Chapter 191

Latisha hesitated, then raised her hands to sign: *I won't see Mrs. Dashiell anymore. Please, don't hurt her.*

Clifford's lips thinned, his gaze intense, but he said nothing.

She continued: *She's very old. She doesn't have much time left. She's suffered enough. Please, for the sake of how she once cared for you, have pity on her.*

She didn't know if he was even watching her signs. His eyes were fixed on her face, not her hands. That was the cruelest part of her silence. If he chose not to look at her hands, she had no way to communicate, no way to be heard.

When he was in a good mood, he might watch her patiently. When he wasn't, he could simply ignore her, cutting her off completely.

She signed a torrent of words, but he just kept staring at her.

Latisha's heart sank. She lowered her hands, defeated.

"Do you know why I don't want you near those people?" Clifford asked suddenly.

She looked up, startled. She wanted to know. She was desperate to know why she had been stripped of the most basic human freedoms.

She waited for his answer, but he just lifted a hand, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "But I hope you never find out."

His words echoed in her mind. Santino had said something similar.

*If you remembered, you wouldn't ask that question. If you remembered, you wouldn't look at me that way.*

Different questions, same mysterious implication. A buzzing started in her head again. What had she forgotten?

She racked her brain, but there was nothing. It was like they were playing a riddle with her life, daring her to remember, forcing her into isolation. She was being pulled in two different directions, and she felt herself starting to tear apart.

Clifford suddenly sat up. The sheet slid down, revealing a canvas of red scratches across his chest and back. Latisha's nails were short, but the marks were still vivid, a testament to his frenzy the night before.

He got out of bed and began to

dress. In moments, he transformed from a wild lover back into the composed, respectable Mr.

Lambert He fastened his watch and turned to her. "Don't go to work today. Rest at home, and don't go out."

He paused, his voice dropping. "And I don't want a Mortimer replacing Nikita."

With that final warning, he grabbed a coat and left without a backward glance. The bedroom door clicked shut, sealing her in.

Latisha lay stiff, staring at her own arms. They were covered in a constellation of fading bruises. A dull ache throbbed in her abdomen. Her body hadn't fully recovered from before, and last night's ordeal had drained what little strength she had left. She wondered how many more times she could endure him.

But it didn't matter anymore. A pet's life, after all, was only a brief ten or twenty years.

...

The doctor was scheduled to visit that afternoon.

Latisha slept until she heard the doorbell ring. Dragging her exhausted body out of bed, she went to answer it.