Page 75 of Do It For Me
“Please,” I plead, my voice cracking. “Please, I need to talk to him.”
“We had a deal.”
“We never—”
“Dante and I, not you and me,” he cuts me off.
His words shatter my heart. My breath hitches, the room spins, and I feel the weight of everyone’s stares. I can’t stop shaking.
He’s lying.
“What are you talking about?” My voice trembles.
His lips curl in a wicked smile.
“You really believed he loved you?” he says, shaking his head. “Dante was never built to be a husband. He never has been.”
“You have a fiancé and you’re still dripping on my hand... Poor guy. He deserves better than a used cunt like yours.”
“I’m going to fuck this tight pussy until it’s full of my cum. You’ll be walking down the aisle with it dripping out of you, and you’ll be thinking about what I’ll do to you tonight... And when you get married, you’ll think about me every day until we meet again, my little whore.”
“Oh, that poor, lucky bastard.”
He wasn’t pretending. He used me.
“He was here,” I choke out.
“To pay me.”
I lift my chin, though my vision blurs with unshed tears. “Liar. You’ve been lying my whole life—even to my mum.”
This was a family thing. He didn’t sell me. This was an arrangement between—
“What do I gain from lying? I’ve already won.”
Every word from his mouth kills me. He steps closer, and I flinch on the spot.
“Dante is one of the most wanted human traffickers,püppchen,” he continues. “You honestly think I’d let you marry someone like that?”
“Stop,” I plead, as I take a step back.
“Why do you think I kept you locked away? He was going to sell you to someone else. He wouldn’t even take my money. He was planning to use you until he got bored. You’re lucky I struck an agreement with him, or you’d have ended up back in that place.”
I can’t breathe. My chest tightens, and panic grips me.
I need answers. I need to go to him.
My father pulls out his phone and hands it to me.
On the screen are messages—exchanges between him and Dante. Agreements. Sums of money. Comments about me, about my body, like I was nothing more than merchandise.
It’s meaningless. I can’t believe this.
He snatches the phone back. “Now, you’ll be a good girl and return to your husband. You’ll spend the night with him, and you’ll get used tobeingwith him.”
My voice wavers. “How do you even know him? If he’s into trafficking, you—”
“I’m intootherthings,” he interrupts, his voice cold and dismissive, “but nothing so vile as that. I owed him a favour, and I paid with you. And yes, he paid for the times you slept with him.” His lips curl into a mocking smile. “I must say, I’m disappointed you didn’t wait until marriage. But at least I made more money.”
