by Sabre Rose
Of course, I already know the answers to these questions, but I don’t want to know what is written in some file. I want to know from her. To hear her voice.
She takes a sip of the coffee and her eyes roll back in rapture. “Oh my god,” she groans. “I had forgotten what sweet nectar this is.” She takes another sip and groans again.
My cock twitches, mistaking her moans for ones of a different kind.
She looks up at me with those big dark eyes I have gotten lost in all too often. “There’s not a lot to tell, really. My parents are still together, stupidly in love.” She grins and lies back onto the blanket, one ankle coming to rest over the knee bent in the air. “They own a bakery.” She shrugs. “There’s not a lot else to tell really. I mainly keep to myself.”
I know she’s not telling the truth. Well, not all of it anyway, but I don’t begrudge her that. She’s right to hide parts of herself from me. I don’t deserve to know her truth.
“Surely there must be more to your life than your parents?” I prompt, just wanting to hear the sound of her voice while it’s happy and carefree and not told to be silent.
She shrugs. “You probably know everything anyway.”
I shake my head.
“Well,” she thinks for a while, chewing on her bottom lip. “I sing a little. Sometimes.” She shifts on the blanket, smiling at me shyly.
“Would you sing for me?”
“Here?”
I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face. “Yes, here.”
She fidgets with the edge of the blanket nervously and looks up at me through long dark lashes that ignite a different sort of desire than wanting to hear her sing. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer. She’s quiet for so long, I think she’s going to refuse my request. But then she opens her mouth and starts to sing.
Goosebumps prickle my skin.
Her voice is so sweet, so delicate, as if no evil could exist in the world. Her dark eyes look at me coyly, her voice growing stronger and more confident the more she sings. I’m ashamed to say I don’t know the song. Parts of the song are in a language I don’t understand but the melody is beautiful and soulful, reminding me of the world she lives in. A world that isn’t mine. A happy world. Carefree and sweet.
When she finishes, she smiles nervously, as though worried what I think.
“That was beautiful,” I whisper reverently. “You are…Your voice is…” my voice breaks away, overwhelmed with a sadness so sweet it hurts. “You’re amazing.”
“I’m not really.”
“Yes, you are.” I shuffle closer. “What is the name of the song?”
“You’ve never heard it?” She seems surprised, as though everyone should know it. “La vie en rose.”
I repeat the words, unsure of the pronunciation.
“It’s French,” she says. “It means life in pink.”
“Life in pink,” I mimic. It’s like she’s speaking a different language herself. The concept of music like this is foreign to me. My playlists consist of metal and rock, meant to feed the rage inside me.
“It’s kind of like the phrase ‘seeing life through rose-colored glasses’. Everything is cheerful and rosy, tainted with pink.”
We let silence fall as the contradiction of the song and the world we’ve found ourselves in clashes in our minds. Her smile fades and everything within me just wants to see it again.
“Tell me about your friends,” I prompt, just wanting to hear her voice again.
“Roxy,” she says and I think of the girl with the pixie-cut hair confronting me outside her house.
She screws up her face and laughs, recalling memories I’m not privy to. “She’s like the complete opposite of me in every way possible. She’s blonde, I’m brunette. She’s short, I’m tall. She hates spicy food, I love it. She’s into country music and I tell her I despise it, but that’s more to piss her off than anything else. Really, I don’t mind it all that much.”
This is how she must have been before. Happy. Carefree. Fucking gorgeous.
She talks for a long time and I’m content just to listen to the sound of her voice. It has a musical quality about it, a gentle laughter hidden beneath her tone that I’ve never heard before. But of course, that’s because she’s never had the chance.
After a while, she turns onto her side, looking up at me through dark lashes. “Tell me about him.”
The walls start closing in. “You know I can’t do that.”
“No. You can’t tell me who he is. I’m not asking for his name. Just tell me about him. He’s the son of the man who saved you. Surely he can’t be pure evil.”
I don’t know how to answer. How can I tell her that when I look into his eyes, I only see darkness?
“Tell me,” she urges again.
“His father has always been kind to me. Firm but kind. I would hope he would be the same.”
“You’d hope?”
I nod, letting my eyes fall to the ground and swallow the knot of lies waiting in the base of my throat. She traces a pattern on the blanket with her finger and I recall how it felt when she first did it to the ink over my shoulder.
“I know it’s strange, asking about him, wanting to know about him when we’re caught in this…” She pauses for a moment, struggling to find the right word. “Caught in whatever we are caught in, this pink bubble, but somehow, talking about him makes him less of a monster. If I try to think of him as a person and not this devil merely disguised as one, it helps.”
I want to reassure her. Tell her that everything will be okay, but I know it would be a lie.
I glance over at the tray of food, needing an excuse to escape and gather my thoughts. “I’ve forgotten something,” I say, getting to my feet. “Back in a moment.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
RYKER
Senior and Junior are standing by the monitors. Senior’s arms are crossed, his brows pressed into a firm line. I try not to let the surprise and the panic show on my face. What are they doing here?
“Why are they switched off?” Senior lifts one brow in question, then allows his eyes to move down to my bare chest, lifting that brow even higher.
My heart pounds with alarm but I do my best to school my features into a scowl. “I got sick of fucking looking at them,” I reply grumpily, hoping my annoyance will distract from my shirtless and tousled appearance. “What are you doing here anyway?” I flick the monitors back on, praying that Mia behaves accordingly. She won’t know they’re out here. She’s still lying on the blanket in the middle of the floor, her hands lifted as though they are dancing with the air. She lies like that for a while, completely unaware of the eyes watching her. I inwardly beg for her to look over at the camera and see the blinking red light, but instead, she gets to her feet, her perfect ass disappearing into the bathroom.
“You fucking let him put his hands on her,” Junior spits the words out. He’s not concerned about her injuries, in fact, the way his eyes gleam as they fix on her back, on the welts across her upper thighs, I think they excite him.
Mia steps under the water, lathering her hair. She turns, her face visible to the camera, and smiles. Her mouth is moving and Junior leans in to turn up the volume. Her voice is only just audible over the hum of the shower and his face pales.
“I thought I instructed she was to be trained in silence. What the fuck is she doing singing?”
I shift uncomfortably as Senior’s eyes burn into the side of my head, but I pretend not to notice his glare. Beside me, Junior quivers, his body shaking with rage.
“Is she going to heal okay? I want her skin fucking flawless. No bruising. No cuts or marks. Just a blank canvas.”
A shudder erupts at his words. A blank canvas implies he doesn’t want to keep it that way.
Junior rubs his hands together as she steps out of the shower. Wet and glistening, she’s never looked so beautiful. It’s like her skin glimmers under the light, defying the dark bruises that stain it. Her hair, dark and in wet
strands, drapes around her shoulders and falls to where the towel is wrapped around her. She steps out of the bathroom and her eyes flick up to the camera, a small frown pressing between her brows as she sits on the edge of the bed.
“We’re here to inspect her,” Senior says.
“She’s not ready,” I say hastily, and then try to backtrack as suspicion lifts Senior’s brow again. “Marcel’s interference set us back a few steps.”
Junior, now with his hands pressed like a prayer beneath his chin, watches her intently. “I want to see her.”
Senior pats him on the back. “And you shall.” He directs a warning glare my way. “Get her ready. We would like a demonstration of your progress to date. I’m sure she’s capable of obeying specific commands.”
Junior closes his eyes, breathing deeply. “Make sure she’s blindfolded. I don’t want to ruin the surprise just yet.”
I’m not sure what he expects of her when she finds out who he is. Does he think she’ll run into his arms? Fall at his knees and beg him to fuck her?
Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a piece of fabric. “Here, use this.”
I clear my throat, scrambling through my mind for an excuse to stop them. But there is nothing. They own her. They own me. I wave the strip of material pathetically.
“I’ll go get her ready.”
Fortunately, neither of them notice that I don’t have to key in a code to unlock the door. I take a deep breath as I walk in, uttering the command phrase harshly before I even see her. My heart sighs in relief when she drops to her knees, but she looks up at me questioningly.
“Head down,” I whisper, walking behind her to wrap the material over her eyes. “He is here. Just obey.”
Her body tenses at my words. Goosebumps erupt over her skin and for the briefest of moments, I am distracted, wishing I could soothe them with my tongue.
Senior and Junior walk into the small room. It’s crowded with them in here, suffocating. Junior’s eyes are fixed firmly on Mia. I can almost see the drool forming at the corners of his mouth.
Senior inspects her as one might a vehicle, or a horse, or any other thing they might wish to purchase. He bends down, studying the welts on her back.
“She is healing well.” His eyes roam over her body hungrily. “She will fit in well with the others.”
“The others?”
“Dad thinks she will be joining his little collection.” Junior’s eyes flash in anger as he glares at his father. “She won’t.”
Senior rolls his eyes. “Everything is all set up there. She would be hap—”
But Junior holds up a hand, silencing Senior as he steps toward Mia, walking around her like his father did previously. When he reaches out to touch her shoulder, she flinches. Junior’s eyes jump with excitement and he wrenches the towel away from her, leaving her naked.
“She’s marked,” he says with disgust. “She’s all broken.”
There’s something about his tone which implies it’s my fault. He is digging for a rise, almost begging for me to punch him. Instead, I smile grimly.
“We can get you another one, if you like,” Senior says.
“Another? I don’t want another. She is mine. I want my songbird.”
I grit my teeth and hope the bulge of my jaw isn’t obvious.
“Get her to do something,” Junior demands.
Everything within me wants to barrel into Junior, push his shoulders into the wall and press my arm across his throat. But thoughts of Everly, and thoughts of what punishment he would dole out to Mia are the only things that stop me.
“Crawl,” I command, pushing as much authority into my voice as I can muster.
“It’s my pleasure to obey your command.” Her voice is small and trembles with fear. There’s no hint of the musical laughter that threaded through its tone only moments before.
She drops to her knees and begins to crawl blindly around the room. Junior follows her every moment with beady eyes. She’s about to crawl straight into the wall so I command her to stop and kneel. Junior almost looks disappointed. He stalks toward her with a ravenous hunger in his eyes.
“Open,” he commands.
Mia’s head tilts toward me, knowing where I am from the sound of my voice. There’s hesitation in her stance and Junior’s hand shoots out and whacks her across her face, the force of it whipping her head to the side and creating a trickle of blood as one of her wounds reopens. It takes everything within me not to run to her, not to attack Junior.
He looks at me accusingly. “She didn’t obey.”
Clenching my teeth until they hurt, I speak through withheld aggression. “What did you want her to open?”
Senior’s words cut through the tension before Junior can answer. “May I talk to you a moment.” Even though it is phrased like one, I know it’s not a request. “Outside,” he adds.
It takes all my willpower to look away from Mia. She’s in the room alone with Junior. It’s all I can think about as I follow Senior out the door. My eyes immediately lock on the monitor, watching Junior as he stalks around her, pacing in a circle, trailing his finger over her skin.
Senior clears his throat, head cocked to the side, waiting for me to meet his eye.
“You wanted to talk?” I say, forcing myself not to look back at the screen.
“The girl hasn’t been broken yet.”
“She didn’t know what he wanted her to open. This was his fault, not hers.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the way she listens and reacts. You’ve trained her well if her purpose is for her to pretend to obey, but it’s not. It needs to be real. It’s the only way this girl will survive.”
Senior’s studying me intently as if searching for something hidden in my eyes. All I want to do is look at the screen, make sure she is okay.
“I told you I had no experience with—”
Senior holds up a hand. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. I’m trying to ex—”
He steps so close I stop speaking, his face hovering only inches away from mine. Even though he is shorter than me, there is something predatory in his gaze.
“Your poker face is slipping,” he hisses. “You couldn’t hide your emotion when he punished her. It took everything within you not to lash out, didn’t it?” Do I need to be worried, Ryker? Just remember, a betrayal of my son is a betrayal of me. I will do what I can to protect the girl, but you need to help me.” He turns away, walking toward the steps that lead upstairs. “Tell my son I will meet him in the car.” He climbs up the first two stairs, throwing a comment behind him. “You can look at the screen now.”
I keep my gaze fixed on him as we glare at each other. Senior finally pulls his away and carries on walking up the stairs. I wait to hear ten of his clipped steps before darting my eyes back to Mia.
Junior is bent low, whispering in her ear. Her body is held taut, as though she’s ready to leap away as soon as she’s given the chance.
“And Ryker?”
He’s back, a smirk of triumph twisting his face as he catches me desperately staring at the screen.
“Your sister says hello. She’s enjoying her new school. She feels happy and safe. I can just only hope it stays that way.”
His implied threat turns my blood to ice.
The door pushes open and Junior walks past me with a dismissive air. He laughs at my look of scorn and bounds up the stairs two at a time. I slink to the chair as soon as their car has left the drive, emotionally exhausted. Mia’s still kneeling, her eyes downcast. I’ve been fucking stupid thinking I could toy with her emotions and mine and there would be no backlash.
I want to go to her.
I want to find my sister and run away.
Instead, I sit and stare until she blurs in my vision and do nothing.
CHAPTER NINE
RYKER
The banging on the door startles me. There are not many people that know this place exists, even the horse t
rainers aren’t aware of what goes on beneath their stables, so the thought of someone pounding on the door long after everyone has left for the day is unnerving. But a quick glance at the outside camera reassures me. Just the look of the vehicle alone tells me that Cameron, Junior’s bodyguard, is the one making the noise. Last time he came here it was to deliver a rack of clothing. I wonder what Junior has in mind for her this time.
I jump up the stairs, taking them two at a time and rip open the door.
“Feeling lonely, big boy?” Cameron pushes past me and thumps down the stairs, pulling out the chair I was sitting on and propping his feet on the other.
“Sure, make yourself at home.”
“You’ve been summoned.” Cameron winks and puts his hands behind his head. “Senior wants you to come to dinner at the mansion.”
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“I’m fucking not,” Cameron replies. “The old man himself issued the command. I’m here to keep an eye on things while you’re away.” Cameron’s eyes peruse over the screen, a dark smile twisting over his face. “Not a bad gig, if I do say so myself.”
“Don’t fucking touch her,” I say between gritted teeth.
Cameron sucks in air. “So that Marcel guy was right. You do want to taste the goods.”
“Fuck up.”
“You fuck up.”
We both grin as Cameron reaches into his pocket and tosses me the keys to the van. “I’ve got the family wagon today,” he says, referring to the Mercedes parked outside. “Be gentle on her. They’re expecting you at the mansion within a couple of hours, so you better get going.”
“Any idea why I’ve been bestowed this honor?”
Cameron shakes his head, closing his eyes as though preparing to go to sleep. “Not a fucking clue. Have fun.”
I’m about to walk up the stairs when he calls out again. “What happened to him?”
“To who?”
“That Marcel guy. Something tells me he wouldn’t want me here alone with his girls.”