Page 41 of Sinful
“Fucking sort yourself out,” I snap, grabbing a towel and throwing it at her. She’s a disgusting mess.
I grab one of the pens that Dacre has left behind and force it into her hand.
“Write!” I demand, thrusting a pizza menu toward her.
“What?”
“You’re a deaf bitch as well as blind, huh? I said write. You’ve got a pen. There’s paper in front of you. Write.”
Her hand wobbles as she places the pen down to the paper. She stands stock still, not moving. The seconds tick on. Her whole body is shaking and still she won’t move the pen. She’s not even trying.
I expected her to give it a go. I could write a passable letter with my eyes closed. It would be a mess and would look like a five-year-old had written it, but I could do it.
“I can’t,” she cries, dropping the pen and slumping.
I fucking knew it. “There’s no thirty million dollars?”
She shakes her head. She’s not crying anymore, but her eyes still sparkle with tears that haven’t fallen yet.
I start to laugh. She’s played us all. It’s fucking painful and yet it’s poetic. She screwed me over once and now she’s done it again. No wonder her father hasn’t bothered staying in waiting for her. He knows she’s run away. This whole thing is bullshit. She’s fucking evil.
She’s staring up at me, a weird expression on her face. I only wish she could see me right now. I need her to know how fucking amazing this is, and how she’s just dug her own grave. “Why are you laughing?”
“Why am I laughing? I’m laughing, my darling Sin, because now you’re worth nothing. I have no reason to treat you nice anymore now that there’s not going to be a pay out.”
“There’s the two million reward,” she reminds me, like that’s going to save her now. It’s almost sweet how optimistic she is. Almost, but not quite. She’s pathetic.
“I don’t think you want me to give you back to Daddy for a paltry two million, do you? Not when there’s so much fun to be had.”
She tries to pull away again. I can see the beginnings of a bruise around her wrist. It’s nothing to what her father has done to her many times. I’d have thought she’d be used to this kind of brutality by now. Still, it’s beginning to leave a sour taste in my mouth. There are better ways to break her than using sheer force.
I glance down at my smart watch. An invitation flashes across the screen before disappearing and showing the time. I’m not going to be able to do anything with Mercier and Dacre here. I don’t even know how to turn this to my advantage yet, but whatever I come up with, Dacre will try to stop me. Mercier will want to join in. I’m not willing to let either of those things happen.
I let go and push her away from me. She brings her hand up to her wrist and rubs it. “Get dressed up. It’s about time I got the real Lucinda Waldgrave experience.”
33
LUCINDA
Iwait for Nix to leave before I move. His breathing gets quiet and then the sound of the terrace doors tells me that he’s gone. As quickly as I can, I stand and run to the bathroom and douse my eyes under the tap. My whole face feels contaminated, disgusting. Like it doesn’t belong to me. My own tears mix with the semen, adding to the salty taste. I know what he did to me. I hoped that if I ignored it and pretended it didn’t happen, he’d leave me alone. I was wrong. I reach for Dacre’s mother's floral soap dispenser and press down so the scent fills the air, masking the smell of Nix. It’s not a particularly pleasant smell. It smells like the rest of this house. Flowery with an undercurrent of bleach, but as I wash Nix off my face, it takes away some of the horror I feel. I stay in the bathroom, leaving the water running in case he happens to be listening in. The door is locked, but I’ll have to come out sooner or later. Putting the toilet seat down, I sit and close my eyes, wondering what I did to deserve a life like this. If my mother was still alive, my life would have turned out so differently. At least that’s what I tell myself, but I never knew her, so perhaps it’s just years of abuse that’s fueling my imagination. I miss her. I don’t know how it’s possible to miss someone I’ve never met, but I do. I miss being held by loving arms, being sung to. I miss having someone I can trust. I certainly can’t trust the three men that have me captive. Nor can I trust my own father. In my twenty years of life, I’m yet to meet a single man who hasn’t abused me in some way. I’m the way I am because of the way my father treated me. Quiet, scared. A mouse in a world full of lions.
I rub the last tears from my eyes and heave in a deep breath. I don’t have to be the mouse. They are stronger than me in every way, but what can they really take from me that hasn’t already been taken? My dignity? Ha, that’s something I’ve never had. The worst they can do to me is take me back to my father. A shudder runs through me at the thought of it, but it’s nothing I haven’t endured before. I’ve spent my entire life under my father’s thumb. Abused. These three think they can break me, but how do you break something that’s already broken? That’s been broken for a long time?
They can’t. They can try all they want to humiliate me, threaten me, hurt me even, but I have something they want. I’m worth something to them. It might not be the type of value I want to have. Like everything else in this world, I’m reduced to a sum of money. Nix might know I’m not worth the thirty million I told them, but two million dollars is still a lot of money, no matter how much he pretends it isn’t. They had to move out of their own house. I don’t know why, but it’s obvious Dacre wouldn’t let them all stay here if he didn’t have to. They need the money and until they get it, I’m worth something.
A sense of power washes over me. It’s not much, but it’s the only bargaining chip I have. I have literally nothing else in my arsenal. I throw another splash of cold water at my face, take a deep breath, and head out. The living room is quiet, but faint cigarette smoke ligers in the air. Josh must have left the door open slightly when he headed outside onto the terrace for a smoke. I run quickly to the bedroom and dash inside. Throwing the nightgown down on the floor, I choose something else from the wardrobe. The dress Nolan bought me hangs in the middle. The dress Alexander said made me look like a whore.
Perfect
I pull it from the hanger and shimmy into it. A whore is what they want me to be, so a whore I shall be. Joshua Nix won’t know what’s hit him. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it to one side so the side shave is on full display. I have no idea what I look like, but I remember the reaction from Alexander when he saw me in this all too well. I almost wish Nolan was here to do my make up, but he isn’t. Lucinda Waldgrave was enough for Joshua Nix once. She can be again. My heart pounds at the absurdity of what I’m about to do. Josh wants power over me, and for the last few days, he’s had it. Not anymore. I won’t cower before him ever again. Let him do his worst.
I imagine his face as I walk across the room. I don’t know if he can see me yet, but on the off chance that he can, I sashay in the sexiest way I know how. It all feels alien to me, as though I’m no longer myself. I try not to lose my confidant gait as I feel around for obstacles that might trip me up. There’s nothing sexy about being sprawled all over the floor. I’ve learned that lesson from when Dacre pushed me. My fingers touch the smooth glass of the door. With a swift move, I slide it to the side. The stench of smoke is stronger now, but it mingles with the thick New York air. It’s not as pungent and thick with fumes as the street, but it’s hardly fresh either. I hold my breath as I listen out for Josh’s breathing. I can hear the distant noise from the street thirty floors below, the cacophony of engines rumbling, horns blazing and people chatting. I can hear it all. Even the birds in Central Park across the road. I can hear everything except the one thing I want to. Josh.
“Josh,” I call out his name and step through the door. My nerves fray further as I take another step onto the terrace. I’ve not been out here yet. And though it’s extremely unlikely, there could be a gap in the wall or some part of the terrace that’s damaged. One wrong step and I could be plunging to my death.
“Josh,” I say again, this time a little louder. I take another hesitant step, mindful of how far below me the traffic sounds. An arm grips mine, fingers digging into the fleshy part. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
I rip my arm from his. Anger begins to flow through my veins, which makes me feel stronger. “You said get dressed up. I got dressed up. What were you expecting? Me to put on a ballgown? Or maybe one of Dacre’s mother’s dresses that all stink of mothballs? What is it you want me to be Josh? Because so far I’ve not figured it out. You aren’t happy when I’m scared, you aren’t happy when I’m shy. You want to hate me. It wouldn’t matter what I came out here dressed in, you’d find fault in it.”
