Page 6 of The Sinner's Bargain

I hastily pulled the strap back into place, covering myself up once more. I grabbed my robe and hurried to the barricade keeping me from the world.

“Who is it?” I called through the crack.

“It’s Mother.”

All the soft, sleepy heat left my body, replacing it with a brittle cold that made my fingers tremble as I undid the latch and hurried back several steps just in time to avoid getting my face struck by the door.

Christabel Blackwell radiated hate as if it were a signature perfume designed exclusively for her and she wore it with pride. It wafted into the room before she even stepped a foot inside. It unspooled and twisted around her as if it were alive.

“Mother,” I said, careful not to sound too happy or too miserable. “Good morning.”

Eyes the color of ice chips pinned me from a face that had once been beautiful and still was in some sense. She no longer had the kiss of youth to brighten the chill in her eyes or warm her cheeks pink. Years of bitter resentment had chipped away at the softness I’d seen in old photos, filing it down to a sharp chin and jagged cheekbones. She peered down the finely chiseled line of her nose at me.

“Why are you not dressed?”

I fought the gut deep urge to fidget. To twist my fingers until the bones popped and the pain nailed me to the present. Mother could sense fear and discomfort like a snake sensing an injured rabbit.

I reverted to my own method of self-soothing and punishing; I sank manicured nails into the tender flesh of my palm, tearing agitated skin and drawing fresh blood.

“I was just about to,” I whispered.

Eyes that had always seen me as nothing more than a hindrance swept to the packed bags neatly piled just inside the door. The square-cut diamond on her left hand caught the morning sun and sparked as she curled her long fingers together in front of her.

“Today is a big day, Naya. Absolutely nothing can go wrong, do you understand?”

I was pinned to the glossy hardwood with a single flick of her eyes snapping back to me.

“Yes Mother,” I whispered.

“Six years of unnecessary waiting,” she grumbled. “But I suppose it paid off. Jarrett has been quite patient and generous in assuring your hand. Even his other wives weren’t so fortunate. If you play your cards the way I taught you, you could very well be the final wife.” Her smile cut where the end sharpened into points digging into her thin cheeks. “Imagine having a Brixton baby. A permanent tie to all that fortune...” Her breath quivered. Her nostrils flared. “I don’t care how you do it, Naya, you will give Jarrett a son, do you understand?”

I didn’t.

I was heavily sheltered and naïve in a lot of ways, but even I knew basic biology.

But I nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

Mother looked me over once more. Not an ounce of softness showed in her scrutiny. It didn’t matter this may be the last time she ever saw me, though I knew that wasn’t possible; I was marrying Jarrett Brixton. She would want into his world as quickly as possible, and I was her only link. Plus, the wedding was only a week away. She wouldn’t be missing that.

“Tonight, when you arrive, Jarrett may ask things of you. It’s not your place to refuse him, but you will not cry or fight. He may get a bit rough, but that’s natural, and it may hurt, also natural. This is your job now and you will perform it as often as he requires it. Do you understand?”

I had been given the talk.

I knew what was required of me, yet the thought of that vile, despicable man touching me again had me fighting to hold my nausea back. Even though it had been four years ago, the memory was too clear. Too vivid. But that was my duty. I knew that. My feelings made no difference in anything.

“I do.” I forced the words through stiff lips.

Mother started to nod when something over my shoulder caught her eye. All presence of calm vanished into a twisted sneer as she stalked past me and marched to the window seat. I knew my mistake even before the saucer soared past my ear, missing my face by inches to shatter into a million, expensive pieces against the doorframe.

My heart skyrocketed. It beat with the ferocity of a caged bird in the clutches of a ravenous cat. But I remained still and quiet. I kept my eyes down and my fingers knotted together.

“You disgusting little pig!” Red talons gouged into the paper wrapped around the muffin, crushing the pastry. “Are you so pathetic that you are stealing food from me? After I have given you everything.”

I didn’t see the pitch until it hit me in the midsection with a sharp sting. Dark frosting smeared against blue. Chunks of cake rained over my toes. A glob of chocolate landed on my big toe, a tiny, wilted candle just peeking out from the mess.

“You should be mortified!” Mother screamed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Jarrett sent you back for being a revolting pig, a rat who sneaks into the kitchen to stuff her hideous face. How do you expect a man like Jarrett, a man who could have any woman, women a hundred times more beautiful than you, put up with a slob? I should have known you would try to humiliate me. This is what I get for solidifying your otherwise worthless future.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, eyes fixed on the blurry outline of the candle slipping sideways off my foot.

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