Page 41 of When Sinners Hate
“I think you know I would.”
“Why is Ratchet coming?”
“To fuck you. Or fuck you up. I haven’t decided yet.” She doesn’t even look at me after that. She stares at the dried blood on the mattress and swallows, slowly clawing herself back to the wall. “Which would you rather?” No glare anymore. Barely anymalice either. Just fear and nerves and surprise. “You won’t die today, though. I’ll promise you that much at least.”
“I don’t understand,” she says quietly.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
“I thought we were …”
“What? What did you think we were?”
“I’m your wife.”
“Hmm. His daughter, too. I made a million for agreeing to this marriage. Nothing in reality. A cheap price. How much more are you going to make me?” Her eyes widen, as if she didn’t know that piece of information. I chuckle and go put my jacket on a stool at the side of the room. “He didn’t tell you he had to bribe me to make it happen?”
The door opens, as she’s trying to work through that betrayal in her head, and Ratchet walks in. It must feel that way to her. I didn’t want her – didn’t want the union at all. Her father bartered hard, though. Between him and Mother and the potential profit and power allowing them into our territory could bring, I relented.
I look at Ratchet, nodding at him to start the process. He moves as he usually does, stridently, and lacking any care about what he’s about to participate in. Alexia skips sideways, trying to get away. That’s as futile as the lie she’s pretending to live with me, and I watch on as he grabs her and moves her towards the mattress.
Piercing shouts and screams start immediately, as she begins her fight. She’ll lose, but I want that bite coming out strong and hard now. I want to feel it, see it, and sense who she can be when I strip this bullshit from her and find some authenticity. I walk the room as she keeps attempting to fight, flicking on the camera spotlights and pressing the button to film on one. Both of them are flooded with light, and while I frownas I watch him manhandle her to get her how I want her on the mattress, there’s no denying I’m aroused by it.
Her body twists and turns, as he finally forces his weight on her shoulders, and her head whips sideways to look at me as I walk by. Venom and hatred pour off her in waves. “Let me go!” she spits. “WHY?” She looks back at Ratchet and manages to get her knee up, attempting to roll away out from under him. “FUCK OFF! Get the hell off me!”
Going back to my jacket, I pull the blade out and keep watching as he gets her left wrist into a shackle, then moves for her right foot to do the same. I walk over the second he’s got her stretched out on the mattress, his one hand still pinning her right hand down. She’s still trying to fight her way out as I get to her. Too late for fighting now. She shouldn’t have brought scheming into my home.
He turns as I move in, giving me space, and so I get on with what needs doing. The knife shreds her skirt first, ripping the length of it until it’s slashed up the middle and tattered, and then I move on to the silk blouse. By the time I’m done she’s fully exposed, with torn clothes, nothing but discarded wealth on the floor around us.
“This is what you've become, Alexia. This is what you agreed to the possibility of by marrying me.”
Backing off, I look down at her. Fine lingerie clings to skin, and regardless of the scenario, sweet high-end perfume fills the room and my senses. I keep looking at Ratchet’s hands locked on her skin to keep her flat to the mattress rather than the flailing she’s trying for. That’s the one part of this I’m not comfortable with, no matter the necessity or my own arousal. In fact, Chance might have been right earlier. I am feeling possessive.
“More pressure, Ratchet.” He grips tighter, causing her to wince and whimper. “Everywhere. Make it hurt. She needs to getused to it.” Her arm gets pulled taut, and the rest of her strains under the force he’s putting on her. She screams once, then tries arching away from what he’s doing to her. She won’t get away from anything he does.
“Please!” she shouts. “Stop!”
It doesn't stop and won’t until she understands how far I’m prepared to go to get a wife who I trust. She’s in my family's space – in their thoughts and circle. That means she either becomes a part of it that I can trust, or she’ll end up treated like nothing but merchandise I can use.
Her pleading continues, and my taunting carries on. Ratchet might as well be me, because I'm damn close to inflicting the same merciless pain as he is doing at the moment. Instead, I'm watching it. I’m letting her know how close she is to becoming nothing to me.
She cries out in agony at one point. I'd like to think I'm immune to the sound by now, but eventually I nod at Ratchet as he looks up at me. He lightens his grip instantly, giving her some reprieve from the pain. She curls one leg up as best as she can and turns away from me. She’s not crying, not shouting anymore either. She’s just resigned to what’s happening.
“Is that it, Alexia? Is that all the fight you have in you?” Her eyes blink and she keeps staring at the wall away from me, so I move into her eye line and crouch. “That’s all you’ve got to give?” I sigh and look at her body. “It’s not enough for a Cortez. Certainly not my wife. Would you give in so easily if this was an enemy?”
She doesn’t offer me anything. No looking at me. No talking. No pleading. Just a tremble over her body. I put the blade down on the floor in front of her face and spin it. It glints under the arc of the spotlight touching it, clinking the ground on every rotation. “I am the enemy, though, aren’t I? That's where your head’s at all the damn time.”
She looks at the blade spinning, and then glances at me briefly. “What do you want, Abel?”
“Want? I want you to show me some respect.” She frowns and stays locked on the knife, as it slowly comes to a stop. “I want you to show your new name some respect and stop screwing around. I want you to own it because it’s more than yours ever was.” I get up from the crouch and stand. “But you’re still playing a game with me, Alexia. Dinner the other night? A bet? Do I seem like a man who makes bets about trivial bullshit?”
She throws another glance my way. “It was just something to–”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m done with this crap. This shit you keep bringing is worthless to me. The lying, the scheming, the fakery. It’s tiring as fuck, Alexia. You’re yet another burden to me like that, a constant fucking pain in my ass.”
I watch her trying to figure out what’s going on here, leave the knife exactly where it is, and begin pacing the room away from her. “I think I hoped you might be more than I thought you were. You're not, though, are you? The only reason you’re here is to what? Get vengeance for your brother perhaps? Or steal from me for your father?” I start unbuttoning my shirt, then lever my belt undone. “And I suppose if I have to continue fucking you like an Ortega whore rather than a Cortez wife, I’m already practised at that.” The leather of the belt slides out of the loops and threads into my hand, as I look down at her. “I’d rather watch you suffer, though. Disloyalty earns you nothing but my hatred. It certainly doesn't get you my face.”
She looks over at me, hawk-like eyes scanning my every move. “It’s not surprising really. As you said, you are a whore. You’ve been bred as one. It’s a shame, though, because loyalty to me could give you everything you’ve never had. And I have plenty of whores already.” I don't want another one. “This filmwill be worth money, though. A good profit for an afternoon’s amusement. Ratchet, it's time to leave.”