Page 122 of Immoral

Uberto counts, "Three. Two—"

My eyes fly open. "Okay! I'll do it," I cry out, holding my hands in the air.

He crosses his arms. "Well, get to it."

Seeing no other option, I strip down to my bra and underwear. I grab a bottle of cleaning solution, and Uberto laughs.

Heart pains shoot through my chest again.

He questions, "You didn't think you would get to keep your undergarments on, did you?"

I cringe. "Please. I'm freezing. I need a hot shower."

He grunts and points to the floor. "Take them off and clean up your mess."

My hands shake. I turn away, barely able to release the hooks on my bra. More tears drip down my cheeks, rolling off my jaw and onto the floor.

"Panties, too," he orders.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, wishing all this would go away. I just want to be back in Gianni's arms, far from this sadistic man. The thought only makes me cry harder. I slide my panties off then crouch to the floor, trying to hide, but it's impossible.

Uberto sits on the black leather chair, lights up a joint, then takes a long drag.

The scent of weed makes me nauseous again, but there's nothing left in my stomach. I dry heave some more.

"Jesus. When did you become so weak?" Uberto questions then takes another hit of his joint.

I don't answer him, try to block out the odor of the smoke, and concentrate on cleaning up my mess. The towel isn't enough to get even half of it. I glance up. "I need more rags."

He gives me a look. It makes me feel like I'm pathetic. Then he nods to the kitchen. "Then get up and go get them."

I wince, not wanting to stand up or parade around in front of him nude. I hesitate then ask, "Could you please get it? I'm still not feeling well."

Hatred resonates in his voice and face. "Bitch, if you puke anymore, you're going to be cleaning that up as well. I don't care either way. But get your ass off the floor and do whatever you need to make that tile spotless again."

I shake my head, blurting out, "Why are you doing this to me? Did our time together mean nothing to you?"

They're both dumb questions. I shouldn't have wasted my breath asking them. I already know the answer, so maybe it's a stall tactic.

He jumps up so fast, the chair scoots back. He lunges toward me and tugs my hair until I'm on my feet.

"Stop it!" I scream.

"You want to know what you meant to me?"

"Let me go," I sob, pushing against his chest.

He grips my chin and yanks it upward. His bloodshot eyes have the same crazed look I saw in them the night he drugged and kidnapped me. Spit flies into my face as he seethes, "Do you think I didn't know your history with Gianni? Or that anything I said to you was true?"

The blood drains from my face to my toes.

Uberto laughs. "You thought we met by chance? That it had nothing to do with your bastard husband?"

"Wh-why would you…what...oh God." I shake harder, and he becomes blurry from my tears.

He leans into my ear. "Every word, every act, every moment, I planned."

"But-but why?" I choke out.

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