by Meli Raine
Because this sense of anticipation is its own form of violence.
One deep breath. Two. Three.
My hands and feet and the skin around my lips feel like electricity flows through them, but it’s a ragged, uncontrolled current. A ringing in my ears turns ominous, the sound all-pervasive.
The sound is all I can hear, other than my own breath.
“Duff,” I say to myself.
But it’s his real name that I think. Sean.
Is he dead? Did they kill him? When I couldn’t wake him up in bed, a part of me died, too. I have to hold out hope that he’s on his way, that he’s searching for me, that he won’t let go.
In the park, on that trail, he fought to the death for me. I fought to the death for him. Justin and Ralph attacking us on our hike was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced. The spider Romeo put on me was nothing compared to that. Being shot at in a coffee shop was nothing compared to that. It was bone against bone, blood against blood. My body connected to my own mind to take a knife and dig it deep into a fellow human being’s head, in order to save a completely different human being.
Morality is easy when you have nothing at risk.
A moral code that’s never tested is worthless. I know that now. I know it deep in the marrow of bones that had to enact my own moral code. All I can do now is hope that Duff has a moral code, too, one that includes saving me right now.
He’s the only person who can do it.
No one else on his team knows what Duff knows about me. About Romeo.
About everything.
All of these thoughts go whirling through my mind as I smell the wine, the sweat, the scent of other people’s excitement. Underneath all that, I smell something else, too.
I smell death. My own death.
It has a tang, an imprint that is so familiar and also chillingly exotic.
It smells like me.
It smells like my imagination.
It smells like giving up.
“Where are you?” I whisper to myself, letting my ears engage, the words pushing the ringing out, even just for a moment. That’s all I have to live for now, isn’t it? Moment by moment.
None of this is about my body. Romeo didn’t kidnap me to use it, or if he did, it’s not his main purpose. I know he’s capable of hurting me in every way possible in order to accomplish his mission. The knowledge of his soullessness is what makes the anticipation so cruel.
If Duff doesn’t get here in time, what’s my fate? I’m not afraid to die. In fact, knowing that Romeo has complete control over me means that I’m more afraid to live.
“Lily,” Romeo says in that lightly accented voice. “Here.”
He is here with me.
My eyes are still closed, and I’m on the soft cushion, which I now realize is a sofa, a chaise longue, covered in velvet. If I open my eyes I might see what color it is.
I really don’t want to open my eyes.
A hard, heavy piece of cloth is tossed at me, covering the bottom part of my face and most of my chest. It scratches as it slides down my body and pools where my hip meets the cushion.
“Put this on,” he demands.
The clatter of something being dumped on the floor at my feet makes me sit up. I open my eyes. The room is dim. Beautiful in its own way, if it weren’t the equivalent of my coffin.
“What?” I ask, confused and dazed as he stands in front of me, looking down. He’s more imposing than ever, with dark hair that flips over his forehead, covering one eyebrow, making him look even more sinister and yet all the more charming.
If he weren't trying to kill me, he'd almost be my type.
“Put it on.”
“What is it?” I frown at the pile of fabric.
“A dress and shoes. Far better clothing than you’re wearing now,” he snaps, as if the insult is supposed to make me want to improve my looks. Why would I want to look better for someone who’s about to use me in some kind of game I don’t understand?
Oh, Duff, I think to myself. Sean. Please hurry. “Why do I need to put it—”
“Shut up.” He cuts me off. Coiled rage is evident in the way he holds his body. This is not the Romeo who cozied up to my mom, who infiltrated my family, who used my parents and my sister to try to weasel his way into knowing what I knew.
This is the guy who slapped me in the car, like a mosquito you don't care about destroying.
I freeze. The circuits in my brain disconnect from the parts of my body that are supposed to move through volition. I can’t do it. Instead, what I now realize is a sequined dress rests in my hand like chain mail. Like a uniform that I’m supposed to put on for a fight in an arena. The sound I heard at my feet was a pair of high heels, strappy, spiky things that I would never in a million years wear.
“The dress. Now.”
“Wha—”
Before the word can even come out of my mouth, he hauls off and slaps me again, open-handed, the pad of his palm striking the entire side of my cheek as if they were perfectly aligned for some biological purpose. I take the full impact of this trained and muscled man’s order.
Completely caught off guard, I fly across the chaise longue, falling on the ground, the other side of my head connecting with one of the shoes, pinning it beneath me. The spike of the heel digs into the scar behind my ear where Romeo shot me. I’m lucky—if that word can even be applied to me—because the shoe prevents my head from cracking on the wood floor.
“You have sixty seconds. Get dressed. Now.”
I drag myself up off the floor and turn away from him, expecting him to leave. He doesn’t. I pause and finally whisper, “Would you please leave? I need privacy.”
The laugh that comes out of him buries itself in my blood, flowing through all my organs, down to my toes, up to the crown of my head. It’s the sound someone makes when they don’t care about your humanity anymore.
“I’ve seen plenty of naked women in my life, Lily. You’re nothing special. Just put on the goddamn dress and heels, now.”
I’m shaking so horribly that I can’t figure out where the top of the dress is. I do it, wiggling into what feels like a metallic sausage casing, then realizing my error, I pull it off. I'm still dressed.
I can't think.
I can't sequence.
I can't believe this is happening.
I start to unbutton my shirt. If I don’t take my clothes off, he’ll do it for me, won’t he? If I’m going to have any control, I might as well use it. My face feels hot, swollen and tight. The space between my eyes is a pain-filled crater.
Shirt off, I struggle with the dress, and then undo my jeans and take them off, too. At least I’m covered, somewhat.
It’s warm in the room, suddenly warm, as if someone’s turned the heat on.
High.
I feel like I’m going to pass out. A part of my vision on the left side feels like it’s going, or maybe it’s the right side. I don’t know anymore. My ability to tell the difference between left and right is fading. Everything’s fading. Except I’m not fainting.
I’m just less.
Less aware. Less here. And yet, more able to see the layers in the room.
Depth perception shifts inside me, and suddenly everything that’s far away seems near, and everything that’s near is so, so far away.
The world is a funhouse mirror.
I look down. I’m barefoot, my own shoes gone. Someone took them off me. How did I get in this room?
What did Romeo do to me back in the limo? I remember it. I was suddenly on my back and couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe because his hand was over my mouth. Did he drug me? How did I get here?
What—what’s happening?
And where the hell is Duff?
“What is this dress for?” I ask, unable to stop myself. I know he’ll hit me again if I ask too many questions. He stares down at me and just shakes his head.
“Why do you think I want you dressed in an evening gown and come-fuck-me p
umps in a sex club, Lily?”
Duff
Worst-case scenarios are maddening when played out in the mind. They’re worse, of course, in the physical realm: actually experiencing death, dismemberment, physical torture, grief.
But worst-case scenarios are twinned with anticipation and anxiety in the brain when all you can do is wait and wonder.
And drive yourself crazy.
Silas finally let me go for a run. Whoever drugged me isn’t coming after me when I’ve got a running partner. Logan offered himself up. We run in peace, my legs pumping faster and faster. The three miles that took nineteen minutes a few days ago take me just under fifteen today.
The faster I metabolize whatever drug was in that milk, the better.
The faster I evacuate the chemical evil that they put in me, the better. My system needs to be completely prepared for what’s about to happen.
And that’s the other problem with worst-case scenarios.
We’re never at full capacity when they roll out. That’s why they’re the worst case, right? Because everything is at its worst.
When we get back to my apartment, I take a sixty-second shower. As I come out of the bathroom, rubbing my head with a towel, I see Drew Foster standing next to Silas, earbud in his right ear, hands on his hips. His jacket’s pulled back. His weapon’s on display, but that doesn’t matter. Nobody gives a crap.
We all have weapons on display.
I make a beeline for him. “Where the fuck is she?”
He looks up like I asked him what kind of latte he wants. Like I’m not talking about a woman who’s been kidnapped out of my bed.
Like I’m not talking about the end of the world if she dies.
“We have some information,” he says.
“Yeah?” My brain’s about to explode. “What the fuck do you know, Foster?”
“Silas already told you we know that the SUV went to The Grove. We know that it went into a hangar. After that, we don’t know. We know the jet left for D.C. One of our guys says there was a supply shipment added to the back, to the cargo hold on the plane.”
“Let me guess. Was it in a body bag?”
“We don’t have details.”
“Then get me on a fucking plane to D.C., yesterday.”
“We don’t know that it was Lily in the cargo hold, Duff.”
“Are you kidding me? Romeo kidnapped Lily out of my bed.”
He cuts me off. “Yeah, about that…”
I pull my arm back, damn close to hitting him. “Now is not the time to talk about what I did or did not do with Lily. Now is the time to talk about the breach in security that allowed this to happen. Now is the time to get me to D.C. Fast. Teleport me, if you’ve got that ability.”
“That’s still in beta,” he cracks.
I don’t mean to. It’s not conscious. It’s not deliberate. And it sure as hell doesn’t help me. But my shoulder pulls back, my fingers form a fist, and before anyone can stop me, I punch Andrew Foster, the president’s son-in-law, with a right hook that would take any other man down.
Controlled pandemonium ensues.
I’m on the floor, on my face, cheek more intimate with the rug in my living room than I want to be. There’s a knee in my sacrum, and two guns at the base of my neck. My mouth eats carpet.
I don't care about dying.
The part of me that’s supposed to care was extinguished when I was eleven.
“Let him go,” Foster snaps.
I stay on the floor, knowing that the minute I stand up, I'll have to face him. I don’t want to face him. If I face him, I’ll hit him again. If I hit him again, I can't find Lily.
Self-preservation takes on many forms.
“I deserved that,” Foster says to me. “We're all working to locate and rescue Lily. You know that,” he says quietly as he touches his face, probing it with fingers that quickly take in information, assess damage, and dismiss pain.
The intensity of his words is what finally makes me turn my head and look up at him. He winces as he rubs his neck, a red blotch at the corner of his jaw, evidence of what I just did. My knuckles throb in concert with my head. He locks eyes with me.
“I know exactly what it’s like to have someone you love get kidnapped. I know exactly what it’s like to go out of your fucking mind, wondering if you’ll make it there in time. I know exactly what it’s like to be tormented by psychopaths who view your woman as nothing but a piece of meat that they use for some larger purpose. And I know exactly what it’s like to have that larger purpose be meaningless. Completely trivial. But to them it means everything, because it’s power. That’s all this boils down to, Duff. It’s all about power.”
I stand. Silas, Logan, and Luke all move instinctively between me and Drew. He waves them off. I look at him.
“If this is all about power and nothing but power, I’m not letting Lily die so some guy can jack off to the size of his own swelling ego and influence.”
He tries to interrupt me. I talk over him. “Whatever reason someone has for taking Lily doesn’t matter. Whatever reason the president of the United States has for hiring Romeo as the head of his security doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the motive behind this. I just want Lily back, and I want her back now.”
“We all want her back now, Duff. That's the whole point of all this.”
“No, Drew. The whole point of all this is that you're getting me to D.C., even if you have to put on a cape and fly me there on your back.”
“That's what I'm trying to tell you. We're going to D.C.”
“Then shut the fuck up and get me to the airport.”
Chapter 4
Lily
Numb fingers can’t work a zipper.
I’m shaking uncontrollably as I try to finish slipping into the dress. No surprise there. Wouldn’t you shake if you had to strip naked in front of a man who’d slapped you twice, already tried to kill you and who has kidnapped you? In a dark room in a sex club?
Did he really just say the words sex club?
The thin strands of what functioning threads of memory I have all start to weave together inside my mind. Sex club. Sex club. Sex club.
My hands are numb. I’m shaking as I loop my hands into the shoulder straps of the dress he’s thrown at me. I shimmy my hips so it slides down over my naked legs to my ankles. The fit is tight, but it makes it over my hips. It’s covered in sequins. The room’s so dark, I can’t tell what color it is, but does it matter?
The dress has a side zipper on the left, and it catches on my panties, pulling down.
“Take off your underwear,” he orders.
Romeo is behind me. I can’t see him, and I don’t want to. But I can feel the space between us. It’s cold and hulking, as if there’s an entity who exists only in the distance between where Romeo’s body ends and mine begins.
A very evil entity who is just getting started.
My bra has a front clasp. I’ve had to use those since I woke up from the coma. My shoulders can’t quite bend to undo a back clasp. I guess that’s a good thing, because otherwise I’d have to ask him to come over and undo my bra.
The thought of him touching me makes my stomach turn.
Bile makes a rapid rise up into my throat. I gag. I still ache from yesterday, on the hike, pulling Sean off the cliff and fighting for our lives.
God – that was just yesterday.
And I may have helped to save Sean from dying on those rocks, but it might have been for nothing. When I left him in his bed, he was unconscious. What did Romeo do to him?
Throwing up right now feels too much like being completely out of control. If I anger him, I’m dead. If I don’t obey his orders, I’m dead. No matter what I do, I’m dead.
But while I’m still alive, I need to take every opportunity to survive.
Swallowing hard, the burn pushing back down into my stomach, I do as I’m told. I reach up under the hem of the dress and slide my panties down. Awkwardly, I slip out of the straps o
f the dress, unclip my racer-back bra, and shrug it off, gently laying it on the velvety sofa cushion. My breasts are loose inside the unfastened dress, and I straighten quickly and pull the straps back up. As I stand, we make eye contact. His gaze travels down the full length of my body.
His mouth tightens.
“You’ll do.”
Do for what? I wonder. But instead of talking, I reach to my side and fumble for the tab. Zipping up a side zipper on an evening dress is normally difficult, but now it’s impossible. As my body betrays me, I realize that if I don’t zip it, he will. Why does he want me dressed up like this? What purpose do high heels and a slinky dress serve?
Especially in a sex club?
“Once you’re finished, you’ll look fine,” he says, his voice changing. The anger is gone in a flash, a switch flipped inside him. It’s certainly not flattering, but taking away the threat in his voice helps my shaking to subside. I manage to zip up to the top of my ribs right under my armpit, the final inch always difficult, but there’s enough room for me to finish. It’s a slip dress. I smooth the fabric against my front, the torso flat since I’ve lost so much weight.
“Shoes, now,” he says.
I find them and fumble, needing to sit down in order to do the tiny buckles on the straps around my ankles. They’re high, almost too high. I’m not used to it, my calf screaming as the arch of my foot bends to accommodate his whim.
“We can’t do anything about your hair or your makeup, but this will make it look more realistic.”
Acid burns in the back of my throat, traveling all the way down to my pubic bone. It? What is 'it'? What is he talking about? What does he plan to do next?
“Now, Lily,” Romeo says, sitting down on the end of the chaise longue and turning to me, his body language casual, as if we’re at a cocktail party and enjoying each other’s company. “All we have to do is wait.”
Wait for what? I want to ask, but the words have dissolved in the back of my throat, burned by the bile that I can’t let myself eject.
His eyes narrow. “You really don’t understand what’s going on, do you?” He laughs through his nose, as if he’s merely amused by whatever notion he’s holding inside his head but isn’t sharing.