Page 58 of Tell Me Why
I need to pee.
Ugh.
I wonder if I could hold it, so I don’t have to get up?
Nope. My bladder is way too full.
One. Two. Three.
With a quick jerk of my hand, I fling the covers off, and cold air rushes over my skin, making me shiver. I kick at the rest of the blankets, which end up in a tangled heap at the bottom of the bed.
As I’m lying there, trying to motivate myself to get up, I realize I’m naked. Blinking, I search my memory, trying to piece the events of last night together. Then I remember: the Fox Hunt, the fight with Aidan, Christian fucking me,druggingme…
God.
The fucking asshole.
I suck in a deep breath and try to talk myself into getting up, when my hand absently drifts downward. My fingers brush against something stiff, matted in the patch of curls between my legs…
What the…?
Last night, when we had sex, Christian came inside me—thank God for my NuvaRing—then he gave me a bath, so what the hell is this? Did that motherfucker cumonme after I passed out?
What a fucking psycho.
My bladder is about to burst, so I roll to the edge of the mattress and melt off the bed, my bare feet finding the floor. My legs are a little wobbly, so I move slowly to the bathroom. But as I’m walking, the sensitive skin right above my hip bone starts to sting. I touch my fingers to the spot and notice there’s a bandage there—I’d been so distracted by the cum a few minutes ago, I hadn’t even noticed it.
In the bathroom, under the bright white lights, I pull the bandage away from my skin and gasp. There are two letters crudely carved into my skin, a large “C” and a smaller “W.”
As I blink down at the two letters, white-hot anger burns in my chest. He had the audacity to mark me like a child might mark a toy. Which is obviously how he sees me. A toy, athinghe owns.
The Sacred Sons are brutal, cold-blooded monsters—my aunt’s words, murmured in the darkest moments of her grief. As a kid, I had no idea what she was talking about.
Now I know.
Grabbing a washcloth, I soap it up and scrub Christian West off my body. I’d take a shower, but I don’t have the energy, so I settle for a quick sponge bath.
Sitting on the counter is a new toothbrush still in its packaging and an unopened stick of deodorant—thoughtful gestures if they’d come from anyone other than Christian. But knowing him, the items are completely self-serving. He wants me to be clean. For him.
Once I’ve used the toilet and brushed my teeth, I head back into the bedroom and sift through my duffel bag for something to wear. I find a pair of underwear, gray leggings, and a black tank top with a bra built in. I’d originally brought a hoodie, but a couple of weeks ago, I set it down somewhere and I haven’t seen it since. So I grab one of Christian’s hoodies from his closet and pull it on. It’s several sizes too big, and I swim in it, but that’s perfect. The absolute last thing I want today is to be perceived. By anyone. For any reason.
Fuck every single person in this house.
Except Skye, I guess.
My stomach growls, and as I’m walking out of the closet, I see a tray sitting on the desk with coffee, pastries, and fruit on it. I hadn’t noticed it before. And it’s far too fancy to be something Christian put together himself, so he must have ordered it.
I’m impressed. The assholeactuallythought about someone else for once.
Still, I consider refusing the food in protest—I hate the idea of acceptinganythingfrom him—but I’m starving, so I grab the mug of coffee and take a sip, biting back the groan that bubbles up in my throat. It’s a vanilla latte, and it’s in one of those smart mugs, so it’s still hot.
Sweet Mother of Jesus.Goddamn.I gulp down half the latte, then pick up the egg and bacon croissant sandwich. On the plate, under the sandwich, there’s a folded piece of paper.
Unfolding the paper, I read the short message. It’s in code.
My heart stops, likeactuallyceases beating for a full ten seconds. Does someone know I have the decoder? I’d grabbed it from the study last night and slipped it into the pocket…
In a frenzy, I search the room for my skirt, finally finding it discarded next to the bed. I shove my fingers into the pocket and breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the hard edge of the folded paper. Thank God, Christian didn’t search my pockets.
