like Kendrick always have a plan, and the plans are always devious, and someone always ends up getting hurt.
It would be me. It will always be me when it comes to him.
And he won’t let me go until he has what he wants from me.
Curiosity killed the cat, but lucky for the cat, it has nine lives. I only have one.
“How are you doing today, my sweet?” Kendrick asks as he brings me a mimosa while I soak in the warm bath.
I don’t know if I want to take it. It is probably drugged, and I want to keep my wits about me. I sink lower into the tub, letting the rose-scented bubbles gather around my neck, and tilt the space under my chin. I cross my arms over my chest to hide the peaks of my breasts and press my thighs together so he can’t get a good look at the space between my legs.
Sure, he has seen everything, but I never want to tempt him.
“Don’t you want it? I ordered the champagne specifically for you,” his voice raises with each word. “If you don’t drink it—”
“Thank you, Kendrick. You are too kind,” I say automatically in a voice I know he will love—small, soft, and without heat. I reach for the glass, and he places the stem of the flute in my hand. I bring it slowly to my mouth, the base of the glass getting bubbles on it since I refused to sit up any further.
The burst of sweet orange juice and the slight bitterness of the champagne slide down my throat deliciously. My jowls water from the citrus bursting across my tongue, and I eagerly take another sip, enjoying the taste so much I nearly forget that Kendrick might have drugged it.
Oh, well.
I’d rather be knocked out for the abuse than awake, to be honest.
“I was thinking,” he says, perching on the side of the tub with his right hip. He skims his fingers along the surface of the water, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to do more. “We could go to the farmer’s market today, you and me. Spend the day outside and enjoy the air, get some of your favorite fruits, meats, and whatever else. Would you like that, my sweet?”
I hate the fluttering I have in my stomach from him being so kind. It reminds me of when we first started dating. I knew it was all a lie, but I craved for his tender moments. They were so few and far between. I know I am mental for wanting his sweetness, for wanting him to love me for me instead of a possession, but that will never happen.
It is why I am in love with Sebastian, a love that can never happen. I do my best to twist and turn the love I have for the better brother, to make myself somehow love Kendrick, but no matter how much I try nothing works.
Kendrick is unlovable, and his sweet demeanor is a lie.
“I would like that very much, Kendrick. Thank you,” I say eagerly. It is a treat to get out of the small mansion. Twice in one week. What a delight.
“You’re welcome. The outfit I want you to wear is on the bed, along with the shoes. Please do not wear any makeup. It makes you look like a whore.”
“Yes, Kendrick.”
He grips my chin with his fingers and bends down, eying me with never-ending pools of black. “No one likes a whore, my sweet.” He smashes his mouth against mine, and I revolt, holding my breath for the second time in five minutes. I am starting to feel light-headed. He breaks the kiss and leans away, stroking my cheek. The same cheek he hit three weeks ago, the same bruise that was now a pale yellow against my skin instead of a deep purple. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than telling me. “A trophy for all to see.”
A trophy.
I gulp, wondering what that means. I don’t ask. I keep my mouth shut like a good little pet.
Because at the end of the day, that is what I am. Something for him to stroke, feed, and hit if he sees fit.
“I want to leave within the hour, so hurry up. I want us to have a good day.”
“Yes, Kendrick.”
“My sweet?”
I drain the rest of the mimosa and set the empty glass on the side of the tub. “Yes, Kendrick?” The water swooshes when I move my hands under