Thicker Than Blood (Thicker Than Blood #1)(10)
He swallowed nervously, licking his fat, greedy lips. He was hugely overweight, the only man left alive with so many extra pounds on him. It was ridiculous, really. Sometimes when he was on top of me, I could hardly breathe, let alone fathom enjoying myself.
“I told you I can’t, Eve.” His large hands roved across my back, pulling me closer to him. “You know I would if I could. I prefer your smiles to your frowns.” His hands moved lower, cupping my backside.
“If you can’t help me save her…” Looking up at him through my lashes, the way he liked me to, I continued in a whisper, “Then help us escape.”
I stared at him, my eyes pleading for him to have mercy on my best friend, and on me. I knew he cared for me; some might even have called it love. But I knew the truth—what he felt for me wasn’t love. I wasn’t even sure the man knew what love really was. To him, his marriage to me, his ownership of me, that was what love was. And although he’d allow me a lot of things, Mason’s warped idea of love wasn’t going to allow me this. He wasn’t going to let me go.
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Eve.” He shook his head slowly, a look of sad resignation crossing his homely features, causing dread to pool in my gut.
“I do,” I replied, unable to control the tremor in my voice. “I’m asking you to help me save my friend. My sister.” Running my hands up his chest, I wrapped them around his barely distinguishable neck and brought us face-to-face. “Mason,” I begged. “Please.”
Gripping my hands tightly in his, he regarded me with pity. “You don’t know what the world is like out there.”
“So I’ll learn,” I pleaded.
“You’ll be dead in a day.”
“So will she.” My voice finally broke, cracking on the last syllable. “Mason, tomorrow they’ll execute her, and I’ll die right along with her. Help get us out of here.” Attempting to school my features, I looked up into his eyes. “If you love me, let me go.”
The pitying look he’d had only seconds ago vanished, instantly replaced by one of sheer greed. The same greed he’d had in his eyes the day he forced this marriage on me.
I was his.
That was all there was to know.
Folding me against him, he forced my cheek against his chest as if to comfort me, and ran his hand lightly over the fall of my hair. This was typical of him, treating me as if I were a good and docile wife, helping him maintain his illusion that a woman like me would ever love a man like him. In reality, he was a disgusting slob who’d used the end of structured civilization to rise to heights he never would have in the old world, to have the sort of women who never would have given him a second glance. It was a harsh assessment, but when a man like Mason forced a woman like me into a life such as this, I couldn’t help but be bitter and hateful.
Guiding me slowly from the kitchen, Mason began pulling me up the stairs. I tried to move away, insisting that I wasn’t in the mood for sex, but as he continued pulling me, ignoring my protests, I gave up struggling. When we arrived at our bedroom, instead of following me inside, he shoved me into the dimly lit room and quickly pulled the door shut. The following sound of a click, signaling a key turning the lock, startled me.
“Mason?”
“It’s better this way,” he said through the door, his tone hopeful. “You can remember her happy.”
My eyes rounded, wide with horror. “Mason, let me out!” I yelled, reaching for the handle. Desperately, I pulled on it, shaking it violently, but it didn’t budge.
“Please, don’t do this,” I pleaded as I banged on the wood with my fists. “Please, Mason, you can’t do this!”
“I’m sorry, Evelyn. I’m protecting you. I’ll let you out in the morning…when it’s done.”
Over the sound of my pounding heart, I heard footsteps as he descended the stairs. Sheer panic gripped hold of me and I screamed for him to come back, to let me out. But he didn’t return. Of course he didn’t.
Running to the window, I attempted to push it open, but just like the damn door, it wouldn’t budge. From my upstairs view, I could plainly see Mason bumbling down the walkway in front of our house. Looking up in my direction, his eyes found mine, his bulbous face, always covered in a thin sheen of sweat, was glinting from the reflection of the setting sun. His eyes were wide in apology, which was merely an act, because I knew he didn’t truly care. The only thing Mason cared about was keeping me here—keeping me for himself. Looking away from me, he continued down the path.
I started pounding on the window, screaming at him, calling him all the names that I’d wanted to for the past three years, but never did. The hate-filled words that I’d kept buried inside me to keep both Leisel and myself safe, all came flying free from their cage. I continued pounding on the window, half expecting it to break, but it never did. Maybe I was too scared to hit it hard enough, though I wanted to. I wanted to smash it, to cause shards of glass to rain down on Mason’s head, slicing him open, to hurt him the way he was hurting me.
“I hate you!” I screamed.
Screeching in frustration, I sank to the floor, my screams dissolving into self-pitying sobs. I couldn’t help Leisel now. She was going to die, and I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t even be there for her at the end. As I pulled my knees up to my chest, my tears fell faster.