Merciless Vows by Faith Summers

22

Aria

Istare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

My cheeks are still flushed with arousal and my skin glowing the way people talk about when they’ve just had sex. I didn’t know you could still get that full-on afterglow look just from having an orgasm or giving a man a blow job.

I’m looking at it now, so it must be true. I’ve been splashing cold water on my face to get rid of it like I’m trying to bury evidence of incriminating guilt.

I’ve read in a few articles that splashing cold water on your face isn’t just useful for waking you up, but it’s an anxiety hack too. It’s supposedly sensory stimulation that can break through the dissociative feelings you can get.

The shame still writhing through me from how I behaved with Lucca suggests I might be better off immersing myself in a tank of ice before I start to see any results.

I’m so ashamed I didn’t even resist him.

I gave in so easily. Like I was little more than an animal giving into its primal instincts to act without thought.

Shaking my head, I bring my hands up to my cheeks as they heat up all over again at the recollection of me telling Lucca to fuck me.

Me.

I said that. I actually said those words, and the tone of my voice sounded like I was begging for it.

I was pleadingfor it.

And to highlight how crazy I must be, he got that phone call, and I knew it was some sort of summoning to kill. He didn’t even have to answer the phone. He knew, and he said he’d be away all night.

I seem to keep forgetting who he is and what he’s capable of. He confirmed all that Sienna said, too, never denying any aspect of it. He didn’t even try to justify his chosen line of work with a reason.

It was like watching one of those documentaries about psycho serial killers who get off on killing people.

That was what that conversation felt like; then, not even five minutes later, I had his cock in my mouth while I touched myself.

Oh my God.

I wince and move away from the mirror. It’s best if I don’t look at myself right now.

Blowing out a ragged breath, I turn on the shower, take my clothes off again and step inside, allowing the lukewarm spray of water to run over me. That helps a little. I avoid his musky scented shower gels, though, when I start to clean myself and opt for the bar of soap. Everything already smells like him. I don’t need to smell like him, too, and add another mark of ownership.

Once I’m clean and reasonably calmer, I rest my head against the gray granite walls and think. Think about what I’m doing and where I’m going.

I’m not weak.

That is the last thing I am. All I’ve tried to be is strong since I’ve been here.

I might have shown moments of weakness, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak. So I need to figure out why he manages to make me succumb to my

emotions.

I keep saying past emotions, but they aren’t past. This is now, so my feelings exist right now, and I have to deal with them.

I search my mind, and my shoulders drop when the answer comes to me.

It’s him.

The answer is as simple as that.

My feelings about him are nothing to do with the devil I’ve come to know him to be. I’m attracted to him and attracted to his desire for me. I’m attracted to how he makes me feel.

I lift my head as this reasoning fills my mind.

When he looks at me, when he touches me, when he makes me crave him in any shape or form, I forget I’m damaged. I forget things aren’t right with me and in my world.

I forget that things haven’t felt right since I woke up from the coma over two years ago.

He makes me forget for those few moments that anything was ever wrong, like a drug offering up the momentary relief from life.

And that’s dangerous to me because I drop my guard.

What do I do, though?

This is a man who seems to know me more than I know myself. He’s always one step ahead of the game.

I can’t fight him, and this just became more complicated than I first thought because I know there will be a next time.

I know it, and I don’t know what I’ll do when he touches me. I’m almost sure I won’t fight, and it won’t be because I know I can’t. It will be because I don’t think I’ll want to.

With that worry, I put on a baggy nightshirt and slip into bed.

But I don’t sleep.

I keep thinking of him, then I think of what he must be doing.

Who he’s hurting.

Killing.

I imagine those thrillers Sienna and I have watched with the snipers on the roof taking down a person with one shot to the head or the heart.

One sure shot that will end them. Is that what Lucca does?

I bite the inside of my lip then as I think of what he plans to do with Dad and me.

It’s odd that a man who kills for a living would simply want the family business if my father did something to him.

Why not just kill him and me?

Dad said he could lose everything if I didn’t comply. By everything I know that included his life too, and mine. I’m included in this mix all the fucking way.

What makes me think that threat went away with my compliance? I don’t know if it would really be as simple as that.

I shudder at the thought and try to sleep.

My mind drifts, and I fall asleep eventually, but as soon as I wander into that dark bedroom with the toys and feel the weight of that man on top of me, I jump up out of the nightmare before it can take fruition.

It’s no longer night. It’s bright daylight, so I must have slept longer than I thought.

I swallow hard as the traces of the nightmare waft through my mind, and I wonder why I’ve suddenly started dreaming about this thing.

I don’t have the energy to think about it today, and I don’t want to. Instead of wallowing, I get ready and go downstairs to the kitchen, where Marylin is making breakfast.

It’s blueberry pancakes this morning. Her warm smile greets me, as does the stack of delicious-looking pancakes she’s just laid out on the table for me to eat.

“Wow, this looks amazing,” I say.

“Eat as much as you like, dear. You need to keep up your figure if you want to look good on the big day,” she bubbles as if I’m the doting bride-to-be. . She wouldn’t like to know that I’d run far away if I could.

“Okay.” I humor her.

“I picked out some books from the library for you to read. Just some more Shakespeare I thought you’d like based on what you’ve been reading. We seem to have similar tastes.”

“I agree.”

“There’s an open-air play performance of King Lear in two weeks. It’s the same week as the wedding. I thought it would be nice if we went, so I provisionally booked us some tickets.”

I smile at that. It’s something normal to do. Yes, I would like that, especially it being the same week as the wedding. God knows what state I’ll be in at that time. I’ll need everything to calm me.

“Thank you. I would really love that.”

She looks pleased with herself. “Great.”

I think to ask about Lucca so that I know where he is. “Is Lucca back yet?”

“No, he’ll be gone all day again today. .”

That’s a good thing. It will give me a little break. “Oh, I see.”

“Eat up and tuck into your reading. We don’t have anything planned today, so unless if you want to go shopping, I’m afraid that’s it.”

“That’s fine. I’m in the mood for a quiet day. I don’t mind reading.” I won’t turn into some pampered princess whose sole purpose in life is to spend entire days shopping and keeping up to date on the latest fashion.

“Okay, well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the study for most of the day.”

“I will.”

When she leaves, I eat more pancakes than I thought I could, nearly finishing the pile of ten that could have fed a small family. I didn’t eat much yesterday, so I won’t beat myself up too much. I’m sure the calories will level out.

I head to the living room, where Marylin has left a good stack of books for me.

The other day I read a couple of books within a few hours. These look a little meatier, so I’ll probably read them over two to three days.

I pick up A Midsummer Night’s Dream deciding to start with that.

I snuggle against the cushions, put my feet up then dive into the book.

I’m about halfway through the fifth page when someone clears their throat in an exaggerated manner, making me lift my head.

I’m surprised to see Damien Mikhailov glaring back at me like I’ve done something wrong.

The weight of his stare makes me straighten up, and at that, his lips curl into a frown.

“At least you had the sense to take your feet off the sofa,” he states.

I then recall what Sienna said about him being worse than Lucca, and I swallow the lump that’s instantly formed in my throat.

This man clearly hates me. Loathe is probably more the word I’m searching for, and his loathing seems to increase by the second.

“I’m sorry, I was just reading,” I apologize. I’m not exactly sure what to say to him, and I would prefer if he left me alone.

“Reading Lucca’s mother’s books like you’re a guest in his home who’s been given permission to get comfortable. I’d advise you not to.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect. I was told I could read the books in the library. Lucca never informed me there were ones I couldn’t read.” I leave Marylin’s name out of it because I don’t want to get her in trouble for shit. This is dumb shit, and he’s obviously an asshole who’s mad at me for being my father’s daughter, not because I’m reading Lucca’s mother’s book.

“It seems Lucca might be offering you courtesies you don’t deserve.”

I want to tell him to go fuck himself and leave me alone, but I hold off. The sensible part of me holds me back, and the other part doesn’t give a flying fuck who he is or that he’s worse than Lucca.

What tamps down my rage is not knowing what his response will be if I talked back to him in such a way. I would absolutely vomit and never stop if he thought he could spank me or some shit like that for being insolent.

“I’m not responsible for my father’s actions.” I decide to say instead, getting to the point of contention. “I haven’t done anything to anybody.”

“The fact that you still draw breath offends me, so do not tell me you haven’t done anything to anybody. Your hands are just as dirty as your father’s. Even if you don’t directly know what you’ve done, you have benefitted from his evil in more ways than one and are nothing more than a piece of shit. A little whore who should have gotten worse. Be grateful for how it turned out for you and that your mother died in that fire before she got her share of punishment. At least you get to be something to fuck when Lucca gets bored. No different to the rest of the host of whores he uses and tosses to the side when he’s done with them.”

Well, there it is.

The statement that defines what I’ll be in the grand scheme of things.

Something to fuck and no different to the host of whores.

I guess I wasn’t wrong about them then, and like an idiot, hearing about the whores is the part that really cuts me deep. The part that I shouldn’t care about.

“Put the fucking book down and get the fuck out of here,” he barks, adding salt to my open wounds, and I feel like nothing other than the piece of shit he called me.

I was hoping to separate myself from my father’s sins, but it was never going to work on this guy.

I set the book down and walk past him with my head straight, willing myself not to cry.

I mustn’t; there are worse things in life to cry over.

It’s just hard to think of any of those things right now when I feel so drained from his attack.

I didn’t ask to be in this situation, and the person I hate now is the one for who I’m doing this.

The man who put me here and trapped me here—my father.

If not for him, I wouldn’t be here.

I wouldn’t know Lucca.

I wouldn’t feel like this.

I wouldn’t be in this hell where nothing is certain besides death. I think I was right. Death is still in the cards for us, and I’m just biding time.