by Nicole Fox
“You’re missing the point,” I tell her. “You wouldn’t be giving up anything. You’d be… releasing yourself to yourself, not to me. It would be your choice entirely. Your choice when to start. Your choice when to stop.”
“Sounds risky.”
“Not if you do it right.”
“And what does doing it right entail?”
“Trust.”
She considers that a moment. I didn’t intend to discuss this stuff, but we’ve somehow stumbled across the most important part of it. Trust is the only way for a dynamic like that to work. I hate that I want to explore that dynamic with her. But my desires feel all the more potent whenever I’m with Renata.
She’s also been chained to various pieces of furniture in my presence, which hasn’t exactly helped matters.
Two waiters arrive to collect our plates. One of them hovers beside Renata, giving her a quizzical look. “If you’re not finished, ma’am, I can come back—”
“No,” she says, cutting him off, “I’m done. And you don’t need to bring anything else for me. I’m not eating tonight.”
“You will bring every single course, Simon,” I order. “Whether she eats or not is her choice.”
He nods. She glares at me, but I ignore it and the waiters clear away our plates.
A moment later, they return with plates of shrimp and lobster tagliatelle swimming in a burnt butter sauce. The cloches are removed and Renata’s eyes pinch up as the smell of fresh seafood glazed in butter wafts to her.
“Smells delicious, doesn’t it?”
“You can take the plate,” she tells Simon.
I hold up my hand. “Leave it.”
He gives me another respectful nod and backs away from the table.
Renata glares at me furiously. “Just stop it.”
“Stop what?” I ask innocently.
“The fucking games,” she hisses. “I’ve told you before, I will not eat until you give me back my freedom.”
“I can’t do that.”
She shakes her head with frustration. “You can pontificate all you want about how different you are from my brother, but it’s all just a lot of talk. My brother controlled every move I made. He sold me to a monster. You’ll probably do the same.”
I know the minute she snaps her mouth shut that she’s said something she regrets saying.
“Your brother… sold you to a monster?” I repeat.
She definitely looks pissed at herself. “It’s not important.”
“The look on your face says otherwise.”
The idea of Drago Lombardi selling the woman across from me is troubling. Troubling in the sense that it’s making me feel possessive and territorial all at the same time.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she hisses. “Don’t pretend like you do.”
“You’re the one who brought up the topic.”
“Just forget it, okay?”
“Eat something and it’s water under the bridge.”
“Fuck you.”
I smile. “Are you offering?” I ask. “Because I might not say no.”
The last thing I’m expecting is for her cheeks to flush with color. The blush transforms her features and makes her look young and vulnerable for a moment. It’s extremely endearing.
“Am I embarrassing you, Renata?” I taunt.
She looks back to the ocean as though it can save her from this conversation. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she whispers.
“What am I trying to do?”
“You’re trying to distract me so that you can lower my guard and take advantage of me,” she meets my gaze for a fleeting moment. “But I’m onto you, Kian O’Sullivan. Predators comes in all different shapes and sizes.”
That fucking pisses me off. I’ll cop to being a lot of things. But a fucking predator? No, that’s not me. Never has been.
I slam my fist down on the table so hard that the glass of water by Renata’s side falls off the edge and shatters the moment it hits the ground. “If I were anything like the predators you’ve known in your life, you’d be worse than dead right now,” I snarl.
She rears back, and I see the fear zip across her eyes. But she recovers fast. “I’m not scared of you.”
“And why is that?”
She stops short, as though the answer hasn’t occurred to her.
“Admit it, Renata,” I press. “You’ve admitted it in part already. I’ve been the face inside your head for the last twenty years. Deep down, you know I saved you that day when I killed your father.”
She’s angry. I can tell by the tense way she’s holding herself. But the only reason she’s this angry is because I’m fucking right.
“I’ve spent my life hating you!” she hisses, planting her hands on the table and pushing herself up onto her feet. “Don’t twist that to mean something else.”
“And why have you spent your life hating me?” I demand.
“Because you killed my father!”
I wag my finger in her face and tsk. “Wrong. It’s because your brother taught you to. It’s because he’s brainwashed you into believing I’m the enemy—when he was the enemy all along.”
She shakes her head. “No. Stop it. Get the fuck out of my head.”
If it weren’t for the obstruction of the table between us, we’d be nose-to-nose. I’m both angry and turned on. Which seems to be my permanent state of mind whenever I’m with Renata.
“If I’m in your head, little girl,” I snap, rising to my feet along with her, “that’s your fucking problem.”
She stares me down, the fire blazing in her eyes. She’s about to say something. But then she changes her mind. Instead, she grips the undersides of the table. I notice her knuckles paling slightly…
And then she flips the entire fucking thing at me.
I recoil back in time to avoid getting hit. Food and plates and cups go everywhere. It’s a cacophony of breaking glass, splattering food, the tablecloth flopping in the wind.
And in the midst of it all is her—those bright eyes so hot they could burn.
We stare at each other like that for a long moment. My fury peaks—and then quickly cools into hardened diamond.
“Guards!” I call coldly over my shoulder.
Her eyes dart from side to side. Clearly, she hadn’t noticed the two men skulking behind the greenery on either side of the boardwalk. They emerge soundlessly and approach her from either side.
Renata turns. “No! Get away from me. Both of you!”
They don’t listen, of course. They work for me.
She screams as they grab her. Her legs flail about as though independent from her body. She’s overpowered easily, but she still keeps fighting. Even as my men carry her down the boardwalk, she never stops.
What I should be thinking is, This girl is insane. Best to dispose of her at once.
But what I’m really thinking is…
What will I do with her now?
22
Renata
“No! Get off me, assholes! I said no!”
The screaming is instinctive, but once we’re at the end of the boardwalk, I give up entirely. It’s draining me fast and it isn’t making the slightest bit of difference. Both my captors look like they’re robots who aren’t affected by sound or struggle. They keep me moving until we’re back in the enormous mansion.
Except that the staircase they lead me towards goes down, not up.
“Wait,” I balk, my body stiffening up instantly. “Where are we going? Where are you taking me?”
Of course, neither one answers me. It’s like they don’t even hear me. The neutral expressions on their faces are so blank that they barely look human.
When we get to the bottom of the staircase, I realize we’re in a basement of sorts. One that’s completely devoid of the luxury of the upper floors. The floors are hard cement, and it appears the walls are, too. It feels like the temperature’s dropped by like ten degrees. I’m shivering when they toss me i
nto a small, dark room completely devoid of distinguishing features. Four walls and no windows. Just cold stone everywhere. Basically a fucking cell.
When the guards lock me in, the door seems to blend into the walls, making me feel like I’m in a sealed coffin. I collapse against the back wall. Shivers run down my spine as I slide to the ground, feeling the hunger and fatigue catch up to me.
How much energy had I burned fighting with Kian? With his men? I don’t have much to spare. I don’t know how long I can go on like this, either. My stomach twists into agonizing knots. I want to throw up, but there’s nothing in me to expel and dry-heaving will only weaken me further.
I look around, hoping that I’ve missed something my first go-around. But there’s nothing to give me the slightest bit of reprieve. Not a bed or a blanket. Not even a chair to separate my ass from the cold stinging of the cement floor.
I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I try to take low, shallow breaths. Maybe if I black out, I’ll hit my head really hard and I just won’t wake up. It would be a pathetic end, but since my current options are limited, I’m willing to take it if it’s my only way out.
After a few more minutes, I breathe hard into my hands and rub them together. It’s comforting, so I do it again. I’m rubbing my palms together vigorously, trying to conjure a scrap of warmth, when I hear a bolt at the top of the door.
I nearly jump out of my skin as the bolt gives way to a sliding panel that reveals Kian’s face. I try and muster up the accurate level of disgust, but I’m not sure I’m managing it.
Nothing ever goes right for me in his presence.
“Is this where you put every woman who pisses you off?” I scowl at him.
“You have the power to get yourself out of this cell, you know,” he says with cool indifference.
“And you have the power to go fuck yourself.”
It’s a weak insult. But I’m going on nearly three days without food, so I’m not quite thinking clearly.
“And make you jealous?” he counters. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re a real piece of work.”
“Flattery’s not going to get you out of this.”
I scream inwardly, wishing there were something I could lob at his head. Not that it’s going to do a damn thing. But I’m just chasing a feeling here. A desire to fight back. To not be a puppet anymore.
“What do you want from me?” I demand in frustration.
“I’m still deciding.”
I shake my head. “I can’t… I can’t…”
“Can’t what?” he asks bluntly.
I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Even in the near-darkness, I know their color. An intense blue that makes me think of the ocean before a storm.
“I can’t understand you,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“Funny,” he says sarcastically. “I thought you had me all figured out.”
I’m annoyed with myself for letting that slip. “Parts of you.”
“Oh, yeah? And you want to figure out the rest of me?” he asks. The innuendo is impossible to ignore. “There are parts of me you want to get your hands on?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I don’t have to. You’re doing it for me.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs, clearly enjoying how easily he can get to me. “Tell me, Renata: why do you even care about understanding me in the first place?”
“I was taught that it’s important to know your enemy.”
“Is that right?” Kian asks, more interested now. “I guess your brother was your teacher, then?”
“In this case, he was right.”
“Maybe. But getting to know someone can be dangerous, you know.”
“Because you’ve done heinous things that will make me hate you worse than I do right now?”
“No,” he says calmly. “Because you might learn that you don’t actually hate me at all.”
Before I can respond to that, he slides the partition shut. I hear his footsteps recede before they disappear entirely.
I stare at the spot where his face was and I feel the cold more keenly than I did before. Hugging myself a little tighter, I try to shove his words right out of my head. His voice has an echoing quality about it, though. Every time I think I’ve succeeded in drowning him out, I can hear the reverberations of what he just said to me.
“Don’t let him get in your head,” I whisper to the cement walls.
Problem is, he’s already in my head.
He has been for twenty fucking years.
At some point, I doze off, weighed down by exhaustion and hunger. But my eyes flutter open sporadically, forced awake by discomfort or the cold.
My dreams start twisting in and out of reality. There are moments that I feel like I’m awake when I’m really sleeping. And there are moments when I’m sleeping that feel so vivid, that I’m sure I’m awake.
“Hello, little sister.”
I gasp and turn my head so fast that I crack the back of it against the wall. “Drago?”
He’s sitting in the opposite corner of the cell in the same position I am. Except he’s so shrouded in shadow that I can barely make out his features. A part of me is happy about that, though. I’m not sure seeing his face would help me here.
“Of course it’s me,” he says with annoyance. “Who else would sacrifice everything to come and see you here?”
“How did you get in?”
“I have my ways,” he replies. “I have my connections.”
“Connections,” I repeat bitterly. “Connections like Yannis Rokiades?”
“You were a fool to run from him,” Drago snaps at me. “He could have protected you.”
“He was going to rape me.”
“That’s a husband’s right.”
I shake my head in horror. “Rape is not a right,” I hiss. “It’s a crime.”
Drago sighs. “No wonder you’ve ended up here. You’ve never known when to just stop. When to submit.”
Angry tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I fight them back. “Do you remember when I was a kid?” I ask him. “I was only five, but I remember. You promised me that you’d protect me.”
“And I did.”
“By selling me to the highest bidder?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” he booms. “We had nothing! Kian O’Sullivan made sure of that. We survived by doing what I had to.”
“Kian O’Sullivan wasn’t hunting us,” I point out. “He could have killed you, but he didn’t.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes.”
“He was lying.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s a liar.”
It takes one to know one. I think those words, but I can’t bring myself to say them. Even with his features obscured from view, I can’t stand up to him. I’ve never been able to tell Drago certain hard realities. He’s never been good with them, anyway. Denial is his lifeblood.
“He’s a monster, Renata. You know that.”
“Yes…” I say, but my voice feels weak. Even I don’t believe what I’m saying.
“He killed our father. He stole my birthright. He—”
“What if our father deserved to die?” I blurt out.
“What?”
I don’t know where the words have come from, but now that they’re out there, I can’t turn back. “What if Papa deserved to die?” I repeat.
“What are you saying?” Drago asks.
His tone is hushed. It’s the calm before the storm. Any time he’s ever hit me, his voice has gotten really quiet like this in the moments preceding the violence. I know it so well that it’s lost its unpredictability.
“You never told me about all the things Papa was involved in. The drugs. The sex trafficking.”
“It’s not any of your business.”
“He was my father, too.”
“But he was my father first,” Drago growls. “I am his son, his firstborn, his heir.”
“Who cares?” I snap. “What does it even matter? You have nothing to inherit anymore.”
“Because of who?” Drago demands.
I suppress a sigh. “Because of Kian O’Sullivan.”
“Exactly! Exactly. Because of Kian fucking O’Sullivan.”
“You’re not going to stop until you get revenge, are you?”
“I won’t stop until he’s dead.”
“He won’t stop until you’re dead,” I fire back.
“Then let the better man win.”
The words stick in my head. Let the better man win. Who is the better man in this case? It used to be so clear and obvious. Now, for the first time in twenty years, I really don’t know.
“Tell me, Renata: what is it about him that’s got you so transfixed?”
I get defensive immediately. That’s the first sign that I’m in over my head. “I’m not transfixed.”
“No?” He laughs cruelly. It’s clear he’s trying to taunt me, but for some reason, knowing that isn’t helping me control my reactions. “I’ve told you never to lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Liar.”
I grit my teeth. “I watched him kill our father,” I remind Drago. “You weren’t there. I was.”
“And yet, you kept a little memento from the murderer himself.” Drago tosses out the accusation with zeal. “Didn’t you?”
I freeze. His words pull up the memory. The moment at my father’s wedding when Kian bent down in front of me. He tore off the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the blood from my face. Instinctively, my hand rises and touches the half-moon scar on my cheek.
“You kept it,” he repeats.
“H… how did you know?”
“Does it matter?” he asks. “I know your dirty little secret.”
“I kept it to… to remind me… of the man who murdered my father,” I try and explain, infusing as much bitterness into my voice as possible. It doesn’t come off like I expect it to. It makes sense in my head, but out in the world, it seems ridiculous. Insane.
“More lies,” Drago hisses. “Shall I tell you why you kept it?”