Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I nod and wince when the needle penetrates, but then it’s over and he’s packing up his bag.
Someone knocks on the door, and Santos opens it. Val stands in the doorway.
“All done,” the doctor says, snapping his bag shut.
“Thank you, Doctor. Val will see you out.” Santos steps aside and extends his hand to shake the doctor’s, his message to leave clear and just this side of rude. I don’t think Santos cares much about being rude though.
They shake hands and after the doctor says goodbye to me, he’s gone.
I stand up, adjusting my blouse and buttoning the top buttons as Santos closes the door and turns to me. He shoves his hands into his pockets, nothing forced on his expression now. No smile. No softness. Just the look of a man who knows what I’ve done.
But that’s not possible. That’s just my own guilt, I tell myself.
“I didn’t realize you’d arranged for the shot,” I say, my throat dry.
“I must have forgotten to mention it with all that’s gone on.” He is quiet, gaze scrutinizing me. “You’re happy with it?”
I nod.
He momentarily lifts his lips into a smile that doesn’t go near his eyes. “Good.”
“Dinner smells good.”
“They told me you’d gone down for a snack.”
I clear my throat, glance at the open bathroom door and nod. “I’ll just wash my hands quickly.” I don’t move though, because the way he’s looking at me has me trapped. It’s not accusing. That would be easier to handle. It’s something else. Disappointment.
“You were busy today,” he says. He slides one hand out of his pocket, and my blood turns to ice when I see the small bent hairpin he’s holding. I must have dropped it in my haste.
I open my mouth to speak, to say what, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter because it’s like I’ve swallowed sand.
There’s another knock on the door then. He doesn’t turn as it’s opened, but I watch Val enter, carrying that damned box.
“On the dresser, please,” Santos says, never taking his eyes off me.
Val does as he’s told and then he’s gone.
“Santos, I can explain,” I start, finding my voice.
“I’m not sure you can,” he says, that non-smile once again appearing and disappearing. When he takes a step toward me, I jump, let out a small scream, and lunge for the bathroom. It’s pure instinct, fight or flight. I’m not thinking because if I were, I’d know how stupid it is to try to run from him. Besides, I don’t get far. Before I’ve reached the bathroom, he catches me with an arm around my waist and tugs me to him.
“Is this how you trust?” he asks, holding that pin out for me to see.
I twist in his arms. “I just… I…”
“Were your words just lip service to save your brother from a beating he deserved?” he asks, throwing me onto the bed so hard I bounce before I flip over to scramble off the other side.
Again, he catches me easily and has me flat on my stomach in a second, dragging me toward him. Once my legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, he pins me with the flat of his hand against my lower back.
“What are you going to do?” I ask twisting to get free as he tugs at my blouse, the sound of it ripping off me making me scream. My leggings are next. He strips those off, along with my panties, and I’m left bent over the bed in just my bra.
I hear the unbuckling of his belt, twist my head around to watch.
“You are not trustworthy, Madelena,” he says. He tugs the belt out its loops, the whoosh it makes registering. What he intends to do registering.
“Santos,” I ask, blood draining from my head as I recall his warning when he last punished me.
He doubles the belt, gripping the buckle in his palm and even though he’s not holding me down anymore, I don’t move. When he meets my gaze, his face is a tight mask, his jaw clenched. In his eyes I see the fire of betrayal.
“Santos,” I start, my voice a whisper.
“Do I have to make a prisoner out of you? Lock my doors in my own house?”
“No. No.” I shake my head, closing my eyes as he drags the belt over my thigh, slapping it lightly against it. “Please!”
“What have I done for you to distrust me?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”
“Answer me!” he demands, cracking the belt across my ass this time, the contact making me cry out as pure fire stripes my butt.
“Nothing!” I should run. Try to get away. I don’t, though. I remain bent over the bed waiting, hands fists, every muscle tight. Because I deserve this. I have earned this, haven’t I? I close my eyes preparing for the next lash.
“Then why would you deceive me?” he asks, voice more broken than anything else. “Why?”