Page 42 of Unorthodox
I’m surprised to see concern on his face.
How did you end up here?I want to ask him. How did we get these shitty lives? What happened to you? What’s going to happen to me?
My stomach churns and I heave again, looking away from Dante so I make it into the toilet. Grabbing a few squares of toilet paper from the roll attached to the wall, I wipe my mouth, flush the paper down. But I don’t get up.
I stay on my knees, lay my head against the cool seat, closing my eyes.
Trying to breathe.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I don’t want to go back into my room. For some reason, the smell of pine is worse there.
I think of how Max would respond if I complained about the scent of my fucking room.
He hasn’t been to see me since he carried me to my bed after chaining me to the wall. I wanted to kill him, but I was too tired to try anything at all. My throat was too sore from screaming, my head was pounding and, my wrists were raw from trying to yank away from the chains.
And tonight, the smell ofpinehas kept me up again.
I tried to shove a pillow over my head. I tried to cover my nose with my blankets.
The scent wouldn’t leave me, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw dark green ones set beneath a heavy brow.
I heard words that I should’ve never, ever heard. I listened to my brother crying. I saw Danik fist his curly brown hair into his hands, tears in his eyes as he stared at me.
As my uncle told us the sins we had to commit.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Max’s sharp, cold voice causes me to pick my head up, and I stare at him as he comes to stand in the doorway, his gaze on Dante.
Dante swallows, averting his eyes. “She’s sick.”
Max’s jaw clenches. “Get out.”
“No!” I can’t stop the word from bubbling over, my arm still slung across the toilet seat. I’m in sweatpants, a black shirt, the same thing I’ve worn the past three days, but a different set. The most modest thing I could find in the fucking closet. “Don’t go,” I plead with Dante, keeping my eyes on him, refusing to look at Max.
Dante’s eyes are locked with mine, but he looks almost panicked. Even with a gun on each hip, not quite hidden beneath his blazer, he’s scared to disobey his boss.
“Dante.” His name on Max’s lips is a warning.
Dante swallows, turns away, and makes to move past Max.
But Max doesn’t step aside.
Reluctantly, I turn my gaze to my tormenter. His eyes are boring into Dante in such a dangerous way, my skin crawls, little hairs pricking on the back of my neck.
“Do you remember where you came from?” Max asks quietly.
I look to Dante, stare at the back of his head, his hair cut close, edged sharply above his neck. “Yes, sir.” His voice doesn’t betray any fear, but Max wouldn’t have asked unless he wanted to scare him.
“Do you want to return?”
“No, sir.”
Max arches a brow. “Good.” Then he moves, and Dante quickly walks past him, into my room, and I hear the door close after him.
My stomach tightens with dread as Max’s eyes find mine. My face flushes with his gaze, seeing me on the floor, hanging over a toilet, battling nightmares from my past that I thought I’d locked away.
And I did.
I have, inside that box I’ve tried to put Ben into.
