“What the fuck?” he mutters.
Then he stands up, edging back from the bed. At once, all my determination floods back in. I need him to take my body. I need him to use me. I need to buy my safety—Aurora’s safety.
“Wait, Logan,” I say feebly.
“Get dressed,” he grunts, turning away from me.
Then he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.
Fuck.
Did I just lose my one chance to save myself?
11
Lia
Avague thought of flight takes hold of me when I glance at the window, then just as quickly dissipates. Aurora is in the car downstairs, and of course, I’d never leave her. Not in a million years.
Logan promised me he wouldn’t hurt her, and I guess I believe him. But it occurs to me that he’s holding her hostage. Maybe he doesn’t mean to, but that’s what’s happening. I can’t leave, because they’ve got her.
I hurry into the red dress, desperate to find her little hand again. Desperate to fold it in mine, and never let it go.
In fact, I’m so desperate that I don’t even think of Logan again until I feel his hand grip my wrist the moment I step outside the bedroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls.
I glance at him. The pallor in his face that had freaked me out before is gone. Now, he’s back to being the snide, cruel man who seems amused at my anger and pain.
“Let me go, you asshole!” I fume.
Old habits die hard. I’m terrified, I’m helpless, and I’m insulting him. In fact, the more I feel those two things—terror and helplessness—the angrier it makes me, and the more I wantto yell at him.
I never yelled at Carmelo. I never dared. Logan scares me far more, and yet… I want tohurthim.
“Fuck you,” I hiss. “Let me go.”
“Uh huh.” His smirk deepens. There’s no sign of the wounded boy anymore. He’s all harsh mockery. “Still just as much of a brat as ever, aren’t you?”
“I’mnota brat,” I snap.
He takes a step closer, and the warmth of his body inches from mine makes me feel a little lightheaded. “I take it your husband doesn’t spank you any more than your daddy did, huh, Lia? Seems to me a brat like you needs a good spanking.”
“Fuck you!” I say again, anger making me shake.
If only you knew exactly what my husband does to me!
I bet Logandoesknow that Carmelo beats me. He just doesn’t care. Why would he?
He pins me against the wall, his hand sliding up my thigh, lifting the hemline of my dress.
I stifle a gasp. Then another one when his stiffness presses into me.
So this is happening. This time it’s happening.
Do it, Lia. You can do it. Buy your safety.
But instead of going further up to the space between my legs—the space that I suddenly realize in confusion is throbbing—he reaches behind me, grabbing onto the same place on my ass that he tortured last night.