God and Monsters

Chapter 7

"You bring product into my house looking like this?" a woman hisses sharply, drawing my eyes up. I'm standing with my back turned to a dirty full-length mirror, head cocked over my shoulder, and my shirt raised up as I observe the stitches on my back. Massive bruises mottle my skin, turning it into an ugly color.

Clearing my throat, I let my oversized, dingy shirt drop and turn to meet her gaze head-on. In front of me is a beautiful woman, her face caked in make-up and skin doused in citrus perfume. A tight dress clings to her curves, and a pair of strappy heels give her Amazonian height. Her outfit is not fit for this weather, but she looks as if she could walk through a blizzard barefoot and not bat an eye. She only appears to be in her mid-thirties, and while she's beautiful, she looks tired-weathered. Walking alongside the devil will do that to you.
This must be Francesca.
And right now, she's glaring at me, shooting daggers from her golden- brown eyes.
Shit. Here we go.

Rio shifts uncomfortably but doesn't respond to her outraged question. And that small action tells me a lot. If you don't have a valid reason for your mistake, keep your mouth shut. Maybe even if you do, still keep it shut. Her eyes narrow and trail down my body as she walks towards me, checking me out. Determining how much money I could make her, most likely. I'm grateful Rio found some clothes from another girl's room, and that I'm not wearing the hospital gown anymore. I imagine her reaction would be far worse than it is now. She stands before me, her strong perfume tickling my nose. I keep silent, watching her pinch the dirty, white shirt and lift it up. Her stare sharpens as she spots the ugly bruises coloring my torso. They're everywhere, and I have a sickening feeling she's going to make it her mission to find every single one. She then circles me, a sharp gasp piercing the still air when she spots the two large gashes on my back.

"What did you do to her?" she snarls.

Rio keeps his eyes down on his black boots, specks of dried blood still on them.
"Car accident," he answers shortly.

"Stupid. This is going to take weeks to heal. When can the stitches come out?"

He finally looks up, his dark brown eyes swirling with hate yet an apologetic expression on his face. It's manufactured just for Francesca. He's not fucking sorry at all.

"Dr. Garrison said four to six weeks."

She hisses and lets the shirt drop, circling back around to face me.
"Is she on birth control?"

My brows furrow and I frown, wondering why she's asking him and how the hell Rio would even know that.
"Garrison said she has the IUD."

Tears begin to build, and it takes effort to keep them at bay. It makes me want to vomit that I was violated like that. I had no idea he checked, which means he did it while I was unconscious.

She hums, pleased by that, and finally address me directly. "Do you know who I am?"
It takes a few seconds to rein my emotions in, but I manage to swallow them down enough to answer her.

"Francesca," I say confidently, inserting as much volume in my voice as possible. She doesn't present herself as the type of person who'd appreciate mumbling.

That's the good thing about being a writer, I suppose. I've built and crafted so many imaginary personalities that it doesn't take much to figure out the ones in real life. Francesca, here, has no patience and doesn't tolerate insolence, laziness, or weakness. She exudes strength, and that's what she expects in return. Not to be confused with defiance, of course.

She pops a manicured eyebrow up her forehead. "Yes," she says. "That's my name. But that's not what I asked you."

Frowning, my brows knit, unsure how to respond. Before I can figure it out, her long acrylic nails pinch my cheeks. I inhale sharply, the talons digging into my skin as she pulls my face into hers, a calm but menacing expression on her face.