Claiming Crusher (Savage Brothers MC #4)(3)

“Something you would like to say, Melinda?

“Please, Michael, please.”

“Please what, wife?”

I hate that term. I am barely eighteen. I shouldn’t be married. I should be dating and I would never date anyone like Michael Kavanagh. Just hearing the words and knowing that it links the two of us together causes bile to rise into my throat. I fight it back down.

“Don’t destroy the necklace. It was my mothers. It’s all I have left of her…”

I hate begging. I feel so weak, so inferior. Yet, I know if I approach this any other way, there will be no saving any of my belongings. The chance is small even with me begging.

I watch as he picks up the chain and lets it slide between his cruel hands. I see it now. The smug darkness in his eyes. I’ve given the monster power. It is all he needs. It is what he has been waiting for. Perhaps I am as stupid as Michael keeps insisting I am.

“Is the necklace important to you, wife?”

Again that word…the term that makes my stomach roll.

“Yes, Michael.”

“Do you know what I can’t understand, Melinda?”

I want to answer, but fear has paralyzed me and my vocal chords are frozen as well.

“Well, wife? Do you?”

I try to talk, I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a squeaky half syllable. I quickly clear my throat and start again.

“What, Michael?”

“How my darling wife could keep something so obviously important hidden from me. Can you understand that, Melinda?”

I say nothing, by this time the look in his eyes has rendered me speechless. It’s too late. It’s much too late.

“Furthermore, if a small ratty necklace that is far beneath your station in life is important, I can’t begin to imagine what the other items you’ve kept hidden means.”

He reaches over and slides the medallion over my head. The cold medal lies against my breast and I have a moment of relief. Is he going to allow me to keep it? That’s the only thought I have before he grabs the hair at the back of my head and fists it so tightly, so painfully, my eyes water. I gasp at the hurt. He drags me from the chair, so I am standing in front of him, my head is forced back, and tears are streaming down my face. I have to strain to keep my eyes on him. I need to know what is coming. My time with Michael has taught me nothing—if not survival.

“Tell me Melinda, what does the lipstick mean to you? Besides coloring your lips so that you look like some two-bit whore.”

He doesn’t give me time to answer, not that I could with the way he has my neck twisted. The pain is bad, nowhere near what he’s capable of, but bad nonetheless. He takes the lipstick and paints it hard on my lips, to the point it cracks and twists to the side and I can feel the metal rim of the container biting into my lip and cutting as it goes. I try to pull away, but the pain only intensifies and his grip is so tight there is no breaking free. He then pushes the lipstick itself through my teeth and into my mouth. The sick, faintly plastic taste mingles with the coppery taste of blood and I choke. This only serves to piss him off and he back hands me on the side of the face, hard.

The impact is jarring and I would scream, but my mouth is clogged and the force of the slap leaves me stunned.

“Swallow the f*cking stuff, Melinda! If you want to be a whore then by god, I shall treat you like one!” He lets go of my hair, but only to use his hand to bite down on my chin and imprison me so I can do nothing but look into his hateful, cold, blue eyes. Ice. Frozen and so unfeeling, they send terror into my soul.

I choke the lipstick down my throat, doing my best not to gag. The problem is the fear of losing my connection with my mother, of knowing the pain I will soon endure, and the half of a grapefruit Michael allotted me for breakfast this morning, all roll together and combine to tear my insides up and I vomit. I try to clamp my lips and teeth together, but the force is too strong. Michael growls and pushes me away from him so hard and fast that I can’t even begin to stop myself. I fall back into the chair and it slides when my weight impacts it. I feel my back scrape along the metal of the arms as I fall to the floor. The chair continues to slide until my head hits the floor.

“Fucking cunt. You will pay for that.” He growls, wiping the small amount of lipstick-tinted bile that sprayed on his chin. It’s then that he kicks my stomach. I curl to try and prevent it, but I’m too dazed, too slow and I can’t. One…two…three…the impact of his booted foot slams into my stomach over and over—until it finally stops.

I’m gasping trying to catch my breath, thankful for the small reprieve when his foot comes at my face. I see a flash of black, feel the forceful hit land on my mouth and taste copper again, only this time a lot more. Another hit, this time on the upper part of my head, it leaves me lightheaded. I pray I will lose consciousness. If I do, maybe he will leave me alone, and even if he doesn’t, I won’t know. Again, my prayers are unanswered. He pulls me up by the collar of my dress. I hear the tearing of the fabric and even in my pained, fearful state, I mourn it. There was a time I adored dressing up and feeling pretty. I vow if I survive this, the only thing I will adore is being cold. I need to be as cold as Michael to survive. Then again, I’m not even sure why I want to survive.

The dress must rip even more, because as quick as he begins pulling me up, I fall back against the cold tile. I feel the cold air of the room hit my chest and down my side. Michael grabs my head and pulls me by my hair. He drags me through the office chairs, but I barely notice the way they rake over my body with their metal legs. He throws me on the couch and my stomach revolts. If I had anything left inside, I would vomit again. I know where this will end. I know how it will end. I don’t want it. Everything in me is screaming out at the injustice, the unfairness of it all. I close my eyes and try to remember something…anything to take my mind away from what is about to happen. Nicole’s face dances in front of me and intermingles with Ray. My only friends in the world. They have no idea how bad my life is here. If they interfered, Michael would kill them. I can’t let that happen. I vow no one will ever touch my friends the way that Michael does me. It’s a weak vow, but still a vow.