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FOURTEEN: The Car Empty of the Devil
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2025-04-18 23:31:27
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Her Neglected Scars EIGHTY-NINE: The Phone Call
Carlos’s black wool overcoat slips off my shoulders and lands on the hardwood with a soft thud.I sit on the edge of the king-sized bed, staring blankly at my hands. The room is freezing. The radiators hiss a dry, pathetic rattle against the tall glass windows, failing entirely to cut through the draft leaking in from the courtyard. My body still aches from yesterday. Every muscle, every joint.I pick the coat up off the floor and fold it over the chair. I’ll return it later.The bandage on my thumb has a dry brown ring of blood where the knife slipped in the kitchen.What am I still doing here?Am I even still his wife?The ring is still on my finger. The papers still say Morozov. But today he looked at me like a stranger who broke into his house.For months, the only reason I breathed, the only reason I let my father chain me to this life, was my mother. I stayed because Theodore held her in a safehouse cellar, using her fragile mind as a leash around my neck. But now she is safe.
Her Neglected Scars EIGHTY-EIGHT: A Spy. A Liar. A Bennington
I turn on my heel, the silver tray shaking in my grip. I’m ready to walk away and swallow my own stupidity.Before I can take two steps, a junior maid rushing past the corner with a stack of linens slams into my shoulder.CRASH!The tray slips from my fingers. The bowl shatters against the hardwood. Scalding broth splashes up, soaking my sweater and searing the skin of my bandaged wrist.“Ah!” I gasp, jerking my hand back as a hiss of pain escapes my teeth.The maid stumbles back and glances at the puddle at her feet. She doesn’t look panicked. She looks annoyed.She looks up at me, her mouth twisting into a sneer.“Oops,” she says, her voice flat with fake regret. “So clumsy of me. Sorry, barishnya.”“It’s fine,” I choke out, pressing my burned wrist against my stomach, blinking back the sting of tears.“What is all this commotion out here?”Irina’s voice floats out from the office doorway.Before I can bend down to pick up the pieces, she appears in the frame, her eyes wide with the
Her Neglected Scars EIGHTY-SEVEN: A Bowl of Beef Soup
“Konstantin?”My voice comes out as a dry, cracked rasp. It bounces off the plaster walls of the master bedroom.Silence answers me. No boots on the floorboards. No deep voice telling me to stay still.I push myself up onto my elbows and wince. A sharp ache shoots through my lower back and thighs, a reminder of every hour we spent tangled in these sheets.I reach across the wrinkled cotton. My fingers find empty space.The sheets are cold where his body was radiating heat only hours ago.I check the clock on the nightstand. Past nine. He’s been gone for hours.I slip out of bed, my bare feet hitting the hardwood. A black dress shirt lies on the floor near the dresser, the one he wore before we tore it apart.I pick it up and press my face into the collar. Woodsmoke. Amber whiskey. Rain. And him.A small, foolish smile tugs at my chapped lips.He stayed, I tell myself. Last night meant something. He was drunk, yes, but he came back to me. He held me.Once he’s sober, I can tell him eve
Her Neglected Scars EIGHTY-SIX: Konstantin?
Konstantin tilts his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he lets out a heavy, drunken breath.He doesn’t move.He just watches me with that predatory, dangerous stare as I reach down with trembling hands and unbuckle his heavy leather belt.CLINK.I pull the strap through the loops, pop the metallic button of his trousers, and pull his zipper down.I slide his dark boxers lower, and his massive, thick cock snaps free against his lower abdomen, slick at the tip, dark veins throbbing along the length of his shaft.I slide down off the pillows, kneeling between his spread knees on the bed.I wrap my small hand around his thick base, my thumb smearing the clear pre-cum over his wide head.Konstantin lets out a low, ragged curse, his head falling back against the headboard, his dark jaw clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stand out like steel cables.“Fucking hell, Evangeline . . .”I bend down and wrap my lips around the head of his cock, taking him deep into my mouth.“Ah, blyat!” Kon
Her Neglected Scars EIGHTY-FIVE: Let Me Do You
“Why did you betray me like they did . . . moya dusha?”The question hangs heavy in the space between our mouths, thick with the sharp stench of expensive scotch and raw, bleeding hurt.Konstantin’s dark eyes burn into mine, completely wide and wrecked.His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my scalp just enough to make my eyes water.“Konstantin, stop,” I breathe out, planting my palms flat against his burning chest.I push against the heavy muscle of his shoulders, trying to create even an inch of space.“Let me up. You’re fucking plastered. You don’t know what you’re saying right now. Just listen to me for once—““I listened to you for months,” he growls out, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against my throat.“I listened while you lied to my face in my own bed.”“I was trying to save my mother!” I shout into his face, the words tearing out of my chest like jagged glass.“I didn’t—“ He cuts me off before I can finish the sentence. His mouth slams down onto mine with brutal, desperat
Her Neglected Scars EIGHTY-FOUR: Moya Dusha
I pull my sweater collar up over my mouth, pressing my spine hard against the cold stone.I don’t cry.I used up all my tears in the woods.I just sit there while the freezing wind bites my cheeks, listening to them talk about me like I’m a carcass waiting to be cleared off the driveway.By midnight, the house goes completely dead quiet.I lay awake in the massive guest bed, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling.My stomach lets out a sharp, painful growl.I haven’t eaten a single bite of food since yesterday morning, and the gnawing ache in my gut is finally worse than the anxiety keeping me awake.At 2:00 AM, I throw off the duvet, slip out of bed, and creep out into the dark hallway in my bare feet.The house is pitch black, lit only by the pale moonlight spilling through the high arch windows.I sneak down the grand staircase like a ghost, sticking close to the wooden banister to avoid the squeaky steps.I feel like a rat sneaking through the floorboards of my own hus
Her Neglected Scars FOUR: Tears, Tea, Trouble
Staring down danger over a tea party is a great reminder that life loves throwing curveballs when you’re least prepared. But on the bright side, I think I’m finally sure he’s six-foot five.I swallow the lump in my throat as those muddy, red eyes penetrated through my very being, sending electricit
Her Neglected Scars THREE: Poisoned Gazes
Whip burns and brotherly love: because one form of torture just isn’t enough. The room was heavy with unspoken tension as my brother gently applied the salve on the wounds on my back, his touch lingering a bit too long.I asked for the maids, but I guess they, too, were far too afraid to go agains
Her Neglected Scars TWO: To Punish the Brave One
When you dig your own grave, you better be ready to lie in it, but damn, this is one deep hole.Bloody pupils that look and feel like it’s seen murderous things penetrated right through the small slats of the closet. He doesn’t move, nor does he stray his eyes away from mine. Instead, his lips, ca
Her Neglected Scars ONE: Marrying To My Doom
I’m getting married to Konstantin Morozov, the merciless billionaire crowned as the bloodthirsty King in all of Russia, or in other words, my life is going to end today.A stark difference to the dark cell I thought it would be ending, but instead it’s here—in this beautiful church adorned with flo
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