I push out of bed and walk to the bathroom to make use of the toilet.
As I sit, I hear a door creak open and shut from the bedroom. “Draco?” I call, peering around the corner.
No response.
I finish up in a hurry and walk out of the bathroom. As soon as I do, I let out a breath of relief. No wonder no one answers. It’s one of the maids. She has headphones on. She’s humming as she makes the bed.
I step to the side, and when she sees me, she gasps, clutching the heart of her chest. “Oh—sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to come in here. I thought you were at breakfast. I’m so sorry.” She drops her head, backing away to the door. “Please—please don’t fire me. Please don’t tell Jefe.” She says all of this in Spanish, so rapidly that I almost can’t comprehend it.
I hold out a patient hand, shaking my head. “No, it’s okay,” I coo. “I won’t tell him anything. You were doing your job. Don’t worry.” I give her a comforting smile.
As if she’s surprised to hear this, she relaxes her shoulders and her eyes stretch wide. “I should go.” Her voice is hurried as she grips the doorknob, rushing out.
I watch the door shut, mildly confused.
I walk over and pull it open, peeking around the corner before walking down the hallway. I’m still dressed in one of Draco’s T-shirts and a pair of his basketball shorts.
My hair, I’m certain, is a matted mess because I didn’t brush or blow-dry it after that bath. I can taste the morning breath on my tongue. I need to refresh immediately.
I enter the room I was first sent to when I was brought here and shut the door behind me. I find a decent outfit and dress quickly, and then walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I’ve been patched up, somewhat. Draco sent Juanita up during the middle of the night, while I was a bit loopy and drugged up.
I remember the piercing stab of the needle as she re-stitched my wound, but nothing more. Everything else about last night is hazy. I guess he was tired of looking at the damage that had been done to me.
It was a clear reminder that he’d failed me.
I stare into the mirror longer than intended and realize my face looks much worse than it feels.
The entire right side of it is swollen and blue. A bruise has formed—just barely. I look hideous, and for a split second I want to cry.
My face.
My body.
My life.
I’m wondering if I should feel rage or another rush of emotion that I can’t control, but I don’t feel anything. I feel empty, and the emptiness terrifies me much more than the feelings. It scares me, because I know when I actually do feel something, I won’t be able to control it. I won’t be able to hold back on my actions. I will most likely regret it.
When I’m all set, I walk out of the bedroom, cautious of my surroundings. I hear vacuuming and sweeping. I hear chatting and voices echoing. I know it’s the maids, but I am hyperaware of everything. Paranoid, really, of everyone that isn’t Draco.
When I reach the bottom of the staircase, I look to the right, at the dining room. I see Draco standing near the French doors. His back is facing me, his hands behind his back, and someone is in front of him.
He’s talking quietly to the person.
I walk forward slowly, trying to peer around him to see the person, but I can’t. When I’m closer, I hear him talking.
“You don’t feed them. You don’t talk to them. If they say anything to you at all, you cut their fucking tongues out. Don’t be lenient and don’t trust a word they say. I’m trusting you, Diego.” Draco’s smooth, fluent accent trickles out of the dining room.
I step aside, continuing to eavesdrop.
“Francesca says she didn’t know about the plan they had,” Diego says. “She says Bain promised her that if she fucked him a few times he’d help her escape and get her across the border.”
Draco lets out a bitter chuckle. “Don’t believe a word that lying bitch says. Tell her I will be dealing with her soon.”
When he says that, I step around the corner and walk in. Diego, one of the guards, spots me and his eyes widen. He doesn’t say a word. In fact, he looks away so fast that it almost seems unreal.
Draco studies my attire. “You look better today, niñita.”
“You’re lying,” I mutter. “I looked in the mirror. I look hideous.”
He extends his arm, his mouth twitching. “Go. Sit. I’ll be right there.”
I nod, walking to the chair next to his. Sitting, I pull my chair up to the table and pick up a slice of the bacon. I chew it, but I don’t taste a thing.