The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,59
sadly for Alek, he’s the only person here. “Where are we?”
“We’re on my yacht. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for twenty-something hours. I tried my best to tend to your wounds,” he explains, hands still raised. “But now, I see your internal injuries are far worse. Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I scoff sarcastically. “Why do you care? The time to care has passed because if you did, we wouldn’t be here.”
I’ve wounded him. Good.
“How about you get cleaned up? I can make us something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I retort, but my grumbling stomach makes a liar out of me.
Alek lowers his arms cautiously. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Does he know what Santo did? What I allowed him to do?
Curling my lip, disgusted with myself, I turn my back and storm down the stairs toward the bedroom. I don’t want Alek to see my tears. I don’t know why I’m so angry with him. I’m just so fucking angry. At everything. At me.
Tearing off my shirt, I toss it to the ground and make my way into the bathroom, desperate to shower in hopes of washing this filth—on the outside and the inside—off me. Once I’m naked, I step under the shower spray, sighing when the hot water trickles down my body.
But the pleasure soon turns to pain when the droplets resemble Santo’s tongue, licking every inch of me clean. Screaming, I place my hands against the tiles and bow my head, allowing the water to fall over me as I sob guttural tears.
No wonder I’ve been out of it for days. Who the hell would want to wake to this?
I reach for the lavender soap and begin to lather it over my body. I scrub myself raw, but it doesn’t wash away the filth coating my skin. Nothing ever will. A part of me is broken, and that part can never be repaired. Santo stole so much. As did Frank. And at this moment, I realize Alek has as well.
Once my tears have dried, I wash my hair and face, not even bothering to look at the products in the shower caddy. Everything has lost its smell, its ability to rouse me. Life moves in monotone.
Switching off the water, I dry off and wrap the towel around myself as I hunt for something to wear. I’m surprised to see my things hanging in the wardrobe and folded neatly in the drawers, underwear included. All my thoughts are so scattered, and even though I know Alek has all the answers to clear the fog, I don’t want to talk to him right now.
I just need time.
I dress in plain underwear, my jean shorts, and a T-shirt. Even though it’s warm out, I slip on an oversized sweater. I want to cover as much of myself as possible. I don’t bother with shoes and run my fingers through my wet hair.
Even though I told Alek I wasn’t hungry, the mention of food has my stomach growling at the possibility. I’m also parched. Maybe Alek will get the hint and leave me alone.
Hoping he does, I make my way toward the middle level where there is a kitchen and living space and slide open the door. It’s huge in here. Far bigger than I anticipated it would be. The living area looks like one you’d find in any home.
It’s fitted with a huge plasma TV, a comfy leather sofa, and a coffee table.
The kitchen has a dining area to the left of it. There is a large table with a flower vase on top of it and eight wooden chairs. It’s cool down here, and the gentle hum reveals the AC is on. I never knew a yacht could be so luxurious. I open the stainless refrigerator and salivate when I see the water bottles.
Lunging for one, I can’t open it fast enough, and when the cold water hits my throat, I gulp it down greedily. Only when the bottle is drained do I come up for air. Wiping my lips with the back of my hand, I hunt through the well-stocked shelves for something to eat.
Everything suddenly looks so good, but Alek’s comment about not eating has me thinking I should probably start with something light. Closing the fridge, I open the bread box and snare a jar of unopened peanut butter from the pantry.
The plates are stacked neatly in the cupboard, and I shouldn’t be surprised it’s fine china. Opening the