Page 4 of The Mistake

He was a strangeman. There were times he’d come into my company and neither of us had talked. Like today, he’d stared at me and told me I looked beautiful. I didn’t believe him. Trash never looked pretty.

“Get your fucking ugly face out of here.”

“I should shoot you in the face, it would make you look more interesting.”

“No man is ever going to want you.”

“Put a bag over your face.”

Because my father didn’t want to see my face, one day to humiliate me, he’d cut holes in a paper bag and forced me to wear it for an entire week. The only time I didn’t have to, was to go to school. Once I got home, the paper bag went back on my head. For the whole week, he didn’t hurt me. I’d been so relieved that I’d been tempted to wear it permanently, but he’d needed someone to vent his anger, and even with the paper bag, he’d needed to hurt me, so he had.

The paper bag had been useless to me.

Pushing those memories aside, I had no choice but to follow Ive’s lead.I was starting to see the error of my ways with not wearing shoes. It was not my brightest idea.

It would seem people didn’t always come empty-handed and there were crumbs on the floor, dirty, used pens, and other items. I’m pretty sure I saw an earring, and I was able to step over it without it piercing my foot. How did someone lose an earring? It wasn’t a small stud either, but a large diamond, the kind that dangled from a woman’s ear and looked beautiful, often too large for the woman’s ear as it seemed to stretch down. Why the fuck was I thinking about how women’s earrings looked? This was my wedding.

We went outside and it was hot. Summer was coming to an end. I hated summer, but loved winter. I didn’t mind fall and spring but I hated summer. The heat, the sunlight, the happiness everyone seemed to have at wearing less clothes. Like my dress. I hated my dress. It showed way too much skin. At least it hadn’t exposed my back, but then, no one could show my back. Years of taking Father’s belt hadn’t done my back justice. There were a lot of scars. Not just on my back, but on my front and my thighs.

When my father had succumbed to his rage, he had liked to hit every part of me butmy face. He did like to slap me, and he’d even given me a black eye once, but I had a feeling he didn’t like the way some of his men looked at him when they saw me. It was rare for me to get a black eye or a split lip. If I got one, he’d seriously lost control.

The sun glared down, giving me no choice but to squint through my eyes.It was way too bright.

There were several people with cameras. Ivan hadn’t been joking. This was a real marriage, with real people. But this wasn’t a real marriage, not like normal people have. I didn’t know why Ivan chose me.

For what felt like an eternity, I was told to smile, look lovingly at my husband, then toward the camera as we were photographed. There were not many pictures of me growing up. My father refused to have any memories of me. At the clubhouse, there were loads of Cassie. She’d been the true princess, the daughter he loved. I was nothing. Trash. No one took pictures of trash. No one hugged trash. No one told trash that everything was going to be all right. What they did to trash was ignore it. That is what I was used to.

Being touched is strange to me. Even when Rage hugged me, it was hard for me to truly understand and even allow myself to feel anything from that simple embrace.

Thiswas a death sentence. I knew that. The Volkov Bratva was not a good … anything. They were dangerous, deadly, and my life had a ticking clock attached to it. Tick tock. It wouldn’t be long until I took my last breath.

Pictures were taken with my bridesmaids, my sister, Ivan, my husband,and with the brigadiers, or the only surviving ones. One of them was dead. Like my father.

And just like that, the photographs had come to anend, and now it was time to … what? I didn’t know. Ive walked us toward a limousine, held the door open for me. I slid inside, getting as close to the other door as possible. On instinct, I tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. There was no way to open it. I tried slamming my whole body against it. Nothing.

“Do you think I would allow you to run on our wedding day?” he asked.

“Whynot? It’s not like you want to be married to me.”

“True.”

His words don’t hurt me. It takes a lot to hurt, insult, and offend me. At least my father gave me a thick skin. I think I could take a beating without ratting out anyone. Staring out the window, I watch the passing scenery, not quite taking it in.

When was I going to die?Clasping my hands together, I sink my nails into my flesh and try not to lose it. I can be quite patient. Do I really want to know the end date of my life?

Our drivewas silent, of course. Ive never talked to me. He didn’t speak a word. Even when I’d attempted to run from him, he merely carried me back, like it was nothing.

The limousine slowed down, and I glanced out the window to see a beautiful house. It’s not Ive’s, I remember what his home looked like. On one of the few occasions I had run from his home, I’d explored the grounds and found myself at the front of his home.

He lived in a beautiful country home. A place that to me screamed of hope and family, and a future. All of which I was not going to have.

Ive opened his door and slid out. The ground was gravel and I still didn’t have anykind of shoes. Once again, I had no choice but to question what the fuck I was thinking in not wearing shoes. The heels had hurt. I wouldn’t have been able to walk in them, but I’d rather have the heels than step over stones barefoot. Sliding over, I hesitated.

Ive slid his foot close. “Put your foot on my shoe.”

I wanted topull back and ask to go for a drive, but that would be weak. I put my foot on his shoe. He took hold of my hand and lifted me up and out of the car. One of his arms went to my butt, sliding down toward my knees, and the other rested at my back. The moment he picked me up, I let out a startled cry. He lifted me up with ease, and then kicked the door closed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

---