Insatiable Crimes: A Mafia Romance

• 14 •

X E N A

Fifteen lashes for incompetency.

The words echoed in my head, doubling, tripling over till my vision trembled at the edges.

My hands held onto the leather firmly, flexing it in my grip. Just looking at the instrument in my palms made me nauseous. I'd already been acquainted to the burn of lashes three times before in my life. The last time I whipped myself raw, I was fifteen.

After that I never made any mistakes.

Until now.

I steely watched the flinging extensions bounce. If I leaned in closer, I was certain that I would be able to see my own blood stain from years back.

To make sure I never forget.

Stripping myself of the skin tight dress, my jaw clenched when the cool air met my exposed skin.

I don't give myself time to prepare. My arm swung.

Eyes open, I counted the seconds, waiting for the pain to register.

It did.

Nine strings of leather rained down onto the uneven skin on my back, one after the other, in perfect synchrony. The previous coldness was replaced by red hot pain. Not a word escaped my mouth.

One lash turned five, five lashes turned ten.

I could feel the cruel air brush past my newly opened wounds, burning the lashes with an intensity I'd tried to forget. Blood ran down my back, slipping down my skin, painting my back red.

And the pain kept going worse.

It didn't matter that I knew it by heart. I knew the way my body responded to the whip— hell, I had every level of the physical pain I'd encountered in my life memorised, and the lashes of a whip didn't even come close to the top five.

But it burned.

Pain overtook my senses, as my back went lax against the rain of polished leather.

I didn't stop at fifteen. I couldn't stop at fifteen.

Pain was good, I reminded myself. Pain helped me think.

My eyes burned with unshed tears, back stiff as a rod. I took all my aggression, all my confusion, all my anger out on my body. Maybe it wasn't healthy, but it was a coping mechanism. My coping mechanism.

It was the last few lashes that did it for me.

My brain conjured up Vincenzo's smug face. The cold turn of his lips.

What would he say if he was here, right now, watching me torment my own body? Maybe he would be amused. He had full right to be. 'Serves you right' would taste just right on his tongue.

The next strike was brutal. It was harsh, and unrelenting, and this time I couldn't repress the sounds that left me. I vocalized my pain, the sound of my very weakness.

It was repulsive. Appalling. Sickening.

My weakness was sickening.