“We’ve spoken about this, Bethany. Beauty marks are one thing, but moles are unacceptable.” My brows furrow, wondering how one would have any control over that.
“You were told to upkeep on the hair sprouting from these ugly things every day. Why do I see hair?”
The girl-Bethany-shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Francesca. When I had the flu-“
A sharp slap cuts off her words, the sound ringing in my ears. Bethany is holding her reddened cheek, mouth parted in shock.
“Do you still have the flu?” Francesca snarls.
Bethany shakes her head slowly. “No, ma’am. I broke the fever last night.”
My eyes nearly bulge, but I work to smooth out my expression. This is probably the first day she feels somewhat human again.
“Rocco!” Francesca calls out loudly, causing the six of us to startle. We all seem to straighten our spines at once.
Rio has told me about him, but I haven’t had the displeasure of meeting him yet. If the palpable tension in the air is anything to go by, he’s someone to be feared. They all are, really, but for the first time since meeting these girls, I can taste it.
All except Sydney, apparently. She’s hiding her giggles behind a hand, staring at the door with glee. I shoot her a nasty look, but she’s not paying a lick of attention to me.
Heavy footsteps ascend the steps, each thud rocketing the tension higher. By the time he enters, we’re all made of stone, and Sydney is vibrating with excitement.
His presence is pure evil, and I just know that when this man dies, he won’t go to Hell. He’ll stay in the fourth dimension, where he’ll continue to haunt and terrorize the living.
Rocco is a large man with an even larger gut. Sweat coats his skin as he scans the six of us. He definitely looks like Francesca’s brother, both with hooked noses, tanned skin, and golden-brown eyes.
Though they look related, Francesca is beautiful, whereas Rocco is… not.
The only beauty that has ever touched this man has been at the hands of a woman. Touches that were stolen and came with a steep price that only she paid for.
Francesca nods at Bethany, “She hasn’t been up-keeping the ugly growths on her face.”
Rocco’s eyes snap to the trembling girl, and though he’s not looking at me, the power behind his stare sends a shot of terror through my system. Bethany attempts to keep her face blank, but her entire body is rattling so hard, I can hear her bones knocking together.
Silence descends on the room, so when he opens a switchblade, the sharp metallic ring sounds like a strike of lightning.
Bethany jumps, and I’m not the only other girl that shifts uncomfortably.
“P-please, Roc-“
“Don’t speak,” he snaps, his rusty voice sending shivers down my spine. I’ve no idea what he’s going to do, but I am sure of one thing; that voice is going to haunt my nightmares for the rest of my days.
“You’re worthless to us if you’re ugly,” he scolds, walking over to her and clutching her face in his meaty palm. She whimpers as he squeezes her cheeks roughly and jerks her head to the side so he can get a better view of her moles.
She bristles, but somehow forces herself not to fight his hold like a rabid dog. He points the tip of the blade to her skin and slowly starts cutting.
I gasp and go to step forward, but next to me, the brown-haired girl’s hand snaps out and grabs ahold of mine, clenching so hard it’s painful.
And from my other side, Sydney ohhhs like an older sibling who’s watching the younger child get in trouble. I whip my head towards her, fury radiating from every pore in my body.
“What is wrong with you?” I hiss, keeping my voice low.
Sydney’s dark eyes meet mine, and I realize they’re not much different from Rocco’s. Dead and cold.
“A lot,” she answers blandly.
Bethany screams as Rocco continues carving into her face, and I physically cannot hold myself back.
“Aren’t you making her uglier?” I snap. Bethany is by no means ugly, but their logic is backwards. If a mole with a few hairs is such a big deal, how is cutting up her face solving the problem?
They’re scarring her face, for fuck’s sake.
Rocco freezes, and Francesca’s head turns towards me, rage evident through her caked makeup. But something in her expression is what causes instant regret. Not because she’s angry with me for speaking out, no.
Because she won’t be able to save me.
Sydney snickers loudly from beside me and takes a giant step away. Clearly not wanting to be associated with my bad behavior, though the way she’s been acting is repulsive.
I bite my lip, my eyes dropping along with my heart. It begins to thud violently as fear fills my veins and adrenaline circulates deeply throughout my body, making me feel nauseous.
I close my eyes in resignation, hating myself for my lack of self-control. This isn’t like confronting a psychotic stalker. He’s not enigmatic, nor will he toe the line between pain and pleasure. There’s no sick thrill when a disgusting man is staring me down, probably imagining all the worst ways he could defile or murder me.
He isn’t Zade.
Rocco releases Bethany, blood dripping down her face and staining his fingertips. She’s trembling, her face contorted with pain, whimpers leaking past her lips as she reels from having her face cut open.
“What did you say, diamond?” Rocco drawls, his voice dipped in venom. I tighten my lips, hating that Rick’s nickname is beginning to stick.
Thousands of thoughts race through my head in a matter of seconds. Different scenarios on how I can get out of this unscathed. What I could say or do to calm the violent tornado coming my way, if only it prevents my world from completely crashing down around me. But in the end, I come up blank.
I glance at the brown-haired girl beside me, and she’s staring at me like I’m an idiot. I am an idiot. But fuck, I couldn’t watch a girl get mutilated for having a fucking mole on her face and stand by in silence.
Watch your own back, little mouse. No one else will.
My mouth has dried, and I fear my tongue will shrivel up and crumble from lack of moisture. It’s all been rerouted to my eyes, yet I don’t dare let the tears fall. I lick my lips, wetting them enough so I can push out words, useless as they’ll be.
“Nothing, I’m sorry,” I choke out, keeping my voice small and pleasant. Attitude will undoubtedly result in even worse repercussions, and while I’m successful in that endeavor, I’m unsuccessful in keeping the tremors out of my tone. The fear.
“Stupid girl,” Francesca hisses, her eyes thin and heated. Rocco walks towards me, his candor slow and purposeful as he opens and closes the switchblade. Over and over, each metallic ring pumping dread into my system.
He stops mere inches from me, his beer gut brushing against my stomach and his rank breath burning my nostrils. Jesus, he smells like body odor and week-old cheese that’s been left out in the sun. The little self-control I possess is put towards not cringing from the smell.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
I do, lifting my eyes to meet his cold, deadened stare. A piercing shrill in my ears develops as we glower at each other. It forms deep in the recess of my mind and builds to a crescendo until I can hardly hear a sound outside of it.
It’s a warning. My own body is sounding an alarm, alerting me of the serious damage coming my way. Just like a tornado alarm, right before the deadly twister rips lives to shreds.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.