Mind F*ck (19 page)

So what? I lost seven years behind bars?

I mutter, pathetically to Gigi, “I can’t tell you what I won’t—wait. That’s not what I meant. I won’t tell you about her personal shi—things. She can answer those questions. I won’t. Not behind her back.”

I stop and once I’ve got my eyes lined up with hers and a hand on each of her shoulders, I try my damnedest to clarify, “I can tell you I care for your daughter, more than I want to. And no matter what, at the end of all this, she’ll be okay. She’ll be safe.” I chuckle, thinking back to the look across her face when I stormed into the shower on her.

Pissed. Feather’s all ruffled. “Especially from having to go through what she’s probably about to. And I can’t promise she won’t be a little banged up. I can’t promise she won’t still ache from the hurt of what’s ahead of her, but safe…I can promise you, Gigi. When this is all said and done, well after you know everything there is to know, your daughter will be safe.”

After smiling almost exactly like Lexy, she nods, then touches one of her hands to mine. “You promise?” she asks me.

“I can promise you that.” I reassure her.

Then…she counters with a threat, and I can’t help but chuckle our entire way back to the truck parked a few blocks from where Lexy’s mother and I had our first heart to heart.

“And I’ll hold you to it. Mark my words. Now, take me to my daughter’s house, please. I haven’t seen her in far too long.”

Gigi does remind me a lot of Lexy.

A lot.

But studying Lexy’s mother will give me no further clues as to what’s going on in that head of Lexy’s, either.

And after having spent close to a month with one woman, then a few hours this evening with the other, I’ve concluded that while the information I’ve gathered about Lexi Mayer Dean has been limited, it is all positive and while I hate to admit, it is sufficient enough for me to say several things about her without hesitation.

One, being she’s honest. Possibly to a fault and more than likely it’s a conditioned behavior, but it’s a behavior trait all the same. Two, she’s pure. Her heart is pure, her soul is pure. And her love is pure.

That’s a trait she shares with my little sister, Scarlett. A trait I refuse to let hurt Lexy.

Not this time.

It’s already happened once.

It won’t happen again. I won’t let it.

I should have known by the tone in his voice there was something off. That something was missing.

But I guess between buttoning up my corset and tying my garter belts to my thigh-high hose, I just wasn’t listening. That or it could have been the volume as Great Big World broke out into the chorus of
Say Something
when my husband came in the bedroom door as I was finishing my make-up
.

I remember my iPhone was hooked up to the Bose speakers and that song was playing from my playlist.

I remember hearing Liam’s calm, polite words, “Hello, baby girl.” announce his presence. I remember looking up and seeing him standing behind me in my reflection. Then a split second later, I remember my face being shoved against the vanity dressing mirror, and Liam’s forehead shoving against the side of my temple until I swore I thought my head would split in two from the pressure. “Stupid. Little. Ignorant. CUNT!” I feel tears swim behind my eyes the moment my head is being wrenched back and the nerve endings of each strand scream in agony when he jerks his hand and my head even further back. And I swear, I think a sob escapes my lips as he mutters, spitting the rest of his words out at me. “You think this is a game?” His dark sinister chuckle reverberates through the room, and my eyes glances down just in time to see my tears fall and soak into the red matte satin of my dress. “Good news, baby girl. It just turned into one. And you’ve a role to play. A starring one, at that.”

He shoves my face harder against the mirror as he pushes away from me. Then he swipes my hands out from under me by grabbing my dress on the vanity dresser top. My arms, holding the top half of my body up like a tablecloth holds up a bouquet, and the place settings and stemware. Once snatched, I fumble forward harder and bruise my forearms on the hard surface.

“Is this the ensemble you’ve chosen to wear for it? Red?” He scoffs at me and a second later, I feel the material at my feet. When I look down at the dress, the tears blur my vision and all I see…is red. “It’s fitting for this evening’s role,” he sneers.

But all I see is red as the tears swim in my eyes and I stare at the matte material at my feet.

Even as he crowds back into my space behind me, all I see is red.

When one of Liam’s arms snake around my waist as the other slides up between my breasts until his hand grips my face. All I see is red.

I see red as his harsh grasp on my face turns into an odd cradle.

And I see red as both of my hip bones are crushed into the edge of the vanity dresser top as Liam shoves his growing erection against my behind.

“I agree, it’s fitting. Red does spell whore.”

I remember wondering in my red haze, when he’d become so hateful. When, because obviously I wasn’t looking.

Just like I wasn’t listening when he came barreling through the front door tonight.

But thankfully, my regretful thoughts are cut short.

The hand cradling my face, remains where it is, which is nice. Because it keeps me from bearing the brunt from our position as he struggles to get his belt undone and his slacks open with his other hand.

Then…it’s vague, but it seems as though I watch his every next move from somewhere outside myself.

Or that’s how the following events seem now, as they play out.

I recall seeing red. Yet still able to see him standing over me.

I watch as he struggles more with his belt than the buttons and zipper of his slacks. I watch, flinching though, I still watch.

Transfixed on what plays out through the veil of red, I watch as he tears away the material covering my ass like it’s nothing more than crepe paper.

You’ll have to excuse me here, well—you’ll have to excuse my loss of tenses. My loss of senses.

My loss of words, as I try and explain to you, in detail what happened when my husband. My
ex-
husband? For the lack of better words…fucking raped me.

I just remember seeing red.

That’s what I’m trying to explain to you as I blurt out half emotions and half facts.

I remember fighting. And being pissed. I remember wondering if that’s why all I still saw was red.

I can also say, I definitely recall screaming.

But all I heard in response to it was him chuckling. And taunting.

God, he taunted.

I huddle closer into a ball. Trying to crawl inside myself.

Surrounded in what I can only describe as the aftermath.

The aftermath of what?

I’ll let you be the judge.

I shudder, recalling Liam’s threats.

Once clothing was no longer a barrier he needed to worry with, he grunted against me. And it took everything in me not to gag at the sounds emitting from him as he tried to keep my face cradled with one hand and lined his erection to my bone dry core with his other.

“I swear to Christ, if your skin didn’t have to be flawless for that whore’s dress you’re wearing tonight in order for this shit to work, I’d ram your pretty goddamn face into that mirror and use that blood to do the job.”

His eyes never moved from mine in the mirror’s reflection. Not once.

He just stared at me as he gathered spit in his mouth and when he had what he thought he’d need he spit it on his fingers before rubbing it onto my bareness.

It was the single most horrid, disgusting thing I have ever witnessed my semi-sane husband do.

Oh my God. He’s lost his fucking mind.

That was my only thought.

I heard the words as he spat them at me. I heard every one in between the grunts and dark snickering.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. You’ll always be mine, Lexy Mayer. You hear me?”

Even through the red, and even lodged in fear, I was able to recognize the truth.

And as my husband shoved himself inside my tensed walls, I braced. I braced on possibly every damn level, both consciously and sub, and not because of the physical pain. Not because I knew the things he was doing to my body and my skin would take days to scrub away. It had nothing to do with that.

It hurt. Don’t get me wrong. Dammit, it hurt.

But his words hurt more than his hands. His threats…those were what left the deepest scars.

I can’t even tell you when it’s all over if he even finished.

“Say something.” His voice is harsh when it cuts through the room. And I know I’ll never hear that song the same again. I’m huddled on top of my dress, trying like hell to stretch the material tighter around me to help block out the cold.

“Y-You s-say something,” I hiss back at him.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I will. Soon enough. And when I do, I’m coming back for what’s rightfully mine. It’s going to be hard to follow my lead, I know. And I’ll grant you that when you fuck up. And you will fuck up at some point before this is all over. But I can promise you this. If you play by the rules—by my rules—and you make it out of this without making a complete fool, or foolish whore, out of yourself, you’ll get another chance. You will live to see another tomorrow, and so will our new friend, Mr. Bennett. Am I making myself perfectly clear, Lexy?”

“Y-You definitely said something—“ His hand fisting in my hair and wrenching my head back for the second…no, third time tonight, cuts off any further witty comments and my false bravado falters before completely leaving me for good. “Yes. Crystal clear, Liam.”

He snickers and it takes everything in me to keep my shoulders up from where I sit on the floor compared to his towering height above me.

“Good. Good. And you understand the first time you step out of line, Rhett Bennett will pay that price, Travis Jackson and his issues with it, be damned. And the second time you step out of line…well, it really won’t matter, because you won’t have much life left after that anyway. Right?”

I don’t answer him. Partly because if I do, I’ll also release the sob that’s been lodged in my throat since I first remember hearing his voice this evening. But mainly because, he just doesn’t fucking deserve an answer.

So I’m not at all shocked when Liam gets to the bedroom door and stops, waiting for a reply. “Lexy—“ he begins.

And I know I should be stronger. I know I should have more fight left in me, more fight left over for him.

But I’m just too tired. And I really don’t see any reason to fight with him anymore.

“Right—You’re always right, Liam.”

Then after he pats my head, he smiles. “Good girl,” he tells me, and I swear it looks like he’s beaming with pride just before he walks away.

Supposedly, they say once you find your prince charming, and the two of you begin building your own new life together, everything else that follows is supposed to be easy.

Now that entire statement is built upon supposed, so take it with a grain of salt.

However, I call it as I see it. Especially now. As bullshit.

Complete and utter bullshit.

I’ve been in the bath soaking my bones in hot water and Epsom salt for twenty minutes before hearing my mother come back into my rooms. After I crawl myself from the claw-foot bathtub, I wrap my yellow silk robe around me then pour me the rest of red wine left in the bottle. I take one Tylenol and then make my way to my bedroom.

I’m hoping my remedies will help with the aches and pains I anticipate after Liam’s little stunt tonight when my mother comes in with another bottle of wine, and wastes no time before cutting straight to the point. “So there’s another woman? Dang it, Lexy. What have I told you about keeping your husband satisfied?”

“Mother!” I balk at her before standing from the vanity where I’ve spent the last thirty minutes cleaning up my face after Liam left.

My mother, Gigi Richards, came floating in the same doors my husband—
ex-husband
—left through not ten minutes before.

I’m trying to come up with the right words to use to explain myself with. And like always, I’m freaking coming up short. I stalk into my closet and grab a little black dress from the back.

Feeling a lot more happy with my choice of red shoes, now that it’ll be matched with a black dress and not red, I pull it from its hanger and head back into the master suite where my mother is still playing in my different make-up shades.

“Another woman doesn’t automatically mean there was issues in the bedroom. As a matter of fact, let’s just leave the whole subject of me and bedrooms alone, shall we?” I laugh as I pull the straps up on my dress.

It’s modest enough. Even with its plunging back line, the front cowl neck line and its modest length makes it a good second choice.

Hopefully the red Marc Jacobs heels push it over enough to pass it off as a party dress and not a funeral one.

“I’d rather not discuss that with my mother. Sorry,

Mom—“ I finish pinning the last few strands of my hair up and turn towards her.

Her shushing me stops me from saying anything further, and after a few moments of silence between us she speaks, “Sweetie—don’t feel like you have to explain. I just want you happy. That’s all. Even if it’s this Rhett guy who helps you get it. Just get it. Just be happy, sweetie.”

I nod at my mother’s words and it takes everything in me to keep the tears at bay as I slip on the red heels.