Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Ive, could you, er, I can’t seem to … my dress won’t open.”
Taking a deep breath because my patience was finally being tested, I open my eyes and see Charlotte presenting me with her back. The corset was tightened. There was a knot at the top, in some kind of fancy bow. I reached out and the moment my skin touched hers, she seemed to tense. I wasn’t truly touching her, just the front of my fingers as I attempted to get the stupid corset off. Why do people tie these things so tight?
“I’ve got to use my knife,” I said.
“What?”
She jerked back.
“I can’t undo it.”
Her eyes were wide.
Lifting the leg of my pants, I pull out one of my knives, and show it to her. “I’m only going to cut the corset.”
She nodded her head and presented me with her back.
Putting my fingers either side of the corset, I moved it away from the flesh of her back, and ran the knife down. I have to be careful. I don’t keep blunt knives and if this was to touch her skin, it would pierce it. The corset opened.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t turn to look at me, but moved back toward the bathroom.
Fuck me, that woman was strange.
****
Lottie
I hate knives of all kinds.
On one of the nights when my father was in a drunken rage, he had me stand in front of his knife. He forced me to put the center of my neck right next to his blade and as I did, I truly thought he was going to cut me. He didn’t, obviously.
There were times he would use his knife on me, but he rarely sharpened them. Most often they didn’t do any damage to me. Only when he dug the blade in, did it even cut my skin.
With the knife Ive had, only the smallest of touches and the corset had given way. He took care of his weapons. I made a mental note to be cautious whenever he had his knives. Stripping out of the wedding dress, I picked it up and placed it in the laundry basket. Some women keep their dresses. I had no intention of keeping my dress, or even looking at it.
Moving toward the shower, I see the button to switch it on, and do so, placing my hand inside, waiting for the water to warm up. The moment it is, I step beneath the hot spray. I love the warmth. Tilting my head back, I enjoyed the feel of the hot water as it washed over my body.
I’m married. To a man I don’t know. A killer. A murderer. A monster. I can’t help but touch my chest. My heart is beating rapidly. I’m not sure if I’m afraid or not. Does Ive scare me?
There are times I cannot tell if I’m afraid or just used to those feelings of fear. My father did a number on me—again, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that. I’m not a stupid person. I did okay in school. I hated school, but I hated home more.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I wash the day off my body, the makeup sliding off my face and filling the drain. I take deep breaths as I do, bringing myself to a sense of calm. After washing my body, I finish doing my hair, and then turn the water off. It’s still warm so I don’t have to worry about it being too cold.
Stepping out of the shower, I grab a towel and wrap it around my body. I use another one on my hair, and glance around the bathroom. I’ve already taken care of my teeth. I’d not eaten a lot today. I just couldn’t stomach food. Adelaide and Aurora had tried to get me to eat. The two women seemed nice, but they were also Bratva wives. My gut was telling me to be careful of who I trust.
The unloved daughter of the MC I may be, but I also knew how to deal with certain situations. Like when I was taken. At first, being quiet and not making a sound, trying to be invisible, hadn’t been an option. I knew my father would find any excuse to hurt me, if he thought for even a second I’d been complicit to the Bratva. So I had fought. I had screamed. I had ordered my release. It hadn’t worked. Instead of being free, I was now married into the Volkov Bratva. Rage told me it would be okay, but I didn’t know how it could be.
I was married to the enemy. I’d heard my father mention the Volkov Bratva many times, and it was never with a happy face. He hated them. He’d wanted to go to war with them. Ivan’s name had come up a lot. My father had wanted more territory. His plan had been to start with Oleg, and slowly work his way into taking over from Ivan Volkov. He’d not seen Ivan as a threat. The useless son, the waste of space.