Page 14 of Cardinal House

I’m not sure it really is anyway.

Ever has been.

Ever since I arrived here, my body has been just for him.

To use.

So when he’s using his grip on my waist to lift my hips, his fingers of the other hand sweeping beneath the silk fabric, tugging it up around my waist. He settles my naked bottom back down onto his thigh, and slides a thick, dry finger slowly down my crack.

I flinch, even though I try so hard not to, and his descent stops, his fingertip curling in between my cheeks, but it doesn’t go anywhere, he’s not moved low enough yet.

“Do I sense reluctance?” he breathes the question, his hand sliding from my waist to cup the underside of my chin, his thumb and fingers clasping my jaw in a painful grip, jerking my head up. “Do we need assistance now?”

I think of the men by the door, more out in the hall, the way they’ve seen everything and do nothing about what happens to me here. I get it. It isn’t their problem. They won’t get involved. They need their pay checks.

But that’s the problem with the world, we watch these terrible things happen all around us everyday and never interfere because we don’t want the bad thing happening to transfer onto us.

Fear is a wonderful ruler.

“No, sir,” I whisper through pinched lips where he cranes my head so far back it squashes my face. “I’ll behave.”

His grip loosens, his hold relaxing somewhat on my face, allowing my chin to drop down a little. His green eyes soften, as though my words touch his heart. But they don’t. That organ of his is charred to ash, incinerated. There is nothing left inside this evil man but rot.

He hums again, releasing my jaw completely to cup my cheek, smoothing his thumb beneath my eye. I stiffen at the touch, his gaze dropping to where the digit sweeps and I pray the dancing shadows in the room are enough to hide my likely poor concealer job. As it is, he must see nothing that displeases him because he smiles at me, and on anyone else, it would be attractive.

Holding my gaze, his hand still cupping my cheek, the finger of his other hand restarts its descent. A sharp breath daggers my lungs, the scent of his usual brand of cigars getting trapped in my nose as the tip of his finger circles my swollen back hole, his hand rough between my cheeks. He watches my face so intently, I daren’t breathe too hard in case the tears start to fall. It takes everything I have left not to wince when he pushes his finger inside, immediately forcing it deep, shoving through the tight, painful ring of abused muscle.

The groan that rumbles in his chest, the grit of his teeth as he fucks his finger into me, adding a second far too quickly to stretch me out once more, is animal. He is feral as he grunts, his other hand dropping to my hip to thrust the dry, rough digits into me so hard my teeth rattle. I stare at his eyebrows unseeingly, so he thinks I’m giving him my full attention.

A scream gets trapped in my throat when he tears his fingers out of me brutally, leaving me empty and sore, but at the relief, I sag into his chest, my fingers curling tight beneath my chin, because I want to be held. I want to be comforted. I want someone to look after me because they love me, not because they hurt me.

But he’s all I have.

Uncle Nolan coughs, a strange, empty throat clearing, that has his chest shaking as he swallows, “I thought I told you to clean up,” he says coldly.

My eyes snap open, the smattering of coarse chest hair suddenly feels rough against my cheek, and my heart drums so hard in my chest, I feel like I’m going to faint.

Licking my dry lips, I whisper, “I did, sir.” And it’s the truth.

Panic is like a living, breathing thing inside of me, I don’t even know what he’s referring to right now, and the unknown is far worse. He grabs my upper arm, yanking me to my feet as he pushes to stand, and I cry out, unable to keep the sound from escaping. Uncle Nolan shakes me, his grip on my bicep punishing, but it’s his other hand that has my attention.

Dark red blood covers his index and middle finger, the deep, almost black coloured liquid slides down the back of his hand, curling around the dip between his forefinger and thumb. My eyes are wide as I feel wet warmth dribble down the backs of my thighs, but I don’t look, too afraid, too nervous to realise this could be real damage.

And I won’t get help for it.

I could be left here to die.

I almost want it.

That doesn’t look anything like it has before.

Uncle Nolan shakes me again, before releasing me abruptly with a hard shove. My arms flail, feet scrabbling, and I hit the floor hard, my back crashing into the grate covering the fire. Instantly, the heat singes me, the metal burning through my silk nightdress. I throw myself forward on instinct, trying to get away from the fire, but my arm shakes so hard when I land on my palm that my elbow gives out and I go crashing to the floor.

My chin hits the hardwood, clacking my teeth together, pooling blood on my tongue. Stars shoot across my vision, and I don’t try to get up again. Body tired and aching, goosebumps prick my skin, a cold wash comes over me like a blanket made of ice drifting down to cover me, chilling me to the bone like death.

Through blurry vision, I see yellow-caramel eyes and it’s the last thing I see before everything goes black.

Chapter 7

---