Heartless People |Book 2|

Chapter 9

"Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors."

—K Colemend Hosseini

EVELYN

I wasn't sure what to say to him. No, that was a lie. I knew what I wanted to say. I knew how I wanted to say it. Sadly, I couldn't. It wouldn't be right. I never once flinched at Lisa or Jennie's actions. My moral compass was shattered beyond repair, but that didn't bother me either. When I first married Marco, knowing what his life was going to be, I thought I could keep my head up above it all. But this life has away of sucking the good out of you...how can it not when you are surrounded by the worst of people. I've never physically killed a man, but twice in my life I've asked for retribution, and twice Marco had ensured that it was done it for me.

"What are you going to do?" I whispered as he lay on our bed. He stared up at the ceiling, not bothering to move like a fat cat after a feast. I knew this Marco. He was about to do something...something evil.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, as I took off my heels.

They were originally Jennie's and the damned girl wanted to burn nine hundred dollar Jimmy Choos, just because they were white.

We were the same size, and like the shoe hoarder I was, I took them with pleasure. However, it seemed like they were molded for her feet alone and were going to kill me.

"You're a bad liar. Thank God I keep you locked away." I laughed, crawling on top of him.

"I'm a great liar. We're just born with a strong pair of bullshit detectors."

"Raising three kids—four if I count you—it was a required skill."

He chuckled, but didn't reply.

"Marco, what are you about to do?"

"Shh..." he whispered, just holding me.

I stopped struggling, allowing him to just hold me. It was what he did, what he always did. He held onto me as if he were worried I would never forgive him for whatever he was about to do, but I always did. No matter what, I always would.

We sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, and I felt sixteen again. I felt like that same loud mouth, know it all, rash, love-struck teenager who saw her prince charming and went weak at the knees the moment he looked my way.

"What?" he asked, as I smiled to myself.

"Nothing," I said, and in one swift motion, he flipped me onto my back and pinned me under him.

He glared into my eyes with a smirk on his lips. "Woman, what is so damn funny?"

"Man," I lifted my head up to him, "I said nothing."

"The hard way then..."

"Marco, don't..." before I could stop him, he ripped my shirt open. "Damn it all to hell, Marco, that shirt was a gift."

"My gift will be so much better." He kissed my neck and with one hand, he ripped my bra from my chest.

"Really?" I dared him, crossing my arms over my chest, but the moment they covered my breasts, he pried them away.

"Isn't it obvious?" he whispered, one of his hands wandering down the side of my arm, which were pinned over my head, until he reached my nipples. He played with them as he stared into my eyes.

"Marco..."

"What better way can I show my wife I care, than to give her pleasure?" he whispered again, kissing my lips before trailing the side of my jaw. "Give us both pleasure."