Page 56 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
Patience. I just have to have patience, and this will all be over for good.
18
Adelina
I’m not sure which is worse, that house or this penthouse. It’s a smaller space, and Enrique’s anger is like another person in the room, occupying all the space. He hasn’t hurt me again, but I know it’s only a matter of time. I wonder if he’ll kill me the way he did Gabi, just so he can send Nero and Una my head. Not that they’ll care, but Enrique is like a spoiled child, breaking his toys because he hasn’t gotten his way.
I lie on my side, staring out the huge windows that overlook the beach. Lights twinkle on the shoreline and out at sea from the boats bobbing on the waves. It’s so pretty, and I envy the people happily strolling along the seafront late at night. So carefree. So blissfully unaware of men like Enrique Bianchi.
The bedroom door clicks open behind me, and I tense but remain still. There’s the rustle of clothing, a clattering of shoes being kicked to the wooden floor, and then the mattress dips. The scent of Enrique’s aftershave hits me, and I feel sick. I count the seconds in my head, waiting for him to touch me. He doesn’t, but I can’t take the not knowing. Tossing the covers back, I get out of the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.
“I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
He laughs. “You say it as though you have a choice.”
“I do, Enrique. I am not your whore or your slave. I will not sleep next to the disgusting creature that murdered my sister.”
He’s out of the bed and in front of me in a heartbeat. Grabbing my throat, he slams me against the glass window with a thud. “I own you, Adelina.”
A humorless smirk pulls at my lips. “Spoken like the cowardly, sad little man you are.”
His lips press into a flat line, his entire body trembling.
With his free hand, he tears at my leggings, yanking them to my knees. My heart races, bile touching the back of my tongue. I refuse to look away from him, though, staring him right in the eye. A manic grin is on his face as he yanks me away from the window and tosses me onto the bed. His weight falls on top of me, oppressive and repulsive.
“I own you!” he shouts as he forces himself inside me.
I flinch, my teeth grinding over each other at the violation. Still, I don’t look away. “Does it make you feel powerful when you force your vile little dick inside me?” I snarl. “Did it make you feel like a man killing a defenseless girl while she was tied to a chair?” I bring my face closer to his. “You’re fucking pathetic.” I spit in his face.
His teeth mash together, rage filling his features, shaking his frame.
“What are you going to do, Enrique? Kill me, too?” I delight in his lack of control—almost instantly, his dick shrinks, and my head falls back on a laugh.
He shoves away from me. Every muscle in his body is rigid, his frame puffed up as he pulls his boxers up. He jabs a finger toward me. “You are lucky I need you. For now.” That’s what he thinks.
I push to my feet, pull up my leggings, and move around him.
He grabs my arm, halting me. “You are my wife, Adelina.”
I snatch my wrist away. “I married you to kill you, remember? We are man and wife on paper alone. I would never willingly share myself with a creature like you.” I leave the room, and luckily, he makes no effort to follow.
I should probably be upset. He technically just raped me for the second time, but I’m not, because I don’t feel degraded. I feel powerful. Untouchable. I’m a woman with nothing left to lose, and he knows it. Enrique becomes increasingly weak in my eyes, and I fear him less with each passing day. Sasha will end him; I know it.
I descend the stairs and open the door to the second bedroom. The TV is on inside, showing a football game. Two of Enrique’s men are sitting on the end of the bed, beers clutched in hand as they remain transfixed on the screen.
“Out!” I snap.
They both look at me, one of them sneering as his eyes flick over my body.
“Now!” I growl.
One moves, then the other. I can see they’re torn between seeing me as Mrs. Bianchi and treating me the way Enrique does—a prisoner with no rights. They leave, and I slam the door behind them, locking it. If Enrique leaves me alone, then so will they. That’s all I need, just to lock myself away until Sasha makes his move. He got to scarface here. Surely, he can do it again? I have to hold out hope.
