Hell by J.L. Beck
7
Rowan
Three daysafter my night with Lucian, and my thighs have finally stopped aching when I walk.
The shame, though? That hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, the more I think about that night, the more ashamed I feel. There was no reason I should’ve gotten off on that. It doesn’t matter that my reaction was completely involuntary. I still feel like my body betrayed me, and I can only guess what he must think of me.
I even tried to stop it from happening, but it was no use. I still can’t figure out what that says about me. I should’ve been disgusted, horrified, and on some level, I was. I couldn’t tell how much he said and did was for show and how much was sincere. Maybe all of it was. Maybe the real Lucian is the one I saw in that little room when it was just the two of us.
The worst part is, I can’t even pretend I don’t want to see him again.
It makes no sense. And I’ve tried to figure it out. God knows I have. No matter how I try to distract myself with day-to-day life, memories pop up out of nowhere when I least expect them.
His hand around my throat. Smacking my ass. Forcing me to suck his dick, practically smothering me, almost choking me.
I should want to shove those memories away with both hands and turn my back on them.
So why does it always get me a little wet when I remember the way he handled me? Why does my heart start to race?
One thing is for sure: I’ve never taken such a level of interest in my personal grooming. Not while I was single, anyway. Even Eric didn’t expect me to be clean-shaven all the time, smooth and perfect. Hell, when he wanted me, it didn’t matter what condition or mood I was in.
Now, every day since I left the club, I make sure to carefully shave all over. I wear my best underwear, too, even if it might end up getting ruined. I’ve made sure to do my hair and put on a little makeup, even if I don’t expect to do anything more than sit around my crummy little apartment. Waiting. Wondering.
For all I know, he’s getting off on this, too. Knowing he has this control over me, that I bathe, groom and dress with him in mind. How much longer will it be before he comes for me? I have no idea, just like I have no idea what he’s going to do when he does.
Another fantasy like the one we acted out the other night? Maybe this time, he’ll break in and pretend to be an intruder. I guess he’ll want me to fight back again.
I can’t spend all of my time thinking about this. There’s so much more I need to do. At the top of the list? Finding a new job. At least there’s no real urgency now—the extra ten thousand is a nice cushion, a much bigger cushion than I’ve ever had. There’s more money in my bank account right now than there’s ever been at one time. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m rich, even though I know I’m not really. People like Lucian are rich. I only have a nest egg.
I would like it to stay that way. It would be good to keep a lot of that money where it is, just in case. So I never have to put myself in a position like this again, with somebody else holding all the cards. Controlling my life, my decisions. I won’t be weak anymore.
I remember so clearly being little and sitting at the breakfast table with my mom, with her spreading the classified section of the newspaper in front of her and circling jobs that looked promising. Even back then, people were starting to post jobs on the internet, but we didn’t have a computer. We couldn’t afford one.
Now I can sit on my sofa and scroll through ads for jobs using my phone. It’s funny how the world changes. I’m sure if Mom were still here, she would refuse to upgrade her old flip phone.
There isn’t too much I’m qualified to do. Waitressing, working behind a counter. It looks like there are a few spots open in the big chain restaurants scattered around the mall downtown, and I consider applying for them. A craft store is looking for help with stocking shelves, but they want people who can easily lift twenty-five pounds, and I’m not sure I can manage that. I wonder if there’s anything around the apartment that weighs that much, so I can try it out.
I briefly entertain the idea of calling Eve, my best friend. Her stepbrother—now husband—is the CEO of a successful business, after all. However, that thought evaporates quicker than it enters my brain. What could someone like me possibly do in a company like that?
More than ever, I wish I had been able to stay in school. I liked it, honestly. Math was always my favorite. Numbers make sense, no matter what. There’s always a solution, and it never changes so long as the variables stay the same. A therapist would probably wave a red flag at that—after all, there wasn’t much in my life at that point that made sense, that was dependable and reliable. Not once Mom got sick in my sophomore year.
It’s too late for that now. I’m too old to go back, and I would feel ridiculous. Besides, I’m not that girl anymore. I’m somebody else now. I have to be if I want Eric to stay out of my life.
Which is why the best I can hope for is a waitressing job, something basic like that. It’s better than nothing, though. It’s not like I need much, anyway. I’ve learned to live simply—I never had a choice.
I’m halfway through applying for one of the positions when there’s a knock on the door.
Instantly, my heart leaps into my throat, and my hands shake enough that I have to put the phone down before I drop it on the floor. Is this it? I didn’t expect him to announce himself, but then I don’t have the first idea what to expect from Lucian. I don’t get visitors. I don’t have any friends in town, and I like it that way. It’s easier to blend in and disappear when you don’t have any friends.
Another knock, louder this time, like the person doing it is already running out of patience. I hustle over to the door before anybody can think to kick it open. “Coming!” I hold my breath before turning the knob.
It’s not Lucian. It’s not anybody I’ve ever seen before, at least not that I remember. He reminds me of Alexei, though. Big, broad-shouldered, dark hair, dark eyes. “Lucian sent me. You’re supposed to come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re not supposed to ask questions. You just do what he says. Let’s go.” He looks around the apartment, and it’s pretty clear he doesn’t care for what he sees. I know it’s not much, but his dismissive expression makes me want to slap him. It’s still my home, and it’s all I can afford.
I grab my purse and keys, then remember my phone on the sofa. “Hurry up,” the man growls, which only makes me want to take my time just to piss him off.
Though word could get back to Lucian, and I don’t feel like being punished. Just the thought of it makes me cringe.
There’s a black SUV waiting outside, and at least he opens the back door for me and gives me a hand so I can climb up inside. Then he closes the door without a word, sliding in behind the wheel a moment later.
Once again, I can’t help but think of myself as a lamb being led to slaughter. “You’re not going to tell me anything about where we’re going?”
“You’ll know when we get there.” His eyes are hard when they meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Enough talk.” Okay, then. I’m supposed to sit back and let everything be decided for me.
Then again, I know that’s what I signed on for when I agree to this. If I could only go back in time and tell Alexei where he could stick his money. It makes me sick to think about him and all his fake helpfulness. His sympathy, all of it a tactic intended to lure me in. I wonder how many other girls he’s lured that way and how many more men like him are on Lucian’s payroll.
It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I would’ve done things differently. The fact is, when Alexei found me, I was literally at the end of my rope. Completely helpless, wondering somewhere in the back of my mind whether it would really be so bad to walk out into traffic.
After a few minutes, we leave the city behind. The houses out here are bigger, well-maintained, sitting in the middle of emerald green lawns. The sort of houses for people whose parents are together, or at least both in the picture. Houses where the parents are healthy, where they don’t die from cancer and leave their kids on their own.
Still, I wouldn’t imagine Lucian living in one of these houses. I can’t imagine him living in a neighborhood at all, really. He doesn’t strike me as somebody who would participate in the neighborhood cookout. I can’t imagine him bringing a case of beer to his buddy’s house to watch the game on a Sunday afternoon.
After several minutes, the houses start moving farther apart. Some of them are behind gates, iron fences. A few of them are so far back and half-hidden by oak trees that I can barely see them from the road. Yes, this strikes me as being more his speed, and sure enough, the driver turns the car toward an open gate and starts rolling down a gravel driveway.
He’s taking me to Lucian’s house. That’s what this has to be about. Unless I’m being loaned out to somebody else, which I guess is possible but isn’t anything Lucian warned me about before now. I wish he would have. The sense of my entire life being in his hands is not one I enjoy. I hate not knowing what’s going to come next.
But I also have no power in this situation, so all I can do is sit with my hands tightly clenched between my knees, trying to make myself stop shaking.
We pull into a large roundabout in front of a mansion that brings to mind the word obscene. It’s absolutely massive, with two wings jutting out from a central structure. It’s not tacky, though—there are pretty little shrubs and rose bushes in front, carefully trimmed hedges. He does like things a certain way, doesn’t he? Everything has to be in its place.
So, where the hell do I fit into all of this?
I don’t have to wait long to find out. The driver opens the back door and holds out a hand to me, which I take as a signal to climb out. Once that’s done, he leads me through the front door and into an entryway with an enormous iron chandelier in the center. The floors here are marble, polished until they shine, almost slippery as I trot behind the man whose name I never learned. Not that it matters. It’s not like I want to see him again.
He leads me up a sweeping staircase that curves in a semicircular shape, then down a long hallway. There are so many rooms. I wonder how many people live here. My entire apartment could fit into the entryway, easy.
At the end of the hall, there’s a pair of closed doors set in a wood-paneled wall. It’s all very masculine, for sure, but also warm. Almost comforting. I wouldn’t have expected that. The few times I’ve imagined Lucian’s life outside of the club, I always pictured him in some cold, soulless penthouse suite.
“Come in,” Lucian calls out when the man knocks on the door. Just the sound of his voice brings everything flooding back, our entire last encounter. My confusion, shame, fear.
The driver steps aside to let me into the room, which I can tell at a glance has to be Lucian’s bedroom. But it isn’t the king-sized, four-poster bed that draws my attention at first.
It’s the woman standing next to Lucian at the foot of the bed, silent as I enter.
He never once mentioned anything about adding a woman. There are a lot of things I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.
He notices my apprehension, probably because I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s older than me, probably closer to his age, and not exactly ugly but still not my preference. I guess he decides to take pity on me. “Not to worry,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “She’s a doctor. I brought her over to examine you.”
I don’t know whether or not I’m supposed to speak, so I decide to keep my thoughts to myself. So he wants me examined. Like he’s not sure if I’m healthy, I guess. I would get insulted, but I’m too nervous. Being around Lucian does that to me.
He’s probably thinking about what he did, what he made me do. Will he want more of that later? Why else go to the trouble of bringing me out here? He could’ve had the doctor call me into her office.
“Don’t worry,” the doctor assures me with a smile. “It won’t involve anything you haven’t been through before, I’m sure. I need you to undress for me.”
I glance toward Lucian. Either he reads my mind, or he never planned on sticking around in the first place. He leaves the room without saying anything else or even looking at me. I can hear his footfalls fading down the hall as I take off my T-shirt.
She’s right. This is nothing I haven’t been through before. First, she draws a few vials of blood—when I look surprised, she only waves a hand. “To make sure your vitamin levels are where they need to be. You do look a little sallow. Do you get enough sun?”
“Probably not? I don’t know.”
She nods. “Your D levels could be low. You’d be surprised how many areas of our health are affected by the simplest things.” Right, and she’s completely bullshitting me right now. I’d never call her on it, like ever. I was taught to respect doctors.
Plus, she’s tied in with Lucian, which tells me she’s probably not the average doctor. Doctors don’t usually make house calls. God knows, I dealt with enough of them when Mom was sick.
After she takes the blood, the doctor has me lie back on the bed. A pap smear? But I’m supposed to believe this is all about my vitamin levels. As always, I close my eyes and wait for it to be over. At least she’s quick about it.
She asks me endless questions about my cycle and my last period, and finally, whether I’ve ever taken birth control.
“No, I never have.”
“I’m going to give you a shot today. Depo-Provera. Have you ever heard of it?”
Depo? “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
“Lucian requested I give you the shot today, but I have to administer a pregnancy test first.” There’s no question in her voice, and I know without being told, she won’t take no for an answer. Because he won’t.
She hands me a cup, and I go to the bathroom to give her a sample. After that, I sit on the bed and watch her work for a few minutes until she finally announces, “You’re not pregnant, so I can give you the shot today.”
“Terrific.” I accept the shot and tell myself at least I know I won’t get pregnant.
She gives me the shot in my upper arm and sticks a small band-aid over it. Then packs up her tools. “We’re all finished.” And that’s it. She leaves me alone, naked, except for the sheet she gave me to cover myself with.
What now? Should I get up and dress? Or am I waiting for Lucian? I’m in his bedroom. It makes sense that he’d want something from me.
It’s a big room, with what looks like a huge bathroom attached. There’s another room next to it that looks like it might be a study or library, and one on the other side of the suite that might be a dressing room. I want to get up and explore—anything to give me a glimpse of who he is—but Lucian’s footfalls freeze me in place.
Probably for the best. He wouldn’t love it if he found me snooping around.
“You’re still undressed.” He looks me up and down, buttoning his suit jacket. He even wears suits at home. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No. I didn’t know…” I look down at my lap. He’s got to think I’m an idiot.
“Today doesn’t count.”
“It doesn’t?” Dammit. There’s a tight feeling in my throat all of a sudden. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? I should be crying in relief that my thighs won’t hurt again so soon.
“No.” A smile plays over his lips, but it’s over before I get a good look at it. “I won’t be fucking you today. Get yourself together and go. The car is waiting.”
Dumbfounded, I grab for my clothes and pull them on as he watches. The few glances I throw his way don’t tell me anything about what he’s thinking. He might as well be wearing a mask.
He doesn’t show me to the front door, but I find it on my own.
