Page 89 of The Worst Pucking Deal

My breath hitches. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Mom turned my dad over to my uncle, who executed him for treason against the Russo empire after he tried getting me out.” She lets out a dry, forced laugh. “We didn’t even reach the city borders. Mom was on to us straight away.”

I want to say something, do something as she moves around me, tearing at her clothes with violent movements. My brain isn’t working, so I just stand there, watching her undress.

“This,” Lucia says coldly, pointing at the brand on her hip. “Is a reminder of who I belong to. Of who I should always belong to. My family. In my family, freedom is an illusion. But I changed the rules. I bought my freedom. I, Lucia Russo, managed what no one else has. I. Got. My freedom.”

Her words are stiff, formal. This is much worse than her PR persona, because the broken woman standing in front of me is nothing more than a statuesque husk of the woman I’ve seen, felt coming to life at my touch. The woman I opened my heart to. The woman I love.

“Let me get this straight,” I growl. “Your family married you off while you were nothing more than a child. Is that correct?”

“I was sixteen,” she volleys. “I haven’t been a child since… well, I’m not sure I ever really was allowed to be one.”

“Baby,” I breathe, pulling her to me. Swallowing thickly, I search her eyes for… I don’t really know. Signs that she knows how terrible her family treated her, perhaps. Whatever it is I’m looking for, I don’t find it.

Looking up at me, she licks her lips. “T-there’s more,” she stammers.

I nod, having already deduced that much. “I have something I need to do first,” I rasp.

“O-okay.”

Dropping to one knee I take her hand while searching the pocket of my suit pants for what I need. “Lucia Carter… or Russo… whatever the hell your name is. Will you continue to be married to me?”

“Sawyer—”

“I know our beginning was bumpy and imperfect. But so are we. I don’t want what the world perceives as perfect. I want you, because you’re perfect for me and because I’m too selfish to ever give you up.” Her green eyes fill with tears as I gently remove the wedding band Remus gave her, replacing it with the one my mom gave me many years ago.

“I-I can’t,” she cries out. “You need to hear everything first.”

Shaking my head, I kiss her hand. “No, sweet bunny. I need to ask you now because you need to know that whatever you’re about to tell me won’t change anything. Will you stay married to me?”

“Y-yes,” she hiccups. “Now and always.”

“Now and always,” I echo. Sensing that the ring from Remus is more than just a piece of jewelry, I slide it back on her finger.

Standing back up, I waste no time wrapping my arms around her shaking frame, holding her firmly against me. She hesitantly hugs me back, resting her head against my chest. Her tears soak my shirt, and I hate knowing she’s in so much pain. I want to wage war on everyone who’s ever made her feel like she’s an object rather than the amazing woman that she is.

Fuck… married at sixteen because her family told her to. If I ever see Remus again, I will fucking punch him. I might not know what his role is, but my gut tells me he has one. And Fabian… I don’t know. I’ve always believed that everyone is capable of murder given the right circumstances, and this, knowing he abused her definitely qualifies.

Once my sweet bunny has calmed down, she loosens her embrace. “Do you mind sitting back down?” she asks nervously.

Yes, I fucking mind. A lot, actually. “Of course not,” I reply. Though I don’t want to, I know this isn’t about me but what she needs.

Sitting down on the chair, I watch her as she paces back and forth, seemingly lost in thought. Then she walks over to her pile of clothes, finding her handbag among the fabric. I see the gleam of the knife before she holds it out to me. “Make me tell you the truth,” she pleads. “You need to know I’m not hiding anything, and this is the best way I can think of.”

“Baby,” I rasp. “I’m always up for cutting you when you need it. But I’m not going to do it if you think it’s some kind of punishment.”

She stands back up and comes over to me. “No, that’s not what it is. But I…” Pausing, she swallows thickly. “I need you to know I’m not lying or holding anything back from you.”

I take the knife from her outstretched hand and press it against the inside of her upper arm. “Here?” I ask, not taking my eyes off of hers.

“Yes,” she breathes.

Moving the blade down her arm, I make sure the cut is shallow so there’s no permanent or serious damage. She doesn’t hiss or show any outward signs that it hurts, not even when I make the cut longer than I probably should. My eyes trail the cut, zoning in on the redness of her blood as it pebbles to the surface and begins to trail down her arm.

I stand up and remove my suit jacket and then shirt. Then I hold my arm out to her. “I’m not going to hold anything back either,” I say, pushing the handle toward her.

She wordlessly takes it, holding the metal against my upper arm. “Are you sure?” she asks, her tone low and almost sultry.

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