Page 77 of Sonata of Lies
CLARA
“You little slut. You little fucking slut.”
“Get your hands off me!” I hiss, pulling away from him.
Martin grabs my arm again and uses the momentum to slam me up against the wall. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll give you something to scream about.”
I freeze. He’s said that many times before.
He always follows through.
“You’ve been fucking around on me with that Zakrevsky bastard.” He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Spreading your legs for the mob, huh?”
I try to pull away again, but he presses harder.
“Not a fucking chance, Clara.” Martin’s other hand wanders over my body. “It’s time you finally learn who you belong to.”
“Not… you…” I manage through clenched teeth.
He rubs a hand up my waist to my breast and squeezes hard. When he pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, my whimper of pain makes him smile.
“See?” he says, as if I’m enjoying this with him. “I know what you need. A firm hand. A daily reminder of who owns you. That’s me, baby. Me and no one else.”
I shake my head as much as his hand will allow. “Never. Fuck off.”
The slap comes without warning. I hear the crack against my face before I feel the hot burn of the blow bloom across my cheek. The other side of my face smashes into the wall.
Martin yanks my dress up and shoves a hand between my legs to palm me. “This is mine, you selfish bitch. All mine. You got that?”
Stars explode in the corners of my vision. His voice blurs in my ears at times. But most of all, I feel him grabbing and squeezing me where I least want him. It’s bad enough he feels like he’s allowed to touch me there. It’s worse when he starts rubbing his fingers around and pressing into me.
“All. Fucking. Mine.” Martin grins and pulls his hand away, thank God. But then he licks each finger clean and grins. “God, I missed you, baby.”
“Keep missing me.” I spit at his feet. “I’m not going back with you.”
He hits me again, but this time, I’m prepared. I roll my head with the blow so it glances off—but it still hurts.
“You’re coming back with me. You’re coming home and I’m putting a ring on that finger and a baby in your belly.” Martingrabs my hair and pulls me close to his face. “Over and over again. By the time I’m done, no one—not even Zakrevsky—will want to touch you.”
I shudder. Not because I’m accepting that as my fate—but because it’s clear how much he actually believes that to be true. He genuinely intends on this life for me. Breeding stock. And, of course, picking up his messes and begging him for scraps just to feed his power hunger.
“Actually, you know what?” Martin chuckles as if he’s had the most brilliant idea. “Let’s start now.”
Oh, God, no…
Now would be the perfect time for someone,anyone, to stumble upon us. But he chose to ambush me here for a reason: it’s dark and quiet and well-removed from the rest of the party.
Martin yanks up the skirt of my dress again. The fabric tears and beads scatter on the carpet. His face contorts into an ugly, greedy grin when he sees how much easier it is to push my legs apart.
And then it contorts into furious pain when I snap my knees shut and kick him in the groin.
He doubles over, and I use that to my advantage, whipping my knee up to connect with his chin. Martin’s head snaps back with a strangled cry through clenched teeth. I hope to God he bit his tongue clean off.
Blood and spittle trickle from his lips. Before he has a chance to rebound, I plant both feet against his chest and shove.
I don’t consider myself to be particularly strong. Lord knows I could benefit from joining a gym.
But something inside me is powering every fiber of muscle. Something that tastes like rage makes me give one more swift kick to Martin’s face before I run away to find Demyen.