Page 35 of Shame
I can’t look Lucas in the eyes as I step out of the car. I’m shaking and fight to get my breathing back under control. He looked so crushed. As if I took his whole being and stomped on it. He is such a good man, he doesn’t deserve someone like me, he should find a way to get out of this life before he loses his soul, like the rest of them.
The skin on my back crawls. It’s as if there’s a force field between us, a silent voice is urging me to turn around, to take him up on his offer, to flee. I look up at the imposing door. I go in there, and I get hurt. It’s like a law of nature, like gravity. Squaring my shoulders, I refuse to turn to look at him. If I do, I can’t take the next step.
My heart, the remains of the old Carmen, screams at me to run. My mind tells me the lesser of two evils is to keep walking.
I’ve always been a practical girl. Emotions get you killed.
When the door swings open and an expressionless Ivan appears, it’s too late to change my mind. I raise my chin and give him a curt nod. He doesn’t show one single emotion as I pass him, no leering gaze, no raised eyebrow, no glances at my boobs, not even a sign of recognition.
I do not get that man.
My mind must have been numbed, and maybe the argument with Lucas distracted me, but when the door slams shut and I yet again stand in the beautiful hallway, it hits me full force. I’m back. I’m in the beast’s den again, willingly walking to my doom. My chest tightens and I swallow against the panic as I walk behind Ivan to the door that hides Salvatore’s office.
I’m not gonna cry. I’m not. Maybe from pain, but not from fear.
Ivan knocks, then he pulls open the door and motions for me to enter, alone.
I try to wiggle my hips seductively as I set my foot on the red, gigantic oriental carpet on the dark hardwood floor in Salvatore’s office, but in reality, I can’t even feel my legs, so I have no idea how it comes off.
He seems engulfed in some paperwork, but when the door falls closed behind me, he looks up, his pitch-black gaze landing on me.
“Miss Moreno. We meet again. What a pleasure seeing you here.”
I don’t say anything, frozen to the spot.
“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘the pleasure is all mine’?”
“I had the impression you don’t like a liar.”
Salvatore barks out a laugh and stands, motioning for me to come closer. My heart thuds hard as I force my legs to move until we meet in the middle.
He grabs my cheek and turns my head from side to side. “Go wash off. I want to see you.”
I frown. I don’t understand.
“The makeup,” he snarls. “Get that shit off.”
“Okay, uhm…” I look around, unsure where to go.
He motions toward a side door, barely visible next to heavy bookshelves at the far end of the room. I stumble toward it, my legs feeling as if they’re filled with lead. I have a ton of foundation on to hide the little bruising that’s left. He wants to see it. The fucking bastard wants to see what he did to me.
I feel sick as I wash and lather, wash, lather and wash. The mascara is a bitch to get rid of, but finally my face is naked. I wipe off and meet my gaze in the mirror, meet the scared little girl in there, she’s what’s left of me. Again, I’m in the claws of the beast. I know I’m stalling. I might as well get it over with. A small part of me hopes he’ll take pity on me and be less rough, but I know he won’t. He wants to break me. He broke my body. He wants my soul. I’d give it if I could just to get out of here, and I don’t know what is in me that keeps me sane, that defies his manipulations.
I exit the restroom and walk back out, straight up to him. He’s sitting behind his desk again. I glance at the surface where he and Ivan took me, where I whimpered and bled, then I blink and meet his eyes. I come to a stop a few inches from his knees.
“Now, that’s better,” he rumbles. “Let me look at you.”
I turn my head from side to side, then I grab my hair and pull it up, letting him see the barely visible strangle marks around my neck from when his men assaulted me.
His black eyes flicker across the faded bruises, a pale hue of green with a little yellow at the edges.
“Take off your clothes.”
My stomach clenches, but I turn, pushing my hair to the side, presenting him the zipper. His fingers on my skin make me nauseous, all they have done is bring me pain, yet they are warm, dry, and not at all rough as he pulls the zipper all the way down to the small of my back. I pull at the straps and let them slide down my shoulders, shimmying out of the dress until it falls to my feet. I remain with my back to him, letting my hair down again. His moan makes goosebumps race across my chest, peaking my nipples, it’s such a primal sound, a sound of need, of lust, of mating in its most basic form.
“Beautiful, young Carmen.”
I still have the ugly horizontal bruises on my butt from when he used his belt on me. “We have different opinions on beauty.”
