Page 62 of Vengeful Sins

“Congratulations to you two!” My father has the audacity to sound happy. “I’m sure it will be an adjustment, but I know you will get used to this, especially once you have children… your mother did.”

I can’t even wrap my mind around my father’s words, so much is packed in his one statement. Does he really believe I’ll get used to this? Is he so deranged that he thinks I’m going to accept my fate? Then the comment about my mother. What does that mean? Was she forced to marry my father?

All these questions are running through my mind at a million miles per hour. I can’t process any of it right now. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“What now?” I manage to croak out. My throat is so dry, and my tongue is heavy.

“Well, my dear, I’m going to leave you two lovebirds,” my father answers. “Clark is going to take care of you from now on.”

“You don’t even have to go to school anymore. I’ll be happy with a stay-at-home wife,” Clark announces. “Everything youcould ever need is right here. You won’t even have to leave the house.” He gives me a leery smile and bile rises in my throat.

He doesn’t want a wife. He wants a prisoner and sex slave. And my father just sold me to him.Fuck this.I’m leaving the first chance I get.

“All right, I’ll leave you to it,” my father says, buttoning up his jacket.

I look into his cold eyes, giving him one more pleading gaze. I remember the time when I thought my father loved me, when I loved him. Was that all a lie, or was there ever a part of him that cared for me?

Right now, I’m hoping for the latter. I’m praying that there is a little shred of decency left in him, a tiny spark of the dad he once was to me.

“Dad, please don’t leave.” My voice cracks at the end, the same way my heart cracks in two when I look at him.

He stares at me blankly, his lips pressed in a thin line as he shakes his head slowly. “You’ll get used to this arrangement eventually,” he says, and I’m not sure if he is talking to me or to himself.

Without another word, he turns around and walks toward the door. I watch him leave the room, grieving for the man I used to call dad. I don’t know if I can ever bring myself to call him that again. I feel like that person is dead now. I didn’t even know I was still holding on to a piece of him, but now that the piece has shattered, I feel the absence.

“You are so beautiful like this.” Clark’s deep voice drags me out of my thoughts. “I kind of like it when you cry,” he admits shamelessly.

His seedy tone sends shivers down my spine. But nothing compares to the feeling of disgust when he lifts his hand and runs a finger down my face. I turn my head away from him, and he chuckles.

“I don’t care if you like it or not. You are my wife now, and it’s time to consummate this union.” His words hang heavy in the air as he reaches for the back of my chair and pulls it away from the table. The legs scrape loudly over the floor. I’m so startled, I almost fall out of the damn chair.

“Are you going to walk?” Clark asks gruffly, and I almost laugh.

“I can barely sit up. How the fuck am I going to walk?” I spit at him.

“Such a dirty mouth on you. We’ll have to put that to better use upstairs,” he warns, sending another wave of nausea to my stomach.

Before I can react, he grabs me and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His shoulder digs into my stomach painfully as he carries me through the house and up the stairs. Each step makes it harder and harder not to throw up.

We make it to what I assume is his bedroom, where I’m thrown onto the bed hard enough to make my head bounce off the mattress twice. My mind spins, and I feel disoriented being moved like this while I’m still on these drugs.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to brace myself for what is about to happen. He is going to rape me. He won’t take no for an answer, and he is making his point very clear when he starts to undress me. His meaty finger tugging on my clothes, ripping my shirt open at the collar when I start fighting him a little.

My attempts to fight are laughable at best, my arms are so fucking heavy, everything I do feels like I’m fighting against a thousand pounds. Clark easily holds me down with one firm hand on my chest. His hold is so tight, he is making it hard to breathe.

Panic floods my system as less and less oxygen gets to my lungs. I’m so focused on sucking enough air in, I barely register how Clark has pulled my shirt and bra up so he can fondle mytits. His hand kneads them painfully, sending more tears down my face.

When he is done, his hand travels down to my pants, where he undoes the button and the zipper. Then he finally shifts his weight off my chest. I suck in a deep shuddering breath, and my whole body relaxes with the sudden intake of air.

Clark uses both of his hands to pull my jeans off my legs, and my shoes off my feet. I’m too scared to fight him. He can so easily hold me down, as he’s just showed. He could seriously hurt me if he wanted. Fighting will only make this worse for me.

“What the fuck is that?” Clark exclaims, disgust lacing his voice.

My eyes flutter open, and I look up to follow his gaze onto my thighs.

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he asks, pointing at my scarred legs.

“No one…” The words come out in a low whisper.

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