Page 22 of Luka

Letting out a soft chuckle, he spreads soap over my breasts, igniting sharp sensations at the feel of his palms grazing my nipples. They harden on contact, lighting up for him as the other part of my body had, and although Tall must know it, he shows me mercy by not mocking me. I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at his chest while he fills both his palms and lifts gently, then squeezes.

I shudder out a breath.

“You have really nice tits,” he whispers, leaning until his lips brush my ear. His tongue flicks my lobe as he lets his hands slide down my sides. He pulls my lobe between his teeth, and I think he’s about to bite when he reaches the same patch of raised flesh he found earlier.

Now, as if remembering his curiosity, he freezes.

His teeth scrape my ear as he pulls away and lowers to his knees, taking the bar with him and lathering his hands.

I was hesitant to look at him before, but now I watch him closely. I search his face for recognition as he lets his eyes roam over my right hip while running the soap over my leg. When he squints, I cover the emblem with my palm.

“Is that abrand?” he asks, confusion and disgust mixed in his tone. He peers up at me through narrowed eyes. “Were youbranded?”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, but I force myself not to look away. Not to let this man, thispsychopathmake me feel ashamed of my life before he took me. He’s great at making me hate myself, but this goes too far.

Defensiveness flares, and I find myself backing into the waterspout. “It’s my family’s emblem, not a brand like I’m someanimal. Don’t judge a culture you don’t understand, you—youarrogant American.”

“It’s Mexican culture to brand your family emblem on yourself?” Tall laughs, but it’s stilted, like he’s more confused than he is amused. “Really?”

Mexican culture.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t recognize my family’s mark.

For a moment, a long, drawn out, infinite moment, I consider telling him. This time if I offered him money, it wouldn't be a lie. Sort of. I really would tell my father I’ve been taken, and he would come get me, but Tall wouldn’t receive a dime, only a bullet if he’s very,verylucky.

And I would never see the outside of the gate again.

My father will triple his security. He’ll lie, tell me it’s meant to protect me, to ensureno one ever hurts me again, but I’ll know the truth. Those guards aren’t there to keep anyone out. They’re there to keep my two younger sisters and me in.

I might as well be dead. Isn’t that what I told Mario when asked if I was sure about leaving home? That if I stayed there, I’d always be a prisoner? That my life may as well have never existed at all? That I’d rather face the dangers of the world than to stay in the castle, having never lived at all?

And yet, for an infinite moment, I consider doing just that. Telling my captor, convincing him to take a ransom, then going back home just to grow old and die.

When Tall goes to move my palm, I try to hold it still, my mind solidifying as the moment passes.

Never. I will never go back.

So Tall must never know.

He pries my hand from my hip and holds my other away when I go to cover it again. Squinting, he shakes his head like he isn’t seeing it right. “Is that a snake wrapped around machetes?That’syour family emblem?”

I try to twist away from him, but he holds me still. “All right, all right, I’ll stop. Damn, calm down.”

I don’t realize how heavy I’m breathing until he says that. I close my eyes, try to slow my breathing and focus my attention on it instead of the burning emblem on my hip. It’s supposed to be a warning for any man who dares to touch me before my father chooses a husband for me, and even once I’m married, it’s a silent threat. This is who I am, where I come from, and in a sense, who I belong to.Beware.

It was done out of love. My father held my hand the whole time and didn’t scold me for crying. As intense as the pain was, it was the fear I had in the time leading up to it that was the worst part. I’d watched my older sister go through the same when she received her period, and because I’m six years younger, it meant I had six years to anticipate my turn.

I’m tense as Tall finishes washing me, his touch firm but not rough. When he washes between my legs, he’s surprisingly quick about it, only sawing his hand a few times before he moves on to my feet.

When the water shuts off, marking the end of his intentions for me, I let out a sigh and hang my head with relief, letting water drip from my chin.

He opens the shower door and grabs a towel before wrapping it around me, then he kisses my head and forces me to look at him.

Staring into his eyes, I note for the first time how blue they are. Like the river I watch from my balcony some nights, wondering what it feels like to be caught in its current. Wondering how exhilaratingly alive someone must feel to let its chaotic flow carry them.

This man is heartless and cruel, but looking at him now, having thought about home, he looks less terrifying. Maybe because I know that no matter what, one day my father will find me, dead or alive. I almost pity this fool.

“Ready?” He asks, nodding toward the shower door.

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