Chapter Twenty Seven
It’s easier to stay out from under the cloud of gloom now that I’m out of Mateo’s room and back in Vince’s. I still think about the possibility of cameras all the time, because there aren’t any visible in Vince’s room, which means there are hidden ones. Vince hasn’t touched me again, giving me time to heal, but I think about it when we’re lying in bed. Will Mateo be able to watch? I guess I shouldn’t care so much. Voyeurism would at least be less intrusive than what he’s already done.
Between school, the bakery, and hiding out in Vince’s room, I don’t have to see Mateo again until Wednesday night.
Maria comes to tell me Mateo wants to see me in his study before dinner. She brings a garment bag, but I don’t even open it.
“What if I don’t go?” I ask. I don’t know why I think she could anticipate his reaction, but I really, really don’t want to find myself alone with him again. Especially not right now, when I have no idea of his mental state. Is he pissed that his little plan didn’t work? That I’m back with Vince? Will he redouble his attempts to break us up? I know Vince is fighting to stay with me now and to keep Mateo out of our relationship, but I’m not sure how we will hold up under the reality. If Mateo decides to keep me as a plaything, will Vince be able to handle it? Will I?
Warily shaking her head, Maria said, “You don’t say no to Mateo.”
“But what if I do?”
“I think you can guess,” she states. “He isn’t alone. Adrian is with him.”
That makes me breathe a lot easier. He may be a creep, but I don’t think he’d rape me in front of Adrian.
“Why does he want to see me?”
She merely shrugs, leaving the room.
In a small act of defiance, I don one of the dresses Vince gave me.
I don’t know where Vince is, but I wish I did. I really don’t want to go to Mateo’s study without telling him. We haven’t discussed how we’ll deal with this, but my instinct is that I should be as open as possible when I’m going to be around him. Secrets will only make him stop trusting me again.
I haven’t decided how that openness will work concerning sexual activity. I hope to God it never comes up again, but I have no idea how to handle it if it does.
When I show up in the study, Adrian is still there, so I breathe a little easier. Mateo’s leaning against his desk, drink in hand, and he allows his eyes to move over my body. I expect him to react to my not wearing whatever dress he must have sent up, but his perusal of my body only turns up pleasure.
“Mia,” he says warmly.
Staying by the door, I square my shoulders. “Maria said you wanted to see me.”
“Correct. You can come closer.”
“I’m all right.”
Cocking his head to the side, he gives me about two seconds, then he pushes off the desk and strides over to me. I fall back a step, but I know I can’t leave. He stops in front of me, looking down at me, seeming to shrink me with his gaze. After several long seconds, he reaches behind me and shoves the study door closed.
“Just because I’m letting you sleep in Vince’s bed, Mia, don’t get confused and think you’re allowed to start defying me.” Furthering his point, he drags the back of two fingers across my collar bone, dipping threateningly toward my cleavage.
Body taut with tension, I offer a barely perceptible nod. I don’t relish the reminder that whatever victory it feels like we’ve achieved, we only have it because he’s allowing it.
His hand leaves me, but the tension doesn’t leave my body.
“Tomorrow night I’m hosting a poker game. I want you to come.”
“I don’t know how to play poker.”
That makes him laugh. The bastard gives me another warm smile, like he just finds me goddamn delightful. “No, you won’t be playing. You’ll be there to help out. To look pretty,” he adds with a wink.
“Will Vince be there?”
“No.”
I hesitate, not wanting him to take my next statement as any sort of challenge. “He won’t want me to go.”
Mateo rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
I really don’t want to put Vince through this. I mean, I don’t want to do it to begin with, but I certainly don’t want to leave him all night to wonder if Mateo’s doing… Mateo things.
I don’t know how to say any of this. There would be no point. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know; he just doesn’t care. What I don’t want to do is make him feel he has a point to prove about my obedience.
I wish I could make him promise me I’ll be safe, but he doesn’t have to. He wasn’t requesting my presence, he was telling me where I would be going. Finally, I nod. “All right.”
This pleases him, and he gives me another agreeable smile. My stomach turns over, because for some sick reason, it brings me relief to have pleased him.
“Is that all?” I ask, wanting to get out of here.
“Yes,” he says, easily. “Cherie will get you ready. I believe Maria already brought something up for you to wear.” Barely pausing a second, he adds, “I’ll give Vince something to keep him occupied. Tell him where you’ll be or don’t.”
A shiver goes down my spine at that, at the secrecy implied. I don’t want to have secrets with this man, especially not secrets from Vince.
Ignoring that temptation, knowing it would just blow up in my face later, I say, “No. I’ll tell him.”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Suit yourself.”
Our business complete, he allows me to leave. On the other side, I lean heavily against the wall, my mind racing a million different ways. I was dreading seeing him again, being alone with him—have been, since Sunday night. It feels bizarrely comforting, despite his casual threats, that everything was… fairly normal. He didn’t seem angry at me. He didn’t seem resentful or put out. His reaction is nothing like Vince’s—and I feel so relieved. It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t dread the next time I’ll see him as much.
But that distresses me. Relief distresses me, because I shouldn’t be relieved. I hate him. He’s a terrible human being who manipulates and controls everyone around him—and I’m damn sure no exception.
There’s something… addictive about him though. Something that leaves me craving the approval of a man I hate.
How fucked up is that?
More unsettled than I had been when I knew I was coming to meet him, I head for the dining room to get ready for dinner.
---
Vince sits on the edge of the bed, watching Cherie curl my hair.
Nobody speaks. Well, occasionally Cherie, when she has to tell me to tilt or not move my head, but Vince and I are both silent.
Finally finished, she grabs hair spray and coats my hair.
“Is that necessary? She’s not going to the fucking prom,” Vince says, understandably aggravated.
I’m sort of regretting not taking Mateo up on his offer to keep Vince busy. Maybe I should have asked him to, even though I was telling Vince. It’s not helping anyone to have him sitting here, watching Cherie doll me up on orders from Mateo, none of us knowing exactly what I’m walking into, but all of us aware of what could happen.
Cherie understands, so she doesn’t say anything in response.
“Let’s grab the outfit. Where’d you put it?”
“It’s still in the bag,” I tell her. “I put it in the closet after dinner last night.”
A few minutes later, the outfit is out of the bag and I am horrified. Vince’s temper, thus far controlled, seems like it’s going to explode any second.
“That’s what you’re supposed to wear,” he says, each word angrier than the last.
I understand why. Unlike the classy dresses he bought me for dinner, this outfit is just plain trash. The fire engine red corset top is… well, a corset. There’s a skimpy black skirt that may not even cover my ass, and a pair of thigh-high, fishnet stockings to finish off the “$25 for a blow job, $100 for an hour” look I’m apparently going for.
“He’s just goading you, probably,” I tell him.
“They’re just clothes,” Cherie adds, trying to help.
Vince is unimpressed by our attempts.
I’m not at all looking forward to putting this on, so I take it in the bathroom, wanting to see the damage first. It’s not good. I do what I can to loosen the corset and take the attention off my boobs, but it’s ineffective. Even a gay man would have to look right at them on sight.
Why is he doing this?
Giving up on the impossible, I open the bathroom door and march out to the firing squad.
Vince’s eyes get the lusty look I recognize, but it’s struggling with his short fuse, and the short fuse is winning.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, shrugging like it doesn’t even bother me. “It’s just an outfit. It’s fine.”
“Don’t go.”
“Vince…” I sigh, because he knows that’s not an option.
“He’s gonna… he’s not going to keep his hands off you, Mia.”
Gathering up her things quietly, Cherie says, “I’m done here, so… I’m gonna leave you guys to… all this.”
I don’t blame her. I wish I could bail, too.
Placing my hands on Vince’s shoulders, innocently pressing my boobs against his chest, I say, “Let’s fight the battles we can win. Mateo’s going to be busy playing poker with his buddies. We won’t be alone.”
“What if I rip it? You can’t wear it if it’s damaged.”
“Don’t,” I say, stilling his hand as it skates toward my corset. “Please. I don’t want to provoke him. Just… it’s just an outfit. It’ll be over in a few hours.”
“I’m waiting up,” he states, like I have any power over when we’ll get back.
“Don’t torture yourself. I’ll wake you up to let you know I’m home safe if you want me to.”
“I’m not going to be able to sleep.”
Reaching for his hand, I state, “We’re not letting him do this, remember? I know it’s hard, trust me, it’s not easy for me either, but…”
“How am I supposed to send you off to him, knowing what’s going to happen?”
I take a slow breath and let it out, wondering the same thing. But I know the answer. “Because we don’t have any alternative.”
“How are we supposed to live like this?” he asks, causing my hope to plummet. This is the first Mateo-sized bump we’ve come to since swearing we wouldn’t let him get to us, and he’s already getting to Vince. If we can’t survive one, how will we keep going?
“It’s the only way. We can’t keep going in circles. We already know where it ends up, and I don’t want to go back to that.”
Mainly because ‘that’ is Mateo’s bed, and if Mateo is my strongest lifeline? I’m super fucked.
He looks down, shaking his head. “No, neither do I.”
“I’ll be fine. He won’t touch me.”
We both know it’s a lie, but Vince wants it to be true, so he nods like he believes it.
---
“Why don’t you bring that ass over here, sweetheart?”
As degrading as I feared tonight would be, it’s worse. Just not for the reason I expected.
Mateo isn’t the problem.
The other creeps trickling in to play poker are.
It’s still Mateo’s fault, I suppose. Dress me up like a hooker, I guess you can’t blame the guys for thinking I am one.
Six men sit around the table, draining glass after glass of liquor, smoking cigars, and occasionally pushing obscene amounts of money around the table.
Two hours of leering, two hours of their eyes all over my body. I need to shower for a week straight after I leave here tonight.
This one’s drunk though, I can see it in his face. His cheeks are ruddy, his eyes have the gleam of drunkenness, and his big bald head shines as I reluctantly approach him to give him more alcohol.
As I go to pour it, his hand creeps up under my skirt and over my ass. I gasp, jumping, alcohol sloshing out of the decanter as I try to right it in motion.
“Hey,” Mateo barks.
The laughter in the room dies, smiles falling from faces as they all look slowly in his direction.
I swallow nervously, looking at him myself.
His gaze is still on baldy, but then he looks at me. “You’re not gonna make me sit here thirsty, now are you?”
It’s a sad day when I’m so eager to get away from someone, I welcome approaching Mateo, but I scurry right over to him.
He watches my hand shake as I dump some of the alcohol into his tumbler. As soon as I finish, he picks up the cigar he’s been fiddling with for a couple of rounds and glances at me.
Finally, he holds it out to me. I take it but I don’t know why, and my uncertainty must register on my face. Before I have a chance to ask, his hands are on my hips, yanking me into his lap, adjusting me until I’m straddling him.
It’s harder to breathe, but I’m not scared. Just… confused.
He hands me the lighter, but my eyes can’t seem to move away from his.
Then with all the casualty of someone who does so every day, he plants his hands on my nearly-bare ass cheeks and pulls me against him.
He’s hard, and I’m sick, because my loins stir at the contact.
He plucks the cigar from my fingers, placing it into his mouth, and I realize he wants me to light it for him. I fiddle with the lighter, hands still unsteady, until I manage it.
Mateo gives me a slow smile and a little wink. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
My blood runs hot and cold, confusion and overstimulation wreaking havoc on my peace of mind. Not like I had much coming into tonight, but I get the feeling I’ll be leaving with significantly less.
He lets me off his lap a few minutes later, and I’m not immediately sure why he did it… until I notice the other guys barely even look my way again. I still bring them drinks or snacks or cigars, but no more leering to make me uncomfortable, and definitely no more groping.
He marked me as his.
I’m obviously not, but the knowledge does little to remove the mantle of guilt around my shoulders.
When I can get away, I text Vince to let him know everything’s going fine. I had to leave my phone in the other room, since my outfit leaves absolutely nowhere to store it. I also want to tell him that now, while it’s still true.
A little later, there’s a pounding on the door. Having seen too many movies, it scares me, and I think the game’s being busted or something.
Nobody else is concerned though.
“Probably Conroy’s lazy ass,” Mateo says to the table, before nodding at me. “Let ‘em in.”
I wish everyone would’ve arrived before Mateo did his little cigar performance, but I guess someone will clue any newcomers in if they start to act stupid.
Yanking the door open, I open my mouth to welcome them, but I stop short, mouth hanging open, because I recognize the two men at the door.
The cops who stopped me on my way to school Monday.