Page 74 of Butterfly

I don’t rush. Each step brings me closer to Sienna, but at the same time, far from her. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, patience and kindness might not be enough. I loiter in front of her door before knocking. “Sienna?”

No answer. I call her again. Silence. Fear grips my throat with a cold hand. Is there anything sharp in the bedroom? I shove the door open, but she’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide. Pulse pounding in my temples, I shut the door behind me, cutting off the noises coming from downstairs. “You didn’t answer.”

“I know why you are here.”

“We need to talk.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

My shoulders sag. She promised. “Sienna—”

“I can show you though.”

“Show me?” As I step further into the room, shadows dance on her tense face.

When I stop a few feet from her, she pulls her jumper and shirt off with a quick yank. Her hair falls around her shoulders in a cascade of gold. I curse myself as a shot of pure desire stirs in my trousers at the sight of her wearing only a lacy black bra that pushes up her full breasts. Her nipples harden through the thin fabric, partially concealed by her long tendrils.

My mouth is dry. “Sienna, what—”

She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra but covers her breasts before they are bare. Then she turns around, pulling her hair over her shoulder and showing me her naked back.

All the breath rushes out of my lungs in one blow. In the top right corner, a large dark bruise covers her shoulder. The mark of the donkey’s hoof is visible like a dark ‘U.’ But that’s not what makes me shiver or causes the blood to flow down from my head. Scars ravage her back. Angry, swollen marks that mar her creamy skin. The word ‘whore’ is carved in her flesh with sharp strokes. Only a few inches are unblemished under her nape and above the small of her back.

Cold descends on my heart and stomach. It’s as if ice fills my insides. I stagger towards the bed where she’s shivering. “Bloody hell, Sienna.” I touch the angry scars but pause when she jolts and gasps. “He tortured you.”

Dozens of questions cram my mind. Do the police know? Was the bastard punished? How the hell did you get those? What did he use? But I can’t say anything. My tongue is frozen, and my throat is swollen with shock. Wrath is bubbling within me, dyeing the world red. The urge to punch…no, to kill the bastard who did that is an overwhelming force that guts me.

With shaking fingers, she clasps her bra and tosses her hair over her back, hiding the scars. “There’s”—she swallows—“a flash drive on the nightstand.” She doesn’t face me, and as much as I want to hold her and look at her face, I let her talk. “In it, there’s only one file. A video. I’ve never watched it. But I lived it.”

I hesitate before taking the device. Silence is a tense rope between us. I caress the top of her head and touch the bruise gently.

“It’s not long, I believe,” she whispers. “Please, watch it. I’ll wait here. We’ll talk once you’ve seen it.”

“Sienna.” My voice is a strangled, raspy noise.

“Please watch it. I promise we’ll talk later.”

I kiss her neck before taking the device and walking out. Bitter bile fills my mouth when I insert the flash drive into my laptop. The title of the video is a long series of numbers and letters that make no sense. When I click on the icon, the video starts with a police logo and a serial number. Black fills the screen for a few moments, and then the face of a fifty-something man appears. Grey hair peppers his temples, and a short stubble covers his chin. He’d look ordinary if not for the cold glint in his eyes and crooked nose.

“This is it.” His voice is rough and ringing with anticipation. “The little whore has a boyfriend.” He scratches his chin. “She isn’t a virgin anymore. I caught them together in the barn. His trousers were still down. Almost tripped on his way out, the bloody wanker. She deserves a lesson.” A thin blade flashes in the dim light. He strokes it with devotion. “This is going to be fun.”

The video blurs before a sitting room comes into focus. A sofa sits in a corner, and a large dark fireplace takes up half of the shot. My heart gives a solid squeeze when Sienna appears. Her hair is short, bobbing over her tear-stricken cheeks. Her lips are split, and caked blood covers her chin and bare arms. Hell, she must be fifteen.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouts to someone out of shot.

“Scream if you want. No one wants to help you.” He laughs. “You’re on your own.”

His back sweeps into view. So does the blade. He partially blocks the camera as he walks towards her with deliberate steps. But I don’t need to see to understand what’s happening. Sienna screams, her legs fluttering and kicking. He grunts and hits her, holding her down with one hand. Blood pools on the floor.

I pause the video, my chest heaving. I’m sick to my stomach. Might throw up. Sienna asked me to watch the video. Sweat dampens my neck. Swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth, I press play. It’s not clear how they’re fighting, but she springs to her feet, and somehow, her fist connects with his chin before she gives him a hard shove. He staggers backwards, nearly losing his balance, the blade clattering to the floor. The fierce light in her eyes hardens with hatred.

“What have you done?” He straightens, but she’s faster.

She shoves him with the brute force of her desperation. Her shoulder hits his stomach. He stumbles again and falls over backwards. A sickening noise and a muffled groan resound as he disappears from view. Wheezing, Sienna stands up, small fists closed. She stares at him, mouth hanging open. He isn’t moving. His head is out of the shot, but his feet and legs are visible, and they’re still.

With a roar, she kicks and punches him. “I hate you!” Her voice holds that childlike quality that makes it high-pitched.

She hits him over and over until sweat mingles with her blood, and she’s breathing hard, her matted hair plastered over her cheeks. She cries and screams, swinging from desperation to anger.

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