare down at my trembling hands that are red, sore and pruned from the water, and I begin to sob uncontrollably.
Everyone has their breaking point, and I guess I just reached mine.
Jackson's strong hands grip my arms. "Can you stand?" he whispers.
I shake my head. Gently, so gently, he helps me up, and I cry out as the pain I've been pushing out of my mind for hours assaults me all at once.
Jackson then scoops me up in his arms; and I collapse in exhaustion against his chest, breathing in his clean, masculine scent. "You are one tough chick," he tells me with a sad chuckle. Then he looks to Maria and says, "Bring my bag and a glass of water to my room."
To his room?
I stay quiet as Jackson carries me upstairs. He's strong, not even breaking a sweat when we reach the top of the tall staircase.
We go to the left, and my eyes widen when we pass by that god-awful bedroom I've been forced to stay in. To my relief, we continue down the hall, and he stops in front of a different door and pushes it open.
The room is large with several pieces of matching dark wood furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows and an en suite. A large, four-poster, king-sized bed rests in the center of the room on a geometric brown and blue rug with a fireplace nestled against the opposite wall. There are some clothes strewn about on the floor and a couple empty bottles of water sitting on the dark cherry writing desk. Jackson is clearly the exact opposite of his cousin. I can't imagine that Lucien lets a single piece of dirty clothing on the floor of his own bedroom.
Scowling and internally chiding myself for even thinking about my captor, I let out a soft sigh when Jackson lays me down in the middle of his bed on my stomach. The comforter is slightly rumpled, but the bed feels like heaven against my aching body.
I look up Jackson, and he gives me a small smile. "I'm sorry about what happened down there," he says softly. "Lucien can be…well, he's…" He stops talking and shakes his head, clearly wanting to apologize for his cousin, but not knowing where to start.
