Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
The whiskey I’ve drunk over the last day and half churns in my gut. I stopped drinking a few hours ago, but it’s going to take longer than that to burn off the effects of this quantity of alcohol.
I glance at Val. “Leave. Make sure no one interrupts us.”
He looks at Madelena, hesitating.
“I said, go.”
He goes. I turn my attention back to my wife and my strange conversation with Thiago echoes in my mind.
“Do you care about her then?”
“What?”
“Santos, Santos, Santos. Take good care to make sure Camilla never knows that.”
I clear my throat, then close the space between us. I touch her cheek, brushing my thumb over the smear of eyeliner. I do care about her, but it’s not what he thinks. I am responsible for her. I have been since the moment I slit the palm of her hand and made my oath. Hers was forced. Mine, well, I held the knife. She can’t navigate my world and all the people in it who will do her harm, who will take what they need from her and discard her… if she’s lucky.
No one is to be trusted. No one. Not our brothers, not our mothers, not my sister. You and I are truly alone.
“Madelena. Were you crying?” My voice is hoarse. Raw. I take my jacket from her and toss it aside, but when my fingers graze the curve of her neck, she shrugs me off and takes a step backward.
“You disappeared.”
“I had to take care of something.”
“You were gone overnight. A full day and night.”
“I’m back. I’m not leaving again.” I reach for her once more, but she puts more distance between us.
“Did you tell your brother?”
I raise my eyebrows, assuming she’s not done yet because I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.
“The cuts. He knew.”
Now I’m confused. “No. Of course not.”
“Then who…” she trails off, shakes her head. “You’re drunk. You told me you don’t drink, yet you stink of a distillery. You lied to me. How many times have you lied to me?”
I close the space between us, then wrap an arm around her shoulders to weave my fingers into her hair. She won’t be walking away from me again.
“What else are you lying about?” she asks. I want to ask what she’s talking about, but she continues before I can. “You left me here alone with them,” she says and for a moment, she’s that girl from five years ago. She was alone then, too, with only her brother to protect her—a brother too young and ill-equipped against men like the Augustines.
I realize as the whiskey-induced fog in my mind clears that she was scared.
“No one would hurt you,” I say, running the backs of my fingers over her cheekbone where her tears have left streaks. “They know they can’t touch you. I’ve made it clear.”
She laughs a short, ugly laugh. “You don’t know them.” She turns, but I catch her arm before she can walk away.
“Madelena?”
She shakes her head. “Let me go, Santos.”
I don’t. “Are you hurt? Is that why you were crying?”
“I’m not crying.” Her eyes dart away like she’s embarrassed.
“If they hurt you, touched you…”
She searches my face before her gaze moves down to my open collar. I’m sure I look like shit. A bender will do that to you, and I should shower, get out of these clothes, and eat something. But the look on her face has my gut tightening. Something happened.
I take hold of both her arms. “What is it?”
“If you were so concerned for me, why did you just leave me here with them?”
“They know they are not to touch you.”
“The rules aren’t the same when you’re gone.”
I look her over, seeing the dress anew. The hair and makeup. She would have attended tonight’s dinner. My mother would have given her no choice… and she wouldn’t have let her show up alone. I lean in and sniff her neck then bring her wrists to my nose and inhale.
No one is to be trusted. No one. Not our brothers, not our mothers, not my sister. You and I are truly alone.
“Why do I smell my brother on you?”
“I don’t think you get to interrogate me. It should be the other way around, don’t you think?”
“Why, Madelena?”
“Let me go.”
“Tell me.”
“You’re hurting me,” she says, twisting a little, and I realize how hard I’m squeezing her wrists.
I loosen my grip, look her over. Shifting both of her wrists into one hand, I grip the draped neckline of her dress and tug.
She gasps but I keep hold of her as I tear the dress away. She won’t be wearing it again anyway. It’s not violent or rushed or angry. I just want her naked. I need to have her naked. To know for myself.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Once the dress is gone and she’s standing in panties, a strapless bra and high-heeled shoes, I look her over.