STOLEN || 18+ (Monsters #3)

.5. Red Suits you

"I had learned early to assume something dark and lethal hidden at the heart of anything I loved. When I couldn't find it, I responded, bewildered and wary, in the only way I knew how: by planting it there myself."

-Tana French, In The Woods

. . .

Leyla

New York State

I had been frozen in Dante's arms, I was dead in Fabiano's. I wasn't aware of my feet moving, I could only feel the burn of his green eyes on my face. My eyes were glued to his broad chest, my small hand in his tatted large one and his other hand was on my waist, warmth transferring from it into my skin. Maybe I was trembling or maybe I was still - all I could feel was him.

"That dress..." He muttered. "Red suits you."

"Thank you," I whispered.

The song seemed to be never-ending. I wanted to glare at the band but I did not have to courage to do even that in Fabiano's arms. We were closer than Dante and I had been, so much closer than my breasts brushed with his chest a little every time we moved. Did I have the courage to move away? No. I could storm away, I doubted he'd force me to dance with him. He could get any woman here, except Gabriella who'd try to scoop his eyes out with her acrylics if he touched her.

"Can I dance with my daughter?"

Fabiano froze and slowly looked at my father who stood behind me. He let go of me, nodding once.

Father took me in his arms, his movements stiff.

"Father?"

He looked at me. "They asked me for you," he said. I frowned. "They are going to take you away." He smirked and I felt drew brew inside of me. "Come with me."

His fingers dug into my forearm and he pulled me to the side, walking slowly to not attract attention. We entered a small room and he closed the door behind us.

I looked at him with wide eyes. I knew he was angry already because of the aisle thing. He could not hurt me here, could he?

He looked at me. "Giovanni and Fabiano have...ordered me to give you to them, in exchange for their silence."

"What...what?!"

He put his hands in the pocket of his grousers, looking at me coldly as if I wasn't his daughter. As if I was nothing. "You are theirs. Maybe one of them will marry you, or maybe they'll keep you as their whore. I don't care." He stepped closer. "They will kill all of us if you protest." He raised his eyebrows, asking softly, "Do you want your sisters dead?"

This was going way too fast. I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on me, the shock stiffening my bones. "W-what?"

His hand came down on my face before I could expect it. It wasn't a hard smack, it would have shown, but It was hard enough to leave a sting but not color. My eyes filled with tears. I fisted my hands, looking down.

"You are going to go with them. Whenever they want to take you. Am I clear or do you need another week with Mr. Cameron?"

My breath trembled. Mr. Cameron. One of the father's oldest friends - and the first man he even gave me to.

The first men who shattered me, followed by many others.

"Clear, father."

He walked away. "Stop crying. You have responsibilities as my daughter." He slammed the door shut and I jumped.

I looked around. This must have been the room Olivia got dressed in. I could see the familiar giant beauty bag she carried around since high school. I sat on the chair in front of the dressing table, looking at myself in the mirror.

The handprint did not show on my risky skin but my eyes were filled with tears.

Theirs.

I knew it. I knew since the day I saw them that they would disrupt something. And they had. My plan to getting free from my father went out before I could even light it up.

I took in a trembling breath.

I knew they were dangerous. And I knew they wanted me - I wasn't stupid, I knew that they wanted me but I never expected their want to be this deep.

I wasn't beautiful. Yes, I was pretty. But that was it. I knew my limits, I knew myself, I knew what I was capable of surviving.

And I knew I wouldn't survive them.

Their bodies were violent and words seemed to be pure sin. I have the good girl sense of trouble, and enough sense of self conservation to run away when I sensed it.

But it seemed like I had no choice.

When did I even have a choice? From the subjects I studied at school to the people I was allowed to date, everything needed to be approved by dad. I never had a choice.

The door opened. Gabriella walked inside. "I am going to - who do I need to cut?"

I chuckled, wiping the tears away. "Father," I whispered.

She walked closer, pulling me into a hug. "How bad?"

I hugged her back tighter. "The worst."

She nodded. "At least our plan of getting the fuck away from that monster is still on."

And that made me sob.

I wasn't sure I liked weddings anymore.

. . .