The Enemy in My Bed by L.K. Shaw

Chapter 6

Pierce

Who the fuckdid that to her? That question keeps running on repeat through my head. Scar upon scar decorates Mila’s back. As someone with a fair share of my own, I can tell which ones came from a knife. Others look like burn marks from a cigarette, or maybe a cigar. I could swear one of the marks is a brand of some kind, but I hadn’t gotten a close enough look. She appears to have been tortured. No wonder she fought so hard against me seeing her.

There’s also a cloth binding around her chest. Combine that with the boyish haircut, and it’s like she’s hiding her femininity. Why? I have more questions than ever. None of them have anything to do with Mikhail or the Russians, either.

Mila still cowers against the wall, guarding herself against any further assault from me. A prickle of emotion pushes at me. I turn away and head to the rain shower. Once the water temperature reaches my satisfaction, I move to the door and glance over my shoulder.

“There should be towels under the sink. I’ll bring you something clean to put on.”

I exit the bathroom and pull the door closed behind me, rub my hand down my face, and blow out a breath. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why didn’t I follow through on my threat?

I head to the bedroom where I had one of our soldiers store some clothes in the dresser. I grab a few things without examining them and return to the bathroom. The water is still running. For the second time, I hesitate at a door that separates me from my little captive. Cursing my weakness, I open it and toss the clothes on the floor without looking toward the shower.

“You have five minutes,” I call out. “Don’t make me come back and get you.”

I turn and head to the kitchen. As I’d requested, there’s a first aid kit under the sink. I grab what I need and move into the living room to wait.

With seconds to spare, Mila enters the room, her skin still damp and her hair a wild, tangled mop. Fuck. What size of clothes did Santino bring? A child’s? Her curves are obvious without the cloth binding. For such a small woman, her breasts are large. It’s no wonder she hid them. Her legs are toned and she curls her tiny toes in the rug. She doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, her gaze lands somewhere to my left while she fidgets with the hem of her plain green tee.

“Have a seat.”

Mila hesitates, and I take a step toward her. I’ll be happy to remind her what happens when my instructions aren’t followed. I want her to stay on the edge of fear.

Those small feet move quickly, and seconds later, she makes it to the couch. She sits as close to the arm rest as she can, almost like she wishes she could disappear into it. Her whole frame is rigid, and her eyes lock onto the floor. That won’t do. 

“You say you’re not a coward. If that’s the truth, then stop acting like one.”

Mila’s gaze jerks up to meet mine. Fire spits from them. That’s better. I cross the room with the items in my hand and crouch at her feet, placing the bandages and antibacterial ointment on the cushion next to her.

“Let me see your wrists.”

She eyes the supplies and carefully unfolds her tense body. Then her arms stretch out in front of her. I gently clasp her forearm, and she tightens her muscles, almost pulling herself out of my grasp.

“Stop fighting me.” I don’t just mean in this moment, either.

Ever so slowly, Mila follows my instructions. I brush my thumb lightly over the red marks that decorate her skin. She hisses. I ignore the sound and take care of the wounds. By the time I finish applying the ointment and wrapping the soft bandages around her wrists, she’s relaxed.

I raise my head and wait until she meets my gaze. My finger keeps stroking her inner arm. Then my eyes wander over her body and back up to her face. Her lips part the tiniest bit and her pulse kicks up a beat. Her breath comes just a little faster. She trembles, but doesn’t pull away.  “I brought you here because it’s comfortable.”

Mila blinks and her expression shifts to mild confusion. “Why do you care for my comfort?” she asks, her muscles already tightening beneath my touch.

“It’s not your comfort I care about.” I pause for a beat. “It’s mine.”

It only take a few seconds until her eyes widen with understanding and then fade with resignation. The blood leaves her face, but she stiffens her spine further even though I’m not sure how that’s possible.

“So you’re going to rape me, then?” Her words are tight.

One side of my mouth tips up. The action feels foreign. I can’t remember the last time I truly smiled. “Trust me, it won’t be rape,” I say smoothly.

Mila’s lips twitch and she barks out a sound I take for laughter. It’s mixed with a touch of hysteria. And grows louder until tears nearly spill from her eyes. “You’re holding me here against my will. You abuse me. Humiliate me. And you think I’m going to just let you fuck me?”

I send her a confident look. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Why?” she asks in wide-eyed disbelief. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to.” Mila hasn’t figured out yet that everything is based on my wants, but she will. “Besides, you have answers I seek.”

She huffs out an annoyed sigh. “You keep saying that, but you’re not listening to me. I’m no one. I don’t know anything.”

My brow raises at that. “I guess we’ll find out, piccola fata, won’t we?”