Page 48 of Brutal

I nod. I’m intrigued despite myself. “Yeah. You said they drowned when you were a kid.” Those words had left a surprisingly strong impression on me.

“Yep. After that, it was just me and Irene.” Mimosa lets out a soft laugh. “More like, Irene taking care of me. She’s seven years older than I am. It must have been really hard to be a parent that young.” Her expression turns darker. “But then she threw everything we had away to work for Giulio fucking Pavone. And she was too stupid to realize that pissing him off would have consequences for us—for me.”

I arch a brow. “Where is she now?” I ask, sitting up on the couch and trying to ignore the way my head spins.

“Still with Pavone?” Mimosa suggests with a shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t exactly been in contact with her since Pavone snatched me from my life and forced me to whore myself out, all to teach Irene a lesson.” She frowns. “I guess I don’t know if she’s still alive.”

“Do you care?” I ask, leaning my head back against the couch. “I don’t give a fuck that my parents are dead.” I don’t know why I offer that last bit of information. I must be drunker than I realized.

“I…” Mimosa looks down at her hands. “I hadn’t thought about it. I assumed she was still alive. I…” Her voice cracks, and she shakes her head. “I don’t want her to be dead. She’s my only family. Even if she fucked up, she raised me.”

I sigh, closing my eyes again for a moment. “I could probably find out,” I offer grudgingly.

Why I said that, I don’t know. I don’t care about her sister, and even if she’s alive, I have no plans to rescue her

“Oh.” Mimosa meets my gaze, and I don’t know how to feel about the way her expression softening has my pulse quickening. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

My heart hammers faster in my chest. “Yeah,” I say awkwardly. “Who knows when I’ll get around to it though.” I’m the first one to look away, unsure of why I offered something so fucking nice. “Go get me a glass of water, Mimi.” I drag myself up off the couch. “Bring it to the bedroom.”

I stagger in that direction without glancing back at her. Either she’ll do it, or she won’t. If she does, well, maybe I’ll let her sleep in my bed. If not… I can always punish her tomorrow.

CHAPTER 12

Mimosa

I wake up in Brutal’s bed with him staring directly at me. I tense and clutch at the sheets, which are miraculously still covering me.

He’d been a little nicer yesterday, but I’m not naive enough to believe he might have completely changed his tune.

“You’re finally awake,” Brutal says, sitting up. “I thought you were going to sleep the entire fucking day.”

The entire day? I glance at the bedside clock. It’s already 11 a.m. I can’t believe I slept this late.

On the other hand, I’ve had a rough few days. I deserve more sleep than I’m getting. There’s nothing I particularly want to be awake for, either.

“Food’s on the tray over there.” Brutal points to a tray on the nearby ottoman. “If you say anything about the quality, I will lock you up again.”

I don’t know if I’m hungry, but I’m fully aware that I can’t afford to miss a meal. I don’t know what will set him off again, and I need to keep my strength up. I slowly shift out of bed and go for the food, which is just scrambled eggs and bacon. Not my preferred breakfast food, but I’ve gotten the sense that Brutal is adventurous in everything but his diet.

I eat quickly, trying not to be so conscious of Brutal watching me the entire time. He wants something, clearly, and I don’t want to know what it is.

“Mimi, I was thinking.” Brutal gets off the bed and starts pacing around. “You said I was out of control.” He grins at me, and if I didn’t know what a terrible person he was, I might find him handsome. “Well, I came up with a game that will show you just how in control I am.”

A game.

I set the plate aside and sit up straighter. “Okay.”

“You’ve liked my games so far, haven’t you?” he asks, flashing a smirk at me. He pauses in pacing for a moment to consider me, then heads to one of the dresser drawers. “I got something for us to play with.”

I dread whatever toy he’s going to pull out of that chest. My mind is racing with possibilities: a whip, another cane, some form of dildo or butt plug that will stretch me to my limits.

Instead, he pulls out a glass with a candle inside.

It seems innocuous enough at first, but then I start thinking through the possibilities of just what he could do with it. He’s obviously had plenty of time to mull over them, and he moves with confidence as he lights it.

To my surprise, he leaves it alone, going to sit on the edge of the bed. “C’mere, Mimi,” he invites me, patting his lap.

I have to steel myself to walk over to him. My feet still twinge with mild pain, but I’m sure I won’t be thinking about them soon enough.