Page 124 of Bitter Truths

I follow along quietly, spying the glass of wine on the table, and my heart stutters before surging wildly. But when he glances back at me, I look forward once again, noting the rich red liquid out of the corner of my eye.

Is that my chance?

“Go, clean yourself up. I’ll be waiting when you’re done. Don’t bother dressing,” he says impatiently, watching me like a hawk until I’m inside the bathroom.

He walks away, and I stare after him silently before dropping my clothes and stepping into the shower. The warm water feels good against my aching skin, and I take extra care to clean every crevice.

Frankly, I’m deadened, so I’ll play the game if that’s what he wants.

When I emerge, I wrap a towel around my torso and leave my wet hair hanging down my back, the cool droplets sliding down my skin.

He nods approvingly but smirks at my small defiance before shaking his head and approaching me. Before I have time to process anything, or fucking prepare myself, he grabs me by my wet hair and forces me to my knees.

“Kneel. I’m going to have to punish you for your misdeeds. But don’t worry; if you’re good, there will be pleasure after,” he says silkily.

At this, I feel the first tremble and smooth my hands along my thighs to hide the evidence. And then I’m crying out because he picks up a wooden spoon resting on the table and proceeds to hit me along the shoulders with it.

Helplessly, I wrench away, a sob on my lips that I bite back. Still, the burn fills me up, and I pull it in, even as I can’t help the pained sounds barking from my mouth. But I welcome it. It’s a reminder of why I’m here. I’m going to make him bleed.

“Twenty,” he says firmly before grabbing me up, still by my hair, and shoving me into a chair at the table.

Sitting stiffly, I watch him walk around the table and into the kitchen. My shoulders ache from the abuse, and I wince as I pull the pill, still in the baggy clenched in my hand, forward.

He’s rooting around in the refrigerator, and with a shaky hand, I drop the pill into the glass before leaning back just as he turns to look at me. My heart is pumping ferociously in my chest, but I stare at him with dead eyes until he turns back around.

Fuck me. Slumping, I bite back a moan at the sting and stare at the wine glass as the pill floats along the top. Shit.

Glancing around wildly, I stare at the damn wooden spoon he just beat me with. I can’t exactly use my fingers because the drug is too powerful. But it would be painfully evident if he turned around and spied me stirring his drink with a damn wooden spoon.

Instead, I watch helplessly as the pill slowly erodes, praying to a fucking god I don’t believe in that the damn thing will just disappear into the dark liquid.

He turns back to me, and I clench my hands in my lap, the plastic baggie sliding between my fingers. Fuck. With one eye on the wine, I tuck the baggie under the seat pad to my right just as he says, “You’re a bit of a disappointment, Halsey. I expected you to be more grateful.”

Huh. Well, I expected you to be a fucking safe haven. Dick.

He comes around the island with a contemplative look, and I glance at the wine glass quickly before bowing my head and hoping he doesn’t notice as the pill continues to bob and circle the glass.

A wave of hysteria burns through me, and a giggle escapes, to which he cocks his head to the side. I cover my mouth, but it’s no use, and he looks me over with a frown.

“This is not how it works, you know. But I’ll teach you,” he murmurs, stopping before me and running his hand over my hair.

I freeze, bile roiling in my stomach. I don’t want him to touch me—ever. He wrenches my hair back, and I gasp, staring into his eyes as his lip curls in a frown, and he says firmly, “I touch you when I want. If you don’t listen, you will be punished. Do you understand?”

I can’t form the words until he pulls me around roughly, and I cry out before whispering, “Yes.”

When he raises a brow, I drop my gaze because I’m beginning to realize as I sit here that this is deeper than I thought. He’s a fucking maniac, which is why I’m grateful I came in hard because I’m not sure he plans to let me go.

“Good, here drink,” he says, picking up the wine.

Panicked, I look at the liquid, but the pill is gone, and I’m so fucking relieved I sag only to shy away when he brings it to my lips.

His mouth curls in a snarl, and he tugs on my head again until I cry out, “Please, I’m allergic.”

He lets go, and I flop forward, biting back the sob on my lips as tears fill my eyes. Thankfully, he doesn’t make me drink it, and I cower away from him, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

Holy shit. That was close.

He sets the wineglass down, and I hold back the frown because this isn’t going to work if he doesn’t fucking drink it.

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