Page 19 of Pretty Pink Poison
And he came. Always without remorse. And always willing to fuck me into oblivion. He didn’t stay the night, never came to the front door, never told a soul about me. He snuck in through a window somehow, and he didn’t offer me any promises or reassurances of our future. He remained stoic and callous outside of what we did in the dark, just like the brother of the man I would marry should.
He treated me the same in front of his brothers in the light of day. He still brought girls to parties, and he still told me there was nothing between us, but I knew how he felt between my legs, knew what he whispered when he thought I was too far gone in my passion to listen. I knew he wouldn’t let another man near me without my consent and knew he watched me when I wasn’t looking.
Year after year, he showed up. I thought he was mine and I was his. I made up excuses to stay in school and continue on into a doctorate program so that I could prolong my inevitable engagement to Rafe.
My father couldn’t lock me away in a closet again because I made sure not to go home.
It was the risk I took for him. For us. I thought Bane would want me in the end. I thought he cared.
But I was so, so wrong.
When Rafe insisted on having a reunion sort of Halloween party at his residence and told me they were ready to start treating me like one of the family with my doctoral studies finally ending, I figured they’d surprise me with what I really wanted, that Bane had told his brothers about our love for one another.
I even went as far as to tell Angela I’d given my virginity to someone other than Rafe. She wanted to know who, but I just laughed and told her that he wore a different mask every night. Yet, everyone showed except Bane.
I admit I took one too many drinks. I admit I danced with too many men.
But the man that met me in the upstairs hall with a gruesome mask on didn’t talk just like Bane. He was tall just like Bane and when he beckoned me into a room, I remember thinking this was a bit more twisted than I wanted but I would go with it.
I remember thinking it was him.
Until I remember it wasn’t.
And then I woke in Rafe’s bed.
Torn apart. Ravaged. And broken.
But not in the way Bane would have ever done to me.
Rafe had stolen a different kind of my innocence that night. And as I hurried to gather my clothes, Rafe walked into the room and shook his head at me in a look I’ll never forget.
Disappointment. He glared at me with so much disapproval that my shame spread to every part of my soul. He swiped my purse from his oak dresser and hissed, “You’re still here? Jesus, Bianca, how am I going to explain it if someone sees? Use a driver of ours and go out the back door so that you’re not seen. You shouldn’t have stayed the night.”
Shock at his accusation after what he’d done to me froze the words on my lips. Embarrassment can be planted and watered so easily when a person is a victim, and it can root itself in all the memories it’s attached to, blooming into self-loathing and hate.
I was too ashamed after to admit I’d let it happen, too ashamed to go to Bane about it.
I had caused our destruction, and so I had to endure the outcome.
“I wantto know who slept with my daughter.”
Oh my fucking God.Perfect. Just the sort of conversation I was hoping my father would start just two months later. The dinner I’d eaten earlier turned over, too, and I swear, my stomach did a little somersault. If I hadn’t been in such a state of shock, I might’ve laughed.
Or cried although I was trained not to show any of my weaknesses.
We’d all been enjoying the evening my father had so carefully put together. As a member of the West Coast Diamond Syndicate, he didn’t spare any expense when it came to impressing his partners. Private ballroom, imported caviar, expensive champagne—you name it. The whole thing was practically a spectacle.
But tonight? He’d opted for a little bit of embarrassment over entertainment.
He’d signaled to the Black family that he wanted a private conversation and then motioned me into the room with him. His voice now boomed through the study, rattling the chandeliers. I swear, he could’ve made a decent career as a professional wrestler with that bellow. It was intimidating, and somehow way too theatrical. The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around the Blacks in the room.
Thank God no one else had come in here with us. The cartels and Russians would have gasped and then had a field day of acting like their precious little kids could never possibly be involved in anything remotely as scandalous.
We were near thirty at this point. It was obvious we’d all slept around.
I knew for a fact that every single one of them had been doing that very thing at that party ten weeks ago. And the best part? I could practically see the looks they would have on their faces when they heard. Angela, in herdemureblack dress, would have looked shocked as she whispered to her sister, though I knew better than anyone that her “shocked” face was about as genuine as the pearls around her neck.
And then there would have been Ivan, Angela’s brother, who was proud as hell of being the Pakhan’s son. His sleazy dark eyes would have trailed over me up and down like he wanted every detail of my tryst. Thankfully it was only the Black men flanking me on either side.
