Merciless Vows by Faith Summers

12

Aria

Sienna left minutes after we saw Lucca and Damien on the balcony.

Marylin came and informed us that the time was up. As if I were in prison and visiting hours were over.

At least I got to have a serious talk with Sienna, and now I’m better armed with what I’m up against.

Marylin took me back to my room, where I continued to unpack my things.

Dad sent boxes and boxes of my belongings yesterday, and the walk-in wardrobe was cleared for me to use.

I spent the rest of the day inside there, only taking a break when Marylin returned with light sandwiches for me to eat.

The next hour will be the prelude to dinner with Lucca at eight.

I have a date with the devil, and I don’t know what to expect from tonight or if tonight will be the night when he takes me.

I’m supposed to wait seven days for the new pill to take effect, but that doesn’t stop him from either using a condom or just fucking me bare the way he says he likes. His main concern was that I’m clean, and I am.

I hang up the last pair of jeans from the box of clothes and reach for the stack of journals I supposedly began when I was ten.

I’ve been looking through them for the last few months in an attempt to get my memory back. The earlier journals had the most information and had pictures of Mom and me, or Sienna and me.

The first journal is the one I always pick up because of the entry on the first page.

I pick it up now just for the sentiment it carries. There’s only one thing I want to see quickly, then put it away.

I open it to the first page, where my ten-year-old self taped a rose I dried in the center.

Under it are the words:

Today is my birthday.

The boy of my dreams gave me this rose and my first kiss.

I never want to forget today for as long as I live.

I find myself smiling, and then my smile falters moments later when sadness over for not being able to remember.

I wonder why I never wrote down his name. It’s not anywhere, and the next entry is nearly a year later, with a couple of goofy pictures of my parents together.

My other journals have similar contents, which definitely show they loved each other. Still, I didn’t have any pictures of them in the later journals. All the photo albums show them looking businesslike, so I can’t really tell.

The only other journal entry that stood out to me was in one I wrote when I was sixteen.

It was a prediction from a gypsy at a carnival telling me my future held darkness and death.

Those words stand out to me once more. I don’t believe in fortune-telling or anything like that, but the gypsy couldn’t have been more right.

My mother died, and if this isn’t darkness, then I don’t know what is.

What the gypsy didn’t tell me was the devil would rise from Hell in the form of Lucca Dyshekov and take everything from me.

The echo of footsteps on the marble floor in the bedroom pulls me from the eerie thoughts. The clicking of heels suggests it’s Marylin again, so I go out to see her.

Although she hasn’t been horrible to me in any way, I’m wary of her because I know she’s been sent to watch me. It’s obvious that’s what she’s doing. I hardly have a moment to think before she’s here.

This is the fifth time I’ve seen her today.

She greets me with that warm smile when she sees me, and I do the same, but notice she’s carrying a red dress slinked over her arm.

“Hi, Lucca would like you to wear this to dinner.” She holds up the dress with that smile painted on her thin red lips.

I look over the dress. With its sheer chiffon material and delicate design, it’s beautiful and fitting for a princess and like the color of the roses in the courtyard, but also the exact color of blood.

The bright, red blood is flowing through my mind with that ominous feeling that etches in the recesses of my soul.

Lucca sent clothes for me to wear, so I can dress the way he wants me, like a toy.

“I’m not wearing that,” I say, much to Marylin’s surprise.

“Why not? It’s so pretty. Red is definitely your color.”

“No. I’ll pick something else to wear, thank you.”

“Aria, do not make life harder for yourself,” she cautions with a firm gaze. This is the first time I’ve seen her look so stern. “This dress is what Lucca wants you to wear to dinner.”

“Then I’m not going to dinner,” I fume. “You can tell your asshole boss I’m not eating with him. As if this is some kind of date. It’s not a fucking date. You and I both know I’m being held here against my will. Now get out.”

I was trying very hard not to unleash and be rude. It’s not her fault that I’m in this mess, but she’s part of the problem if she’s working for Lucca. People like her are enablers.

“Very well then.” She dips her head courteously and dismisses herself from my sight.

I watch her walk out, and as the door clicks shut, I know I’ll be in trouble for my outburst.

I don’t expect it to take long before I find out how much trouble I’ll be in.

That was my first act of defiance, and although it felt damn good to speak my mind, it won’t be worth it.

I know I should have just put on the fucking dress, but there was something about it that felt suffocating and dark. Just like when I first saw the roses in the courtyard. They were all there like they didn’t belong, like me.

I glance at the clock, and it’s quarter past seven. I was just about to shower, but I’m going to hold off and wait to see what will happen to me.

I make my way back inside the wardrobe and put my journals on the shelves near the shoes so they’re out of the way. I do the same with the photo albums and music books. The only box left unpacked has a sign saying Fragile because it has my violin inside it.

I’m not going to touch that one yet. I always freeze up when I look at my violin.

Something inside always breaks that much more when I think of how my life must have been when I played it.

I no longer know myself, but my heart feels like it never changed. I feel the love for the music, and it saddens me that I can’t remember how to play.

The heavy thud of footsteps in the bedroom is what catches my attention this time.

Those heavy shoes are definitely Lucca’s.

Instead of cowering in the closet, I straighten up and walk out to meet him.

Knowing now what Sienna told me about him makes my skin crawl, and the dark shadow of death in his eyes seizes my soul.

“That was your first strike, Aria,” he states, holding up one tattooed finger. “When I buy a dress and tell you to wear it, I expect you to do it.”

This is the part where I’m supposed to back down and be as careful as I’ve been cautioned to be. How can I, though? How, when he’s talking to me like I’m an animal, or worse, one of his whores.

“Don’t treat me like one of your whores, Lucca,” I snap back, knowing I’m really asking for it, but I don’t care. I’m not going to allow him to shred what’s left of me to pieces and treat me like shit.

“One of my whores?” He raises a questioning brow, and I’m enraged when humor lights up his eyes. “You seem to know more about me than I’d like.”

I don’t know why but I hate the confirmation in his words. I hate that I feel anything, and I loathe the sudden flash of jealousy that takes me.

“Fuck you.”

“I told you my plans for fucking, and I think I made it clear by setting that ball in motion this morning.”

“Yes, you did. That fucking man you sent me to probed me like a two-dollar whore he was trying to inspect and check for shit I don’t have. So yes, I’m not one of your whores.”

“My whores don’t get nice dresses or the promise of my dick in their mouth like you will.”

Whatever bravery has come over me has clearly made me go insane. Only insanity could make me lift my hand and slap him so hard across his face my nails graze over his cheek, cutting the skin.

When I see a slice of blood seep through the surface, and he growls, panic flies through me, and I break into a run.

The aim was to run the way I wanted to when I find my route of escape from this hell, but I just manage two steps before he grabs me around my middle and hauls me flush against his granite chest.

I scream when he lifts me into the air, and the panic that kicked my adrenaline in gear now closes my throat. My stomach knots from the anticipation of what he’s going to do to me, and as hard as I thrash against him, he holds me.

“Let go of me!”

“Like fuck I will. It’s time you know who you’re dealing with.”

He carries me over to the bed and throws me down on the mattress. I fully believe he’s going to rape me right here, but when he sits and grabs me setting my body over his knees, another wave of fear charges over me.

He lifts the hem of my dress and yanks down my panties. Then before I can take my next breath, his hand comes down hard on my ass. So hard I see stars twinkling before me.

“Stop it!” I shout.

“Like fuck.”

Another slap follows, then another and another until my skin burns and becomes sore to his touch. The third slap brings tears to my eyes, and I start to sob.

He gives me two more slaps then runs his fingers over the burning skin. It’s the way he does it, though, that shifts my emotions. The touch is like a gentle flutter. His fingers grace over my skin like he’s trying to remember the texture.

As his fingers slide down my ass cheeks and flick over my clit I feel something more I shouldn’t feel.

My burning flesh and the pain stinging over my ass get pushed to the back of my mind, and raw arousal takes over. The pain and the pleasure that forces its way through me is one I can’t control. As he strokes over my pussy lips and presses on my clit I know he knows what he’s doing to me. Because I’m wet.

How the hell can I be wet?

He just spanked me. What do I want? Do I seriously want him to touch me this way? To fuck me?

If that’s true, then I must be more fucked up than I realized. It can’t just be my memories that were damaged. It must have been all of me.

Something deep inside me whispers, though, that it’s not that. This isn’t about what’s wrong with me. This is about what happened to us before the accident.

“Bad girl. You want me,” he mutters, stroking my clit harder.

“No,” I rasp out.

“Liar. If I fuck you right now, there’s not a damn thing you’d do to stop me. You’re so wet for me.”

“Fuck you.”

“You keep saying that like you want me to. Newsflash, I want to. I always wanted to even when I shouldn’t.”

The hard bulge of his cock pressing through his pants into my belly is evidence that he’s not lying.

I’m taking in his words, though.

He always wanted to.

But our prior meeting was not by chance, so it wasn’t real. Whatever I felt wasn’t real. And it’s not real now.

“Don’t touch me,” I cry. “Get your hands off me.”

“You’re mine, Printsessa. You don’t get to tell me to take my hands off what belongs to me. You belong to me, your pussy belongs to me, and nothing you own is yours. It’s all mine.”

The coldness in his words reaches out to my soul, and all I feel is doomed again.

“If you take from me what I don’t give, then all you are is a murdering rapist.” My words have the effect I hoped for. He releases me and picks me off him, setting me down on the bed.

“Murdering rapist? Interesting choice of words.” As he looks at me, I know he can tell I know what he does for a living. I saw him kill my father’s guard, but he knows my accusation isn’t about that. “Yes, I am a murderer. But when I take you, it won’t be rape if you belong to me.”

He backs away from me.

“And that’s why you’re a murdering rapist. I will never want you, so then you’ll be taking what I don’t give.”

His jaw clenches, and his eyes darken to molten steel. “Be careful, Printsessa. If I were you, I wouldn’t piss me off. It would not be wise to do so.”

He walks out, and I watch him go. The warning is ringing through my ears like sirens, cautioning me once more to be careful.

I need to.