Chapter Forty-eight
Shirts, pants, socks, underwear, silk ties, monogrammed handkerchiefs, a whole drawer of cufflinks. And . . . a pair of handcuffs? Everything a self-respecting sociopath could ever need. I dug through it all. Pushed aside one expensive suit after another and examined the wall at the back of his closet. Pried lids from boxes and dug under the bed.
Nothing.
Making sure I put it all back exactly as I found it took longer than the search itself.
The room was as sparse and functional as the rest of the apartment. Not a lot of hiding places. The only thing left to search was a squat nightstand beside the bed. A small glass lamp and an alarm clock sat on top—such practical items for such a disturbingly morbid space—but beneath was a narrow drawer. My fingers traced the oddly shaped knob and a tremor shook me when I realized it was a dragon’s foot. I really was playing with fire.
Inside, I found a cellphone sitting on top of a thick manila envelope. It wasn’t like the fancy, touchscreen device he carried around everywhere he went. This one was old-school. A flip phone with nothing more than a number pad and a small black and white screen. The term burn phone was dredged up from a memory of some old procedural cop show my mom liked to watch. Wasn’t this the type of thing criminals used to make incriminating phone calls and send sketchy messages?
I flipped it open, but the phone wasn’t old enough that it didn’t require a password to unlock it. I tried the elevator code and a few other random combinations, but knowing almost nothing about the man who set it, I had no clue where to even begin, and I was afraid that too many failed attempts would alert him.
I wasn’t a techno-guru by any stretch of the imagination and I wasn’t there to crack codes. I was there to snoop. Doing that the old-fashioned way seemed a hell of a lot easier. I pulled out the file and carefully dumped the contents on the bedspread.
Stock portfolios, projection reports—all things I recognized thanks to my father’s obsessive work habits.
I scanned the documents, but they all pertained to his legitimate endeavors. The man had to have some explanation for where all of his money came from. Front companies and a few genuine investments. Donation statements from children’s learning groups, help for the homeless associations, and . . . the ironic bastard, women’s rights organizations. On paper, Damien Cross was a freaking philanthropist.
None of it proved anything, though. I still had to find—
The quiet ding of the elevator exploded through the room. Panic delayed my reaction time and I was still standing there, papers shaking like leaves in my grasp, when the front door opened.
Shit. Move, stupid.
No time to properly organize the documents, I could only pray they were in the right order as I slid them back into the envelope and dropped it in the drawer. Every whisper of noise I made sounded as though it echoed through the room. Or maybe it was just my mind.
Footsteps. He was in the hall. And headed my way. I cast around for an escape I already knew didn’t exist. The urge to run was overpowering all other thoughts, but I shut it down. There was nowhere to go. My only other option . . . hide.
Dropping to the floor like my clothes had spontaneously combusted, I rolled under the bed as the light from the hallway cut a swatch across the floor. The tip of the triangle it created pointed directly at me as though the room itself were trying to give me away.
A tall shadow blocked the light and I quit breathing. When the bedside lamp snapped on, I swear my life flashed before my eyes. I shrank away as the mattress dipped above me. A pair of shiny black dress shoes hit the floor inches from my face.
I was going to die. Right there on the floor under Damien Cross’ bed, I was going to have a heart attack and die.
The mattress lifted away from me and I watched his sock clad feet move across the room. Verging on hysteria has a way of sending reason right out the window and your thoughts scattering in all sorts of odd directions. In that moment, the thought that struck me was that I’d never seen Damien in his socks before. It seemed so . . . out of character. I’d never imagined him getting ready for bed like a normal person. Sleeping. Vulnerable.
The rustle of clothing and something hit the bed with a quiet swish. His belt jangled where it landed on the floor still attached the pants now pooled around his ankles. I shut my eyes. It’s not like I’d never seen the man naked before, but this felt . . . wrong. I was supposed to be investigating his illegal activities, not invading his privacy.
Footsteps moved farther away from my hiding place and still I refused to open my eyes. It wasn’t until I heard the spray of the shower turn on that I risked another peek. Light shone around the frame of the bathroom door.
There was a change in the steady drum of water. It was now or never. And never wasn’t an option.
I shimmied to the edge of the bed and took one last look around before rolling out. My bare feet were soundless and the bedroom door stood open far enough for me to slip out without having to touch it.
An overdose of adrenaline and lack of oxygen were a devastating combination. Out in the hall, I nearly collapsed, suddenly becoming aware of the way dinner had curdled in my stomach. I was going to be sick.
The lights in my room were all off, but I left them that way. I’d explored that room upside-down and inside-out. I knew every last inch of it. I didn’t need light to find my way to the bathroom.
I barely made it to the toilet before my stomach revolted.
Chapter Forty-nine
I woke to the sensation of falling. And landed with a hard thud. My elbow stung and my head pounded from impact, but neither mattered much at the sight of Damien standing over me. There he was. There was the monster I’d feared.
“I . . .” His arms bulged, folded tightly across his chest as though he were physically restraining himself. “I didn’t . . .” Christ, I didn’t even know what it was I was denying. Not that he seemed to care.
“Who do you think you are, Star?”
“I . . .” In one horrifying moment, I realized I no longer knew the answer to that question. I didn’t have the slightest idea who I was anymore.
“Mine. You are mine. Nothing more.”
I nodded. For the time being, that was simple enough. “I’m yours. Just yours.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you flirting with that . . . boy last night?”
“Please. Damien, I didn’t . . . Please. I’m sorry. I—” The avoidance of pain was a powerful motivator. It can make a person say crazy things. “I’ll do anything, whatever you say, please.”
I was breathing too fast. I knew it and yet there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it. Tiny black dots floated in my vision as I got to my feet, slowly, afraid to make any sudden movements.
“Strip.”
I hesitated. Agreeing to do whatever he said and actually doing it were two entirely different things.
“I said strip.” He kept his voice perfectly level. He wasn’t yelling or screaming or overtly threatening. He didn’t reach for me. Didn’t try to force me. I almost wished he had. That would have made it easier because that’s what rape was, right? Being forced to do something against your will. It’s brutal and violent and painful. It isn’t standing before a man who terrifies you without so much as raising his voice and choosing to comply with his every wish.
Shame engulfed me, setting my skin on fire as I slid my arms from the thin nightie sleeves. I held onto my dignity for as long as I dared before releasing the material and watching it bunch at my feet. My eyes stayed glued there even as a pair of shiny black dress shoes ground the fragile lace.
“Hands against the wall.”
I pressed my hands to the wall at my back which just so happened to be the only thing holding me upright.
Soft fingers traced a path down my throat and along my shoulder. My vision blurred. Over my collar bone, my chest, to my belly. He’d had me before, but this felt different. In the past, he’d taken what he wanted and been done
with it. This time he was forcing me to be a participant. To feel. I didn’t want to feel. Of course, this time was different. Before, he’d been using me. Now he was punishing me.
My whole body trembled as he traced the same path again and again, growing progressively closer to more sensitive areas with each pass.
“Please,” I whispered, reduced to begging.
His touch paused and withdrew. I scarcely dared to breathe.
“How did you get that lock open? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that, either?”
I knew he would. In fact, I’d been up all night trying to produce a reasonable explanation. The best I could come up with was deny, deny, deny. “I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t touch—”
The side of my face lit up like fire and I found myself sprawled across the floor. The ringing in my ear drowned out whatever Damien was saying.
“Answer me!”
“I . . . I . . .” Hadn’t heard the question.
“Do you think it’s yours?”
Whatever he was talking about, I knew the answer to that was, “No. No, not mine.”
Nothing was mine anymore. Not even my body.
“Whose. Home. Is. This?”
“Yours, Mr. Cross.” Calling him by his first name at the moment felt foolish. “It’s your home.”
“And who sets the rules in this home?”
“You do. You, Mr. Cross. You set the rules.” Tears streaked down my cheeks.
He crouched in front of me and I scurried backward until I huddled against the wall like a frightened mouse.
“Get up.”
I stood and was thrown back on the bed where I belonged. I hated beds. I hoped Elijah liked camping, because when this was all over it was going to be sleeping bags on the floor for the rest of our lives. The silk undergarments I’d been wearing were torn and discarded. And it wasn’t just my clothing made to feel his wrath.
When he was done with me and breakfast was delivered, I hurt in places I didn’t even know existed. Simply trying to move to the table to eat was a chore. But I made myself chew and swallow knowing I’d need my strength for whatever lay ahead. Last night had been a bust and I’d been made to pay for my failure, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Too much was at stake.
Eggs, sausage, bacon. I needed the protein, but a few bites in and I wasn’t sure how much more I’d be able to keep down. The door was left open. Not an invitation, but a silent command. One I voluntarily disobeyed for as long as seemed possible. I had no desire to go out there. To face that man. He wore the disguise of a prince, but I’d seen beneath it to the dragon inside. And I was afraid.
Sore thighs and heavy body, I shuffled out into the living room following the sounds of the morning news. Movement felt difficult, sluggish, like I was moving through Jell-o.
“Ah, there you are.” Damien took a second look at me and frowned. “Sit down before you fall down. Those were some powerful sedatives you ingested. You won’t be on your feet much longer.”
“S-sedatives? Why?”
I don’t know if it was my severely delayed reaction time or if he really did move that fast, but in the blink of an eye he was in front of me, squeezing my cheeks hard enough to bruise. “I grant your freedoms, Star. You don’t help yourself to them. I think it’s time you learned that. And now . . .” He released my face, fingers feathering through my hair in a mock display of affection. “I’m revoking your freedom of consciousness. You won’t be leaving that bed again until I see fit.”
Terror wrapped around my spine like a great snake. I’d lost so much time to the drugs. My greatest fear was losing even more.
“I own you.” Damien’s hand slid around my throat and tightened. Not enough to hurt me, just enough to let me know he could if he chose to. That he could do whatever he chose to. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
Chapter Fifty
Damien withdrew and, without him to hold me up, I toppled sideways onto the sofa. The sedatives were as powerful as he claimed, pulling me under like a riptide.
They gave me dreams. Horrible, vivid nightmares that felt real and entirely disjointed at the same time. Faces plagued me. Voices echoed through my mind. The ghosts of my past came back to haunt me. The demons of my present came to torture me.
***
“Who are you, Star?” Damien stood over me—a hundred feet tall—his face morphed and twisted with malicious glee. “Who are you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Not even my hands clasped tightly over my ears could protect me from his interrogation.
“Who are you, Star?”
“Rylie!” I screamed my declaration at the top of my lungs, as though that could make it truer. “I’m Rylie!”
Damien threw his head back as he laughed openly at my naivety. “No, you’re not. Rylie doesn’t exist anymore.”
“No. I’m Rylie.”
“Rylie died in Rafe’s filthy apartment.”
“No. No.” My head shook violently as frost coated my skin.
“You killed her and left her there.” Damien bent, seemingly coming to me from a great distance. “Who are you, Star?”
“No,” I whimpered, feeling the last of my strength drain from me.
“Who. Are. You?”
I couldn’t fight anymore. I couldn’t fight him. Couldn’t fight the truth. Couldn’t fight what I’d become.
“Yours.” The admission breezed from my lips on little more than a breath of air.
“That’s right, my shining Star.”
Long fingers encircled my wrists, drawing them together in front of me. Shackled in one unyielding grip, they were slammed against the wall above my head sending a flare of pain down my arms. I cried out, but the pathetic sound was inhaled by Damien’s hungry mouth.
The hard wall at my back grew softer, cushioned, and suddenly the entire world shifted. I was lying on my back, hands pinned to the mattress. Damien loomed over me.
His free hand roamed wantonly—teasing, caressing, groping—eliciting soft sounds he continued to devour. The friction created heat, which sank deeper, pooling, igniting. His mouth joined in the torture and my back arched.
No. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
I fought it. With every gasp that escaped my tight lips, I fought to deny it. But Damien continued without mercy. Biology is biology, and in the end my own body betrayed me.
In the moment of my greatest weakness, I cried out Damien’s name. My surrender. He’d won. He’d always win.
When my splintered thoughts coalesced and my sight returned, I peered into the familiar face hovering above me. Long, dark hair hung disheveled across his flushed cheeks. His bared chest, slick with sweat, labored under erratic breaths. Raw hurt and disappointment flashed in his silver eyes like lightning.
“Elijah? No.” What had I done? “No, I didn’t . . . It wasn’t . . .”
“It’s him you want. It’s him you chose over me.” Defeat colored his voice. “We could have been good together, Ry. I loved you. But you chose him.”
“No. No, Elijah, I didn’t choose him. I love you. Elijah.” Black silk sheets entangled my wrists, snaked around my legs, restraining me. Escape was a mere flight of fancy as I struggled, watching him turn his back on me and walk away. “Please. Elijah!”
You chose him. You chose him. You chose . . .
“Me.” Damien’s wicked grin filled my vision. “You chose me, Star. And it is me that you shall have”.
Gone was the man. In his place a great winged beast. Gnashing teeth, claws like razors, scales that shone obsidian. He let out a deafening roar and with it a burst of flames. Heat and pain became my entire world. My complete existence. I knew nothing more. A pile of ash thrown into oblivion by a gust of wind.
***
I roused now and then with no concept of how much time passed. Hours? Days? Weeks? Usually it was to find Damien in my bed. It didn’t seem to matter to him whether or not I was conscious.
I woke on my stomach more than once, the pillow nea
rly cutting off my airway. When he was finished with me, he’d always bring me a glass of water. I could taste the bitterness of the sedative on my tongue, but what choice did I have? He would stand over me, watching until every last drop was gone. And then I would slip away again. Surrender once more to the monsters in my mind, rather than the one in my bed.
I didn’t know which was worse.
Chapter Fifty-one
The scent of maple filled the room, causing my stomach to roil. I blinked my eyes once, then twice, unaccustomed to the sharp light coming through the parted curtains.
“Gaaah.” Using my right arm, I levered myself over onto my back and groaned again. My entire body felt stiff and heavy. I ached everywhere and my head was fuzzy and stuffed with cotton balls.
What time is it? What day? How long will I be allowed to stay awake this time? Damien was nowhere in sight, so I assumed that meant I had a least a little time to myself.
Yawning, I drew in a deep breath and the sweet scent nearly threw me over the edge. I had vague memories of eating scraps here and there—being forced to chew and swallow though my facial muscles barely worked and everything tasted like sawdust in my mouth—but my stomach felt hollow.
My head fell in the direction of the table and I spotted the bowl sitting there. Obviously left for me, I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I hoped it was a sign that my punishment was over. Walking was difficult. Hell, sitting was a trial. My head swam and my vision dimmed, but after a few moments everything came back into focus.
Slumping into the chair, I eyeballed the sticky, pasty mush in front of me. I wasn’t convinced I’d be able to keep it down, but I wasn’t about to give Damien another reason to take anything else away from me. If this whole experience had taught me anything, it was to be grateful for what I had. So I took a small bite of the sickly sweet oatmeal and swallowed hard, waiting for it to settle before going in for another.
Beside the bowl sat a folded newspaper. Home Invasion Turned Deadly was scrawled across the front page with a picture of a small white house cordoned off by police tape, but it wasn’t the headline I was meant to see. It was the date. July eighteenth. Eight days. That’s what Damien had taken from me. Eight. Days. My stomach turned over again and this time it had nothing to do with the food.
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