scream. "You know what you did. You whore." When he punched a fist
into her breast, she sank bonelessly to the floor. "All night, all
tucking night I had to stand around, smiling, pretending to care about
your stupid pictures. Do you think anybody came to see them?" He hauled
her up by the shoulders, leaving reddening trails where his fingers bit
in. "Do you think anybody cares about you? They came to see Brian
McAvoy's little girl. They came to see Drew Latimer's wife. You're
nothing." He tossed her down.
"Oh God, please, don't hit me again. Please."
"Don't tell me what to do." Th emphasize his point, he kicked her,
missing her ribs but connecting hard against her hip. "You think you're
so smart, so special. I'm the one they want to see. And I'm the one
who runs things around here. You remember that."
"Yes." She tried to curl up, praying he would leave her there until the
pain went away. "Yes, I remember."
"Did Michael come to see you?" He grabbed her hair again, dragging her
over onto her back.
"Michael?" Dazed, she shook her head. The pain rolled inside it. "No.
No."
"Don't lie to me." He struck her over and over, open-palmed, the
back of the hand, until she didn't feel anything. "You had it all
planned, didn't you?. "Oh, I'm so tired, Drew. I'm going right to
sleep." Then you were going to sneak out and sleep with him. Weren't
you?"
She shook her head, but he hit her again.
"Admit it, you wanted to fuck him. Admit it."
"Yes."
"That's why you wore this dress, you wanted to show off your legs and
those useless little tits of yours."
Dimly, she remembered that Drew had chosen the dress. Hadn't he chosen
it? She couldn't be sure.
"And you had your hands all over him. Letting him paw you right there
in front of everybody. You wanted him, didn't you?"
She nodded. She had hugged Michael. And for a moment, when he'd been
warm and solid against her, she had felt something. She couldn't
remember what. She couldn't remember anything.
"You're not going to see him again, are you?"
"No."
"Not ever."
"No, I won't see him."
"And you won't wear this whore's dress again." He hooked a hand in the
bodice and ripped it down the center. "You deserve to be punished,
Emma, don't you?"
"Yes." Her mind was floating in and out. She'd spilled her mam's
perfume. She wasn't supposed to touch Mam's things. She was a bad,
nasty girl and needed to be punished.
"It's for your own good."
She didn't scream again until he pushed her onto her stomach and began
to beat her with his belt. She had stopped screaming long before he
finished.