Page 27 of The Queen's Serpent

“Te haré mía y no querrás dejarme nunca más. Tu corazón me pertenece, Isabella Stratford.”

Chapter fifteen

Issy

“That’s the thing about trust. It’s like broken glass.You can put it back together, but the cracks are always visible--like scars that never fully heal.”

Hope Collier, Haven

Iwake up alone, even though I was sure that Diego was in this bed with me and had me wrapped tightly in his arms, which makes little to no sense to my muddled brain. Why would he want to hold me after what he had allowed to happen? Why show me gentleness and affection after terrorizing me? Is it just another way for him to manipulate me, to hurt me? What is his end game?

Various aches and pains make themselves known, as I stretch under the white sheet that covers my naked body. My core feels swollen and sore, all of my muscles tense, flashes of images reminding me of why, putting me instantly on edge as I try desperately to avoid thinking about last night. The heat is already swirling around the room, and the bright light streaming through the curtains tells me it’s probably late morning, if not later. I suppose it doesn’t really matter what time it is; where does a prisoner need to go? It’s not like I have any appointments to keep.

An urgent pain in my full bladder demands that I get up and make it to the washroom. I sit up, my head spinning a bit as I try to maneuver my exhausted body off of the plush, wide mattress with a groan. When my feet finally make it to the cool floor, Istumble and have to grasp onto one of the bed’s four posters to keep standing.

Jesus, I feel like I’ve been on a week-long bender.My whole body shakes, and I take one trembling step, and then another, in the direction of the open doorway leading to the bathroom. Once I enter the spa-like space, I rush for the toilet. My whole body protests the movement of lowering myself to a sitting position. My pussy burns as I try to pee, causing a pained gasp to leave my lips, and tears to slide down my face.Fuck, it hurts so bad. I’m going to punch him the nuts the next time I see him and that one-eyed snake of his.

Shame once again fills me with the knowledge of how many men were inside of me, that the soreness that I’m feeling is from being so thoroughly used. My hands clench in my lap as I force myself to deal with the memories that assault me. Reliving every second of what happened to me, what Diego allowed to happen to me. All of the pain, the struggling, and even my pleading for him to stop, and finally giving him what he desired most; my broken soul laid bare at his deviant and destructive feet.

Rage like I’ve never felt before races through my body, threatening to drown me in its hot, fiery depths as it demands that I stop my self-pity and self-deprecation. Yes, I pushed him and acted like a spoiled brat, but there was nothing that I did that deserved that type of punishment.

Was it a punishment?My mind questions with doubts. Did I not enjoy at least some parts of what happened? Am I going to sit here in denial that I relished being used, degraded, and treated like a plaything? That I didn’t get off on the depravity of what happened. Am I gaslighting myself?

All of my emotions become tangled in a sticky web: rage, lust, pain, and shame, all mixed together, the worst of them forcing me to realize that I was a damn fool. The truth is, it doesn’t matter if I enjoyed it or not. What matters is that Diego waswilling to go to those lengths to break me down and control me.That’s not love.None of what happened here yesterday was genuine affection, just the actions of a madman who wanted to flex his power, and show me how utterly powerless I am in my own fate.

Tears prickle at my swollen eyes, and I swipe at them angrily.No more tears, Issy, be strong for once in your life. Straighten your spine and refuse to allow anyone else to beat you down. Be a fucking Stratford for once in your pathetic life.

The truth is that all of my ill-fated decisions have led me to where I am now. Not a single turn in my road of life could have prevented me from my fate. I was always meant to fall in love with a monster. Even when I once had a prince who I discarded. I was always destined to be a pitiful queen with a serpent for a lover. Nothing could have stopped it, not my grandmother, not my sister, and certainly not my common fucking sense, if I even ever had any.

It’s why I have always hated making decisions for myself. All my life, I have avoided them. Call it weakness, inability, hell, call it a lack of faith in myself and my capabilities, if you will. All I know is, every single decision I have ever been forced to make has ended in destruction.

There are no exceptions, no what-ifs. Every one of them has created a road map of small, jagged fissures that have continued to grow, and further splinter. Every single one of them has led me here to where I am now, a prisoner of an unhinged psychopath with obsessive tendencies and control issues.

I finish my business and look longingly at the stone shower, as repulsion fills me at the state of my own body. I can see the various markings of fingers along my thighs and hips, already turning an ugly shade of eggplant on my pale skin. My body yearns to be clean from the filth of the experience I was forced to endure.

I turn on the water and slip into the stall, letting the cold water propel over me and pelt my skin with tiny shards of ice. Maybe if I stay under here long enough, I can freeze what is left of my emotions. I can freeze my heart to a solid piece of ice, so that way, no one can ever hurt me again.

The truth is, if I had a blade, I’d cut the miserable, useless organ out of my chest so that I never had to feel anything ever again. If I was lucky, I would die in the process, and this life would finally come to an end.Wow, look at the self-pity queen, just wallowing in her shit rather than trying to overcome it. Get over yourself, spoiled brat.

I scrub at my skin roughly, raking my broken nails down the surface, wanting to shed it from my body, so that I don’t have a constant reminder of who and what I am. My eyes spy a few bottles on the stone ledge, and my fingers tremble as I lift the bottle of shampoo, with the knowledge that Diego must have had these brought here for me.

So what? He afforded his prisoner some comforts from home, but it means nothing. Get it together, Issy. He’s a fucking monster.

I wash quickly, refusing to acknowledge any more of the products that I see. Whatever his reasoning for bringing them here makes no difference now. He wanted a prisoner, and that’s what he will get.

I shuffle out of the shower and saunter to where I remember seeing the towels are kept, the warm air making my skin dry almost instantly. My eye catches on a white, soft-looking dress neatly folded on the stone sink counter, a stunning violet orchid placed on top of it. My fingers trail over the soft, delicate petals, lifting it gently to my nose and inhaling its rich scent. The reflection in the mirror catches my attention, and I stare at the broken, naked girl on its surface.

My hair is a thick mass of dark, wet tendrils down my back and over my shoulders. Red and purple angry bruises and welts cover portions of my skin, as do healing insect bites. My ribs look pronounced on my petite frame, showing me clearly how much weight I have lost since being kidnapped. The finger marks along my neck are pronounced, like some fucked up necklace the size of Diego’s hands.

I lean forward and trail my finger along the imprint of his teeth on my shoulder and neck. The fucking savage looks like he mauled me. My chest clenches with the sobs that threaten to rise and the tears that fill my eyes. I’m a mess; I look like I’ve been through a traumatic event. I look like my sister did, when she was finally brought home after being taken by a lunatic. The difference is Mia found the strength to fight back against her monster, and I’m here shaking like a leaf.

I crush the soft petals of the orchid in my hand, crumbling it and allowing it to fall from my fingers and hit the ground. That flower represents me:pretty, delicate, soft, and weak.All the things that allow a monster like Diego Cabano to use me in any way he desires. I straighten my shoulders and look back in the mirror, and the reflection that greets me is a shimmering vision of my grandmother when she was younger. Stella Stratford would never allow anyone to hurt her. She would never allow her fate to be dictated by anyone. I am her granddaughter, her spitting image, some say. I need to start acting like it.

I throw the dress on over my nakedness and prepare myself to be a captive, but one with a plan. If Diego Cabano won’t release me, I will try to escape, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll make him kill me. Either way, my days in this jungle are now numbered.

I walk out of the bathroom and head for the door of the bedroom, turning the knob. I’m surprised to find it unlocked. Cautiously, I slip from the room and immediately meet the dark eyes of a guard stationed across the hall. Embarrassment andfear slide up my back, causing my face to feel hot. Is he one of the men who fucked me yesterday?

I almost step back into the room in horror, but I force myself to stand firm, to take another step away from the door, and meet and hold his dark glare. I will not be weak. I am a fucking Stratford, and I will not cower before this man or any other. “Señorita, thejefesays for you to be escorted to the dining room for a meal. Please follow me.”

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