Bound By Blood: (The Betrayed Series Book 2) (20 page)

“If I could get a shot with all of you together, that would be great.”

FUCK! I swear, it’s like fate just wants to throw me down on the ground and kick me in the balls. Moving into position, I take the spot next to the General, assuming Sabrina is going to stand next to his wife. No. Such. Luck.

Sabrina slides up next to me, molding her body to my side. A mixture of disgust and repulsion hits me at the same time. Automatically, my body recoils. Sabrina’s arm wraps around my waist, clinging tighter to me. She whispers so that only I can hear, “It’s only a picture, Alexander, relax.” That’s easier said than done. I can’t stand to be in the same room as the woman, much less have her rubbing herself all over me. My gut churns violently.

The photographer snaps several pictures, taking a few of the General and his wife before turning to Sabrina and me, asking, “Would it be possible to get a few of the two of you?”

A denial is already on my lips and out of my mouth, but fuck me . . . fate is one mean fucking wench. Shit for brains next to me has already offered us up. That nagging feeling from earlier is back. Fisting my hands at my side, I stand as still as a statue. If they plan on taking pictures of me, they’ll have to fucking shoot them around me.

I won’t participate. Sabrina sidles up to me, slithering about, slinking her body over mine. My skin crawls, like millions of fire ants are eating me alive. The photographer directs us to smile; I force one that comes out as more of a grimace than anything. Then he says something that has the hackles on the back of my neck rising like the ocean tide. He asks us to pose.

This douchebag wants me to wrap my arms around Sabrina. Is he fucking serious? If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. Sabrina lifts my arm. My fist is still clenched tightly, yet she slides it around her waist. My body is as tense as nails. The music in the background changes. Elvis croons “Suspicious Minds” in his melodious tenor.

The photographer counts down to take the picture. I’m lost in thought, Elvis’s song triggering a riot of emotions. When the photographer gets to three, I’m dazed, unable to move as my heart races frantically in my chest. Several flashes go off, dispelling the disorientation as fear sets in and Elvis’s words ironically drift into my mind again. I can feel them to my very core. I’m caught in a trap, and I definitely can’t walk out. The only difference is I hold absolutely no love for the woman who just wrapped herself around me and proceeded to make love to my lips in front of a camera.

P
ERSEVERANCE.
I
T’S FUNNY HOW YOU
go through most of your life thinking you’re capable of something like perseverance . . . perseverance and patience. The ability to remain steadfast and have the patience to deal with any situation that is thrown at you. As time continues to pass and the days blur together, I’m once again left to wonder if I truly am capable of persevering. Pesky questions fly through my mind. Do I have the patience to continue? Why do I care again?

A memory tugs at the corners of my mind. Violet eyes loom there in the darkness as bright as the midday sun. Violet eyes, yes, that’s why I care. I desperately grasp onto the memory, trying hard not to let go. The patience I once wielded like a superpower around ten-year-olds fades radically with each new day that passes under my mother’s control. Days blend, blurring together as one. My stomach lurches again as I stare blankly at the wall.

Secluded, concealed in this room for . . . I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. Days? Weeks? Months? The sound of my heartbeat thrashes in my ears. Pain tightens, squeezing the air from my chest.

Quickly looking around the room, I search for the girls. They always help to calm the panic. The room is empty. I’m alone, huddled next to the foul-smelling bucket. The girls left . . . When did the girls leave again? My brain seems to be malfunctioning. I can’t seem to fully grasp a rational thought. Pressing my fists to the side of my head, I begin rocking from side to side.

Still warring with my body for every breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, giving my hair a little tug. Desperation clings to me like sickly slime. Hyperventilation is in full force, exploding through my insides, clutching my lungs. I’m barely able to drag in a breath as black spots dance like ballerinas on display across my occipital lobe. My forehead falls to my knees with an audible clunk. Pain registers somewhere in the back of my brain.

Inhale in through my nose, exhale out through my mouth. Wash, rinse, repeat. Over and over again until the iron-clad grip on my lungs starts to lessen. With my panic beginning to fade, I open my eyes as the handle on the door jingles. Copious amounts of sweat drip, stinging my eyes. Covering my face, I try blocking out whatever horror lies beyond the door.

The irrefutable odor pummels my senses long before his deep-seated grip hits the tops of my shoulders. Balling my hands into fists, I pound against his chest, feeling the need to fight for my life, even if it takes the very last breath I have in my body.

“Enough!” Jeong yells.

Rearing back, he slaps me across the face. The resounding crack bounces off the walls. Ear-splitting pain radiates through my cheek, setting my face aflame. Dazed and confused, my teeth rattle around in my skull as my fists fall to my sides, my body going limp.

“Behave yourself, Agassi. Do not make me bind you. You know how much pleasure I take from it,” he whispers in my ear.

Trembling, I sit, hugging my knees to my chest, sinking further and further into my mind.

Grabbing my arm, he pulls, yanking me to my feet.

“Come,” he states, matter of fact.

“W-Where are we going?” I stammer.

“Your mother wishes to speak with you,” he says, sneering the word mother. The cool air from the doorway batters my skin, the lacy lingerie doing nothing to protect my beat-up exterior.

My voice is filled with false bravado when I ask, “Can I change? Get a coat or something?” Jeong tosses his head back to the ceiling as his menacing laughter thunders. When his laughter finally subsides, he looks down at me with punishingly cruel eyes.

White teeth gleam brightly against his dark features. Pitching his voice low and deep, he replies, “No, Agassi. What would be the fun in that?”

Without another word, he takes long strides, dragging me out the door. Tugging, he pulls against my arms, not caring that I can barely keep up. Sprinting, I’m practically running, my bare feet scraped raw against the rough floor. Finally reaching our destination, he thrusts me through a doorway, shoving me in front of him. Losing my balance, I fall to the floor with a yelp. Unceremoniously, tears begin streaming hastily down my dirty cheeks.

Blushing, blood rushes to my cheeks, threatening to scald my skin. Mortification sets in, the embarrassment from being treated as if I were worthless and cheap shattering my thoughts. My mother’s cold voice penetrates my humiliation.

“Stand up, Ttal.”

Steadying myself, I take several calming breaths. Bracing my arms on the floor, I’m able to bring my weak body up to my hands and knees. Lacing my spine with steel, I inhale another breath and retreat into my mind for a moment.

“Find your inner strength,” I mutter under my breath.

I will not bend . . . I will not bow . . . I won’t break . . . I will survive, even if it means I have to shut the world away. Perseverance. That word comes to mind again. Can I persevere? A name floats through my mind like a cloud on a warm summer’s day.

Alex.
Tiny bubbles rise to the surface in my mind, triggering a memory. He once told me there was a fierce woman, a tiger, lying deep inside of me. That she just needed to be unlocked. Digging deep, I frantically search for my inner tigress. Shoving off of the floor, I come to a stand on weak legs. Jeong stands in the doorway, licking his lips, his eyes gradually perusing my body.

Looking over my shoulder, my mother glares at Jeong. Her voice brusque and to the point, she says, “We will have a guest arriving in a few moments. Show her in straight away.”

His eyes taper down to slits. Giving a terse nod, he storms out of the room. From the corner of my eye, I take a second to get a glimpse of the room. I’ve never been in this part of the house before. To say it’s not what I was expecting would be an understatement. My mother stands next to a modern four-person dining table, rigidly watching Jeong stomp away in a huff.

Glancing around the room, the brightly lit kitchen is out of place in the dark, dank, areas of the home that I’ve recently come to know. I’m assuming that’s because she spends most of her time in this room. Cream-colored walls flow throughout the room, brightening up the tiny space. A lengthy oblong window is nestled just above the kitchen sink overlooking a mountainous region in the distance.

My brow furrows. Where are we? Are we close to Mt. Umyeonsan? No, she wouldn’t have me that close. She isn’t stupid. Dismissing the thought, I allow my eyes to continue their trek along the kitchen. Pale yellow and blue glass mosaic tiles accent the cream-colored walls, creating an intricate pattern along the backsplash of the sink up to the windowsill.

Maple Shaker style bamboo cabinets line the walls and floors, giving the room a contemporary Asian feeling. The sleek curves and modern design are warm and welcoming compared to the drab, lifeless feeling of the remainder of the house. Granite countertops sparkle in the afternoon light as I stare in wonder at the oddness of the room. It feels so out of place.

Clearing her throat, my mother walks up behind me, placing a delicate hand on my lower back. Startled, I jump, nearly tumbling forward, losing myself in the process.

Displeasure is thick in her voice when she drawls, “Stop being so dramatic, Ttal. Have a seat.” She points in the direction of the table. Frozen in place, I stand there for a moment, fear keeping me rooted to the spot. With a small shove, she pushes me toward the table. Stumbling, I take a few steps, righting myself and shuffling toward the table.

“Good. We have much to discuss,” she says, joining me.

My stomach rolls, the fight or flight response that’s become my only ray of sunshine kicking in. Darting my eyes toward the door, I swallow loudly.

Snapping her fingers in front of my face, her voice becomes like granite. “Don’t even think about it.” Gulping, I drop my gaze to the table.

“Now, as I said, we have much to discuss. There will be someone joining us shortly. Before our guest arrives, I wanted to speak with you alone.” She pauses, remaining silent for several minutes. Mentally, I chant over and over,
“I will not look at her. I will not look at her. I will not look at her.”
Unable to take the silence any longer, I peek up through my lashes. Patiently, she waits, quietly observing me.

“I like it when you’re silently obedient.” Her words strike a chord with me. Cold fingers wrap around my heart, making it sluggish and heavy. Dread sits heavily on my chest, creating a strong desire to avoid whatever future she has in store for me. Rocking slightly, I drop my gaze back to the table.

“Hmmm. I thought you would’ve had something smart to say. Maybe you are remembering your lessons,” she taunts.

Frustration bashes my already frayed emotions, striking them repeatedly. I want nothing more than to unleash a slew of unlady like retorts. But to what avail? All it will get me is her anger and another knife in my side. No, I think I’d rather let my frustration pummel away at my already frayed emotions. It’s the less painful route.