Hero

16

As a teenager, under my parents’ guidance and with unrivaled determination, I learned how to manipulate my temper to my benefit. In my line of work, it’s an asset, but one I continually work to control. Cataline aggravates it, and apparently it’s grown worse in its dormancy. My rising urges to punish her, fuck her, and make her submit are at odds with my duty to protect her.

I shut and lock the door to the study before returning to my chair. Norman hasn’t moved, still frozen with a towel in his hand.

“Master Parish—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snap.

“You’re scaring the girl.”

“She needs to learn. That behavior is unacceptable.”

“She’s not like the women you know,” he says with emphasis on the last word. “You must be more careful. She’s fragile.”

I steeple my fingers in front of my face and inhale deeply before looking up at him. “You think you know her?”

“I’ve spent the last two months with her. She’s strong-willed, but she’s a good girl. And she deserves the truth. I assure you she’ll understand—”

“You know I can’t.”

“You can trust her.”

I bolt up from the chair to pace the room. My hands are in my hair, pulling as if it will give me answers. “I’d rather she were terrified of me than know the truth, Norman. If the Cartel gets ahold of her, it will be far worse than her treatment here.” I pause at a wall and outstretch my arms against it. Sometimes at night I can still feel the burn of smoke in my lungs. Melting flesh is something nobody should ever have to smell. Because of me, she experienced those things too. My fist slams into the wall. “How am I supposed to tell her that her life is shit because of me? That I’m to blame for her parents’ death? And that I’m the reason the Cartel wants her in the first place?”

“None of that is your fault.” It’s Norman’s mantra, but it always falls on deaf ears.

“It is,” I say. “I should’ve been there. I could’ve saved them, but I was selfish.”

“You were so young. You learned more from it than you could have with years of preparation for this role.”

I drop my hands to my sides and look at Norman as though I’m seeing him for the first time. “It’s no excuse,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I was strong enough, even at seventeen. As long as the Cartel wants Hero, they’ll want her. I owe her parents her safety.”

“You owe it to them,” Norman says, raising his chin, “or yourself?”

“Meaning?”

“Atonement binds you to Cataline. Forgiveness can cut those ties, but only you can be the one to do it. The guilt you harbor is unhealthy.”

“Forgiveness?” My mouth warps with the word’s venom. “You think I deserve to be forgiven? You think I want it?”

“I know you deserve it. And I don’t think you want it, but I think you need it. Telling Cataline the truth will be a step toward moving on.”

“This discussion is over.”

“Forgive me for saying, Calvin, but if you keep this up, you’ll only do damage. To her and to yourself.”

“You’ve taken enough liberties tonight, Norman,” I warn. “With me and her. You’re too friendly. You’re not to let her out of the cell until I say so. And don’t forget that your conversations are purpose-driven only. Make sure she has what she needs. As long as she’s cooperative, she can have what she wants. But do not forget, information is a privilege.” I cross my arms. “And I want her window locked going forward.”

“In her room?” he asks. “Why in the world?”

“I don’t like that she sits there all day, nurturing whatever ridiculous fantasies she entertains. I’m not entirely sure she won’t try to escape and hurt herself in the process.”

“If I may—”

“You,” I cut him off, pausing for emphasis, “may not.”

He purses his lips, the wrinkles around his mouth exaggerating with disapproval. “Very well. Shall we see about that shoulder?”

I sit back in the chair. My hands curl around the arms as Norman’s scalpel tears into my skin.

“You heal too quickly,” Norman says. “A disadvantage only when there’s something under your skin that shouldn’t be. Does it hurt?”

“More than the shots themselves, but not much.”

He’s spent enough time as my personal doctor to see through my casual response. He knows, as my muscles lock up, that it hurts like a bitch.

Norman is the only person to visit Cataline for the next two days, and it’s just to bring her food or replace her bucket. I review security footage to ensure he isn’t indulging her attempts at conversation and am pleased with his restraint. On the third day, I determine her sentence served. After a late evening in the city, I loosen my tie as I cross the foyer toward the basement.

I smell the blood the moment I hit the doorway. In seconds I’m down the stairs and at the gate, fumbling with the lock, as Cataline lies unmoving. “Cataline,” I say, dropping the keys. “Get up.”

“Calvin?”

“What happened?” Finally, I give up and rip the lock open with a yank.

She sits up and rubs her eyes as I fixate on the small black stain underneath her. “Ah, shit.” I kneel next to the bed. “What’s hurt?”

Her chin quivers slightly, and she covers her face with her hands. “It’s nothing. C-can you get Rosa? Or Norman?”

Ignoring the sharp pang from her request, I pull her shoulder gently to inspect her back. “What is it? Where are you hurt?”

She seems to struggle with words behind her palms. “I’m not hurt.”

“This is not the time to be shy. You’re bleeding—”

“It’s my period,” she cries, shrugging me off. “I got it this morning but have nothing to st-stop it. Please, just leave me alone.”

Relief floods me, and my forehead falls into my palms as I exhale. “You’re not hurt?” I ask, standing. She sniffles and curls back into a ball, inching toward the wall to avoid the stain.

“Answer me, Cataline.”

“I’m not hurt.”

After a deep sigh, I hold out my hand. With her face buried in the pillow, she looks small and weak, more pathetic than I’ve ever seen her. “Come,” I say, beckoning once. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”

After a moment, she swipes hair from her cheek. Her lashes flutter up at me, revealing frightened and innocent blue eyes. There’s tenderness in her voice when she asks, “Really?”

“Yes. Come on then. I haven’t got all night.”

She’s gnawing on her bottom lip. I’m tempted to tell her to quit it or to free it with my own fingers, but I inhale and refrain.

“No,” she says at last. “I don’t want your help.”

My outstretched hand drops to my side. “Excuse me?”

She flips away from me to face the wall. She doesn’t respond, but the yellowed pillow gnarls in her grip.

“You’d rather lie here in your own blood,” I state.

“Yes.”

My eyebrows are a thousand pounds as I stare at her, anger heating me from the inside out. I’ve never hit a woman like Cataline before, one who didn’t want it or deserve it, one who wasn’t expecting it. But my palm burns with the urge to put her over my knee, lift her nightgown, and spank the shit out of her. “Have it your way,” I say.

I spend the next twenty minutes in bed attempting to block out her whimpering, relieved when sleep finally begins its descent over me.