Page 9 of Beast's Wife

She pressed her lips together and stared down at her plate of food. Beautiful pasta with meatballs had been presented to her. It was one of her favorite meals.

To her, it felt wrong what her parents did, what her family was known for.

“You know that Romone deals in a lot of different … things?” she asked.

“I’m aware.”

“Did you know what my parents dealt in?” Morgan asked.

“I did.”

“I saw them. Some of them were already too afraid to fight. Others wanted their lives back, they would fight and for their trouble they would get punished—beaten, raped—itwas a vicious cycle. Sometimes, they would do it just to keep others in line. They picked on the strongest and showed them that even she could be broken.” Morgan shrugged. “I … I knew when I asked you to play with me, what that implied. I know we’re husband and wife and we have roles to play. Sex. I don’t know what you want from me, but thinking about sex is what I remember. The pain those women suffered. The abuse. The torture.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said.

“I know that—”

“With everything you have witnessed, it makes sense for you to be hesitant. I am not in a rush, Morgan. You’re young, and I am not an animal, well, not when it comes to my wife,” Carver said. “Your family were fucking animals, and now they will not harm anyone.”

****

Carver was aware how fucked up the Rose family had been. He heard the rumors and saw what they’d been capable of, with some of the girls he’d taken the time to rescue. Again, not because he’d been a hero. He wasn’t. The only reason some of the women had been rescued was because it suited him at the time to do so, otherwise, he didn’t give a fuck. It was all a game to him. Cat-and-mouse, with Romone.

He stood in his office and poured himself a large whiskey. He paid for the priority service and he imagined Romone had already opened his present. He wondered what the other man was thinking. Romone was afraid of him, but this is what made the game so much more interesting.

He took a sip of his whiskey as there was a knock at the door. Carver was used to Andy just walking in at the same time as announcing his presence.

“Come in,” he said, knowing Morgan was on the otherside.

Her fear of being rude, of being punished, was still palpable. Watching her now, he wished he’d been able to kill her father again and again. He should have kept the old bastard alive a lot longer than he had. It had been some of his quickest work.

“Morgan,” he said.

She had her head bowed in submission, but he wasn’t after a weak, subdued wife. He wanted the fire and passion of a woman who wasn’t afraid of him, by his side. It was still inside her. Morgan hadn’t been completely beaten down. They had tried, but he believed there was a strength in every person, and it took a lot to beat it out of them, depending on how strong they were.

“Carver,” she said. “I want to ask you something.”

“Ask away.” He perched on the edge of his desk. “Can I interest you in a drink?” He held up his glass as if in offering.

“I’ve never drank before,” she said. “I don’t think I will like it.”

“Why? Because your family said you wouldn’t?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He held out his glass. “It’s whiskey, and I will warn you, that sucker is strong, with a capital S.”

She stepped toward him and reached for the glass. Morgan wore a very cute pair of pajama shorts along with a matching top, with flowers on it.

She took a sip and swallowed, and he watched as her eyes watered seconds before the cough erupted. He was sure to take the glass from her hand, as he didn’t want any of his good whiskey going to waste.

“Oh, wow,” she said.

“I might like to add that whiskey is not for everyone,” he said.

“No kidding, wow, that is like fire. How can you enjoy it?”

He shrugged, took a long sip, and then breathed a sigh of contentment. “You’ve got to know when to enjoy it.”