Page 18 of Rogue Voice
“That’s not what I asked.” He cut another piece of veal and offered it. She leaned forward and took it in her mouth.
“This is so good,” she muttered.
His cock hardened further, and he was glad for the table between them. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Rogue said, stabbing at another piece. “Maybe then you’ll start trusting me.”
This time, Beatriz leaned back, away from the fork, rather than towards it. “I don’t want to know your secrets.”
“Okay. Then you tell me one. Tell me why you don’t eat.”
“I eat,” she said defensively.
He didn’t think it made sense to tell her he’d been watching her. He offered her another bite. This time, she took it, staring at the door. She was right. The server had been gone a long time. He would have found a band-aid by now and would be on his way back.
“I don’t think my uncle would like me to talk about this with a stranger,” she said.
Rogue smiled. Bit by bit, she’d finished the entire plate. He didn’t remember a meal ever giving him this much pleasure before. He placed the knife and fork down on the plate and looked up.
“We’re not strangers. I’m a friend, remember? Your cousin and I go way back.”
It was exactly the wrong thing to say, and Rogue knew it as soon as the words were out. Beatriz’s face paled. She swallowed convulsively, and for an instant he wondered if the food she’d consumed would make its way back up. He watched as she struggled, then finally took control of herself. “I have to go,” she said, standing up quickly.
Rogue stood up as well, a reflexive action, even though he’d already seen how nervous she got whenever he was near. He forced himself to remain where he was, as she left the room. By the time the server came back, Rogue was back in his original seat, staring at the empty plate.
“It stopped bleeding. I don’t need the band-aid anymore,” he said. He felt a stab of regret at seeing the man’s sweaty brow, but it’d been worth it. Something was wrong with Beatriz, and he had to find out what it was.
8
Bea
What did I do?Why did I do that?
She was making so many mistakes. One after the other. If Rogue told on her, her uncle was going to kill her or at the very least, lock her in the cellar again.
The worst thing hadn’t been the hunger—that feeling of her stomach acids churning, trying to digest food that simply wasn’t there, had gone away after a while, leaving an odd emptiness—or even the hallucinations, or the thought that her uncle might choose to leave her there, that she would languish in that dark, damp cellar until she starved.
No.The worst thing had been the guilt—the knowledge that she deserved what was happening to her. That she’d wasted her life. That she’d chosen her own comfort over other people’s lives, and that if she died there, she’d never get the chance to fix it.
She couldn’t even claim ignorance. If she was honest with herself, she’d known, from an early age, what kind of business her father dealt in. She’d seen first-hand the impact of his business in the town where they lived. But she’d loved her father, so she’d turned a blind eye to it.
You were a child.You couldn’t be expected…She’d been a child, yes. And then she’d grown up. She’d allowed her father to ship her off to the convent school, and never looked back. She hadn’t once asked him to stop. He might have done so if she’d asked. He’d loved her. But she’d never asked, and now she’d never know.
After her father’s death, her uncle Emiliano had taken over. If her father had been a tough man and his business a dreadful, unspeakable thing, Uncle Emiliano was a hundred times worse. He was a hound, an expert at sniffing out people’s weaknesses and at exploiting them.
By the time Emiliano had brought her out of the cellar that time, Bea had been so weak she could hardly stand. Her uncle had dragged her to the dining room and explained the rules.
So many rules—the parts of the hacienda she was no longer allowed to go to, what her exercise routine should look like, exactly when and how much she would eat from now on, what would happen if she ever broke the rules.
Her uncle claimed he wanted her to look pretty. But Bea didn’t think her jutting hipbones and all but disappearing breasts were pretty. She knew her uncle, and it was all about control. That’s what he craved. That’s why he liked her hungry. She’d been hungry every minute of every day since. Until today, when another man had fed her his own dinner. Whatever happened, she was determined to enjoy this feeling—this unexpected absence of hunger.
She shivered, remembering the intimacy of the moment when her lips had touched his fork—remembering the intensityin his gray eyes as he’d fed her, bite after bite, until the plate was empty.
God.What did I do?If he tells my uncle…
But he wouldn’t. She didn’t understand why Rogue had chosen to feed her, but she knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t be talking to her uncle about it. Just like he hadn’t said anything about Manuel, or the book.
She steeled herself against the gratitude she couldn’t help but feel.He might have fed you.He might have beautiful eyes. But he’s not a good man. He works for Uncle Emiliano.She didn’t know what it was that Rogue was doing for her uncle exactly, but he was helping him. Helping him hurt others.He’s as guilty as I am.
Tears came to her eyes, but she pushed them back. She had to stay calm, or she was going to end up throwing up. And that would just be downright stupid, after the risks she’d taken. She took a deep breath, then another. She was only just starting to relax when she heard the sound of a key in the front door.
