CHAPTER EIGHT

Lyla POV

I opened my eyes slowly, adjusting to the ray of heavy sunlight that filled the room from the large window. My head hurts, but not as much as it had after papa would hit me.

Yes, my father started hitting me.

I mean, I had embarrassed him. I avoided his hits but some of them would knock me out cold. Most of the hits were because I was trying to protect my mum from him.

My mouth tasted bitter, and I was certain I was bruised all over.

I sat up gently, trying to access the wounds I may have in my body.

That was when I felt the stickiness between my thighs.

“No, No, questo non può essere,” I muttered under my breath. These men were savages, I already knew that. But raping me?

I put my hand between my thighs, feeling the stickiness and bringing it up. It was white, I thought, examining it. It wasn't red.

Had they defiled me?

Someone had cut my gown off my body in the night. Very carefully, making sure to remove all the extra layers. They didn't even nick me a bit, which was impressive.

It has to be Emilio.

He was the one that knocked me out, so he would be the one that brought me to the room. Was he the one though, that came on me?

I looked across the huge king's bed, taking note of the dent in it. Someone has spent the night here.

A choked sob escaped my lips.

I had no attachment to my virginity, I always knew it was just another way my father controlled me. I did not want to get raped though.

I got up from the bed, seeing the cut up pieces of the dress on the ground. There was a large closet and I walked into there.

As I presumed, a life size mirror was there so I stood, taking assessment of how I looked.

My usually tamed hair was wild, like it had been pulled at all night, my lips were still stained with the dior lipstick. My eyes had dark rings underneath them, the make up on my face had smeared so badly.

I looked gently at my skin and my body, the only bruises I had were from when I had been tacked by my brother.

The bathroom was huge, even bigger than my own. The large bathtub called out to me, but what I needed was a shower.

I unlaced the corset, noticing that the person had done nothing to destroy it. There was no ache between my thighs and before my wedding, my mama had told me I might ache a lot because of the pain. Men loved it rough with virgins, at least that's what she told me.

The cold water hit my hair first, drenching me slowly. It eased the ache in my hand, my bruised torso that was getting harassed by the tightness of the silly dress my mum insisted I wore.

I grabbed two towels and wrapped my hair and my body with them. Noticing the empty closet space and my lack of clothes thereof, I decided to see if I could go out to get something to wear.

The door was unlocked.

Who kidnaps someone and leaves the door open? They must not think I am crafty enough to think about escaping, which is somehow insulting.

I follow the sleek carved stairs, observing the walls around me. It seemed I was in some modern yet old school mix kind of house. It was definitely bigger than my father's own, that I could tell only from my room.

Why was I thinking about that room as mine?

Shaking the thoughts I had, I walked down, following the sound of voices I heard. A woman, speaking rapid Spanish and some other muffled noises.

The kitchen was beautiful and well equipped, everything seemed like it was picked and decorated with so much care and thought. It didn't look lifeless, people actually used it.

And four people stood, looking at me at the entrance of the door.

I blushed hard. “Good morning,”I say, making sure to keep my voice cool in order not to betray the nervousness I felt.

“¿Trajiste una chica a casa?”the middle aged lady screeched. Her hair was in a short bob, grey and blue. I wondered if the grey was dyed too.

“Sorry, to bother, I don't have any clothes—”, I started.

The lady interrupted me. “You bring a girl home, you don't bother indomie me and you leave her without clothes?” she shouts at the men in heavily accented English. She's a small woman, barely five feet but watching her slam the kitchen counter while the three men sat down and we're eye level with her was hilarious.

“Good morning, little bird.” That was Emilio. Did he not know my name?

“I'm Lyla. Not a bird.”

His brows quirked up. “Amusing, you think I care for your name.”

The bastard.

“Come, child. You need a cup of coffee, I'm Katarina,” she introduces herself, waving me over to where they were sitting.

“Thank you, Katarina.”. I sat down at the edge of the counter, as far away from the men as I could. I dragged the edge of my towel, making sure my bum wasn't exposed to this men.

Katarina places a plate of waffles and bacon in front of me. “Eat my dear. I'll go get you that coffee.”

The food was as delicious as it smelt, the honeyed bacon melting deliciously onto my taste buds. I moaned, the sound escaping before I could control myself.

“Sorry, this is just so good.”, I said, my face on fire.

Katarina lips stretched into a smile, “Yeah, no one in this house appreciates my cooking anymore.”

“That's not true. We love your cooking,” was Xiomar terse reply. Achilles just skipped his coffee, more focuses on whatever he was reading on his phone.

I cleared my throat.

“So, I need clothes. How do I get my clothes?”

Emilio chucked but at least my question has gotten the big man to look at me. “Your clothes? We'll get you new ones.” Achilles continued sipping his tea.

I had a certain aesthetic and I did not want to wear anything else other than what I was used to.

“Can I get them myself?” I asked, trying to add a little sweetness to my voice.

“No.”

“How would you know my size?”

Achilles looked up at me again. “You'll tell Katrina all you need. Your size, and anything else. You don't go anywhere.”

Well shit. Katrina’s eyes widened from the counter and I assumed she just realized I wasn't just a guest.

I was their hostage.