be your little friend who gets the punishment. That was just a taste. Threaten me like that again and I’ll have every man I know rape her over and over, and I’ll force you to watch every single moment. Do you understand?”
Her inside twisted with a sickening hatred. She wanted nothing more than to kill this man in the most hideous, violent ways she could think of. She’d believed she’d hated Cigarette Hands as much as it was possible to ever hate someone, but Rodriguez had taken her loathing to a whole new level. Monster had been right when he’d said he would make the Gonzalez-Larrinaga brothers look like a couple of school boys. She understood now why he’d said such a thing.
Lily had killed before, and now she knew she’d happily do the same thing again.
Monster (Fourteen Years earlier)
Days had passed since he’d last seen the girl with the honey-colored hair and creamy skin. Though he knew he should be relieved at the lack of repercussions from claiming the spilled meat and rice, and the ruined rug was his fault, he couldn’t stop worrying. Other than a missed meal, he’d not been punished in any way. The girl, however, had not returned, and Monster worried endlessly about her safety. His father must have known he’d been hiding something. Why else would he have stopped the girl from bringing him the meals? Or was it that his father had picked up on the attraction and affection Monster had experienced for the girl, and he’d wanted to bring it to an end before it could cause any trouble?
Either way, Monster struggled to believe his father had bought his story about tripping on the rug and spilling the food himself. He didn’t know how, but his father always knew the truth of what happened in Monster’s life. It was as though he had eyes in the corners of the bedroom, and ears pressed against the walls. Monster never got away with anything, but especially not something as big as telling a direct lie to his father.
The thoughts of what had happened to the girl troubled him. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of her deep blue eyes completely meeting with his filled his mind. He remembered the tears trembling in their depths, but more than that, he remembered how she’d focused only on him, and not on the birthmark which blackened one side of his face. He found himself touching his fingertips against his lips, remembering how they had brushed her soft skin, and imagining he was touching her arm again. He hated that the last thing he’d ever said to her had been said in anger.
“Go,” he’d snarled. “Don’t make me say it again, or I will be the one you receive the beating from.”
The memory of those words cut him deep. More than anything, he wished he could go back and sew his mouth shut. Would she hate him now? Was she frightened of him? Was that the reason she’d not returned, or was his father at the root cause? When he lay in bed at night, the thing that haunted him the most was the idea of his father hurting her. Was she lying somewhere, beaten and broken, because of the lie he’d told? If they’d been honest about what had happened, would she have received a simple punishment, but still be visiting him now?
He had so many questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Two more days passed, and the rug his father had removed for cleaning was brought back to the room by a couple of his father’s servants. He wanted to ask them if they’d seen her, but couldn’t get the words off his tongue. They didn’t speak, or even look at him as they laid the rug down in its original position. They turned to leave, and as they did so, his father stepped silently through the door.
Monster inhaled, his breath trapped in his chest. He knew his father well enough to be able to read him instantly, the slightest bit of body language or facial expression—the tick in his jaw, a stiffness to his shoulders—to alert him to when trouble was brewing. Monster had
Her inside twisted with a sickening hatred. She wanted nothing more than to kill this man in the most hideous, violent ways she could think of. She’d believed she’d hated Cigarette Hands as much as it was possible to ever hate someone, but Rodriguez had taken her loathing to a whole new level. Monster had been right when he’d said he would make the Gonzalez-Larrinaga brothers look like a couple of school boys. She understood now why he’d said such a thing.
Lily had killed before, and now she knew she’d happily do the same thing again.
Monster (Fourteen Years earlier)
Days had passed since he’d last seen the girl with the honey-colored hair and creamy skin. Though he knew he should be relieved at the lack of repercussions from claiming the spilled meat and rice, and the ruined rug was his fault, he couldn’t stop worrying. Other than a missed meal, he’d not been punished in any way. The girl, however, had not returned, and Monster worried endlessly about her safety. His father must have known he’d been hiding something. Why else would he have stopped the girl from bringing him the meals? Or was it that his father had picked up on the attraction and affection Monster had experienced for the girl, and he’d wanted to bring it to an end before it could cause any trouble?
Either way, Monster struggled to believe his father had bought his story about tripping on the rug and spilling the food himself. He didn’t know how, but his father always knew the truth of what happened in Monster’s life. It was as though he had eyes in the corners of the bedroom, and ears pressed against the walls. Monster never got away with anything, but especially not something as big as telling a direct lie to his father.
The thoughts of what had happened to the girl troubled him. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of her deep blue eyes completely meeting with his filled his mind. He remembered the tears trembling in their depths, but more than that, he remembered how she’d focused only on him, and not on the birthmark which blackened one side of his face. He found himself touching his fingertips against his lips, remembering how they had brushed her soft skin, and imagining he was touching her arm again. He hated that the last thing he’d ever said to her had been said in anger.
“Go,” he’d snarled. “Don’t make me say it again, or I will be the one you receive the beating from.”
The memory of those words cut him deep. More than anything, he wished he could go back and sew his mouth shut. Would she hate him now? Was she frightened of him? Was that the reason she’d not returned, or was his father at the root cause? When he lay in bed at night, the thing that haunted him the most was the idea of his father hurting her. Was she lying somewhere, beaten and broken, because of the lie he’d told? If they’d been honest about what had happened, would she have received a simple punishment, but still be visiting him now?
He had so many questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Two more days passed, and the rug his father had removed for cleaning was brought back to the room by a couple of his father’s servants. He wanted to ask them if they’d seen her, but couldn’t get the words off his tongue. They didn’t speak, or even look at him as they laid the rug down in its original position. They turned to leave, and as they did so, his father stepped silently through the door.
Monster inhaled, his breath trapped in his chest. He knew his father well enough to be able to read him instantly, the slightest bit of body language or facial expression—the tick in his jaw, a stiffness to his shoulders—to alert him to when trouble was brewing. Monster had
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