22. Unworthy of White - Alex
I needed out of this hell.
It wasn’t a want at this point. I needed fucking freedom like I needed air. I was sick of these four walls—so tired of staring at them that I would have doodled to my heart’s content if I had art supplies. But they remained a boring, crazy-inducing white, and they seemed to close in more with each new sunrise.
Rafe was relentless in making sure I knew my place. My stint in solitary confinement went on for days.
Days upon days of waiting for him to let me go.
He hadn’t fucked me since the day he caught me touching myself. It was his way of reminding me that his cock was a privilege, same as cuddling in the warm circle of his arms at night. I hated this new punishing sentence, but it did open an opportunity, because that’s when I got the idea to fake a period by flushing tampons and the accompanying cardboard applicators down the toilet. But I left the outer packaging in the trashcan where he could see it. He made the deception easy, and that only made me feel worse.
I didn’t like lying to him, but I feared what he might do if he found out now.
God, I needed the fuck out of here.
A bird landed on a branch outside the window, and I would have given anything to trade places with that little creature.
Even for an hour. Just let me fly away.
Back facing the bedroom door, I heard him enter, but I didn’t turn around. Keeping my gaze on my friend the bird—my only connection to the outer world right now—I crossed my arms and ignored Rafe’s presence.
“You’re gonna have to talk to me eventually, babe.”
As far as I was concerned, I didn’t have to do shit. Not until he made me, anyway.
Something clunked on the nightstand, and ceramic slid across smooth wood. A plate, no doubt my lunch.
“Enough is enough, Alex. I’ve allowed your silence for the last 24 hours. If you don’t start talking, I’m bringing in the ginger.”
I whirled and shot him a scowl. “Let me go.” I lifted my chained ankle, and the racket of the links clinking together sent a shudder through me. If I never heard the sound of chains again, I’d be happy.
“I’ll let you out of here when I’m good and ready.” He closed the distance between us, stalking me like a predator. The instant I caught a hint of his heat, my arms flopped to my sides in surrender. My nipples grew taut, giving Rafe a tempting peek through the curls flowing over my shoulders.
“You’re making me want you,” he said with a groan, his eyes hungry and greedy. I licked my lips, and the fullness of my breasts made me hornier than ever.
“Then take me.”
God, he looked tempted. He had to be going mad, too. He’d fucked my mouth a couple of times, but we hadn’t gone this long without sex since he’d come back to me six months after faking his death.
How ironic that we were both good at faking shit. My pretend period ended yesterday. I was beyond ready to jump his bones if he’d let me.
Instead of giving in, he turned away, causing my spirit to plummet.
I shuffled my feet, and the ever-present rub of denim against my pussy ignited an inferno between my legs. “What do I have to do to get out of here?”
He stalled at the end of the bed, and my heart skipped a beat. Finally. He was going to do something.
Kiss me.
Fuck me.
Let me go.
All of the above.
He glanced at me from over his shoulder, and I deflated at the resolution in his eyes. “Angel is coming in to go over some wedding options, so eat up.” On his way out the door, he gestured toward the plate he’d brought in.
Letting go of my last ray of hope for parole, I settled onto the bed and dug into the turkey sandwich he’d made me. I’d been ravenous lately, and a little nauseous. I tried convincing myself the nausea came from eating too much, which led to blaming my new eating habits on boredom.
I didn’t believe my own lie though.
With the continued absence of Aunt Flow, it was pretty obvious what was going on. Even so, I still chose to bury my head in the sand.
The door swung open, and I looked up from the last two bites of my sandwich. Angel stood in the doorway, eyes downcast in uncertainty. She clutched a magazine in her hands. I glanced over her shoulder, starved for the sight of Rafe, but he wasn’t there.
I wanted to hold on to my fury. It had gotten me through days and days of loneliness, of missing him so fiercely that my chest literally ached. My armor of anger was fading, and I was scared of what might sprout up in its place.
Desolation.
Madness.
Psychosis.
Angel broke through my brain fog by taking a small step over the threshold. All too conscious of my topless state, I made sure my hair covered my breasts before patting a spot next to me on the bed. “You can come in.”
She closed the door and settled on the mattress, and I nodded toward the magazine. “Is that for me?”
“Yes. He wants you to pick a dress.” She opened the glossy cover and ran her hand over a picture of a redhead wearing a satin wedding gown. As the pads of Angel’s fingers glided over the page, as if she could feel the smooth texture of the luxurious material, I leaned forward to get a better look.
“That one’s pretty.”
She handed me the magazine, gaze lowering to my tits as she passed it from her hands to mine. I felt my nipples harden under her scrutiny, and I didn’t have to glance down to know they were poking through my curls.
She cupped my left breast, fingers a torturous tease on my nipple as she moved my hair out of the way. I inhaled a surprised breath.
“They’re so perfect.” As if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, she uncovered the other side. “He doesn’t beat you there?” Her blue eyes raised to mine, wide with unspoken questions.
I gulped, thrown off-guard by her actions. “Um…he has a few times.” I paused, nibbling on my lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “But I enjoy the pain.” Most of the time, anyway.
She tilted her head until her blond locks hid her face. “I’m not pretty. Master liked to draw blood.”
I hadn’t gawked at her the day she’d stripped bare in Jax’s room, but I vaguely recalled the scars on her breasts. And then there were the more noticeable ones on her arms and legs. I lifted my arm and held it out for her to see.
“I have scars too.”
She peeked at me from the corner of her eye, and the long, jagged mark on the inside of my forearm caught her attention. She ran a finger up my arm, the pad of her fingertip examining the ugly scar left behind from the time I’d slashed my wrists.
“What happened?”
I turned my arm over and displayed the marks from years of digging my nails into my skin. “I did this to myself.”
She blinked several times. “But…why?”
“I’ve been hurt, too. This is the way I dealt with it.”
“By hurting yourself?”
“I used to. Rafe doesn’t let me do it anymore.”
“He’s very protective of you.” Her tone lifted with a note of approval as if he’d managed to win her over in my absence.
“He’s a little too protective,” I said. “That’s why I’ve been stuck in this room. He says I have a self-destructive streak.”
I hated to admit it, but he was right. No one could beat on me as much as I beat on myself.
Tense silence followed, so I turned to the magazine as an ice-breaker. “Guess I should pick one, huh?” As I turned the pages, she watched in silence, never giving her opinion unless I asked for it.
“I don’t like the sleeves. What do you think?”
She shrugged. “It’s a summer wedding. You’re probably right to go strapless.”
“How about this one?” I pointed to a strapless gown with a ruffled skirt.
“I like the top.”
Another flip of the page, and my heart jumped. This dress was also strapless, but the skirt flowed rather than puffed out. I fell in love with the lace pattern and beadwork on the bottom half of the gown. It was understated, classy, the bodice cut in a way to add the perfect hint of cleavage for someone with my modest bust size.
There was only one problem, and it was one I’d noticed from the moment I opened the magazine. Most of these were only available in white, and the designs that had a hint of color, or an accent hue weren’t the right fit for me.
“I like that one,” Angel said as Rafe opened the door.
I snapped the magazine shut. He wasn’t supposed to see my wedding dress. Was I supposed to give him a model number or something? I looked to Angel for help, but she’d already left my side. At the sight of Rafe, she skedaddled from the room before I could utter a “thanks” or “goodbye.”
“Find something you like?” Rafe asked.
“Sort of.”
“What do you mean? If you don’t like them, I can find another magazine. Whatever you want, babe. I want your dress to be perfect.”
I set the magazine aside. “Most of these wedding gowns are…a bit traditional.”
He furrowed his brows. “You don’t want traditional?”
“It’s not that.” I thumbed through the pages at my side with a frown. “I just never saw myself in white.”
“Why not?” He sat next to me, mattress sinking under his muscular body.
“White means pure.” I met his eyes. “Innocent. I’m neither of those things.”
“Your innocence was stolen.” Voice gruff with emotion, he slid his palm along my cheek. “You didn’t squander it away, Alex. If you want to wear white, then I want to see you in white.”
“Then I know which dress I want.”
“You can write down the info later.” He slid his palm down my shackled leg, his touch almost reverent.
I held my breath, suspended in hope as he brought his fingers to my ankle and worked at the lock.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ve been cooped up too long.” He left my side and opened the naughty drawer before pulling out a coil of silky-looking rope. He flicked his gaze to my face, and there was no mistaking the ardent glint in his green eyes. “Go for a walk with me.”