by LP Lovell
"She's a consultant," Tobias replies with a smirk.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes," Tobias laughs, "I'm nearly tempted to refer to her as my moral compass." One of his brows lifts and he raises his glass of water to his lips. I fidget in my chair and Tobias is watching my every move just like a lion waiting in the African bush, ready to pounce on a wounded gazelle. I wonder if anyone else notices the way he looks at me, studies me?
"She's come in quite handy," Preston says.
My heart races and I'm not even sure why. Suddenly, my mouth has gone parched and I reach for my glass, gulping down the cool water.
"Yes, well," Reginald says, "we could all use a bit of a moral compass in such a cutthroat world, now couldn't we?"
All of the men laugh and I feel like I'm the odd one out, somehow left out of an inside joke. Feigning a smile, I look at Reginald. He's middle aged with graying hair, a strong jaw and tired, blue eyes. His suit is pristine, expensive. When he grabs his water, his Rolex glints underneath the halogen lights. On the outside he looks like he could belong, as though he could be superior like Tobias and Preston, but he lacks a certain element. A certain darkness that seems to stir within my two men. This man is not a player, no, this man is part of the game and unknowingly so.
I sit in a daze throughout lunch, picking at my food as I watch the three men interact. I see the way Tobias studies him like a specimen under a microscope. I know Preston is listening, taking in every word and twisting it to fit some mold that will satisfy whatever wicked thing it is they want. Throughout lunch, Tobias and Preston exchange passing glances, silent conversations, and with every second that ticks by, I worry about what today's game will be. And dear Reginald, what piece on the board will you become?
The waiter comes by to clear the table and I snap back into the moment, pulled from the haze of what ifs and whys that constantly cycle in my head.
"You barely touched your food," Tobias says as he glances at my plate.
"I wasn't very hungry."
He nods and Preston's hand comes to rest on my knee underneath the table. "Don't worry, sweet Ella. It won't be too bad. You'll see."
Preston's words usually calm me, but those words—won't be too bad—coming from a man like Preston, they serve little comfort.
Reginald holds out his hand. "It was so nice to meet you, Ella." He smiles before turning to shake Preston's hand and then Tobias'. He walks off, weaving his way through the crowded room before Tobias stands and heads, without a word, toward the front of the restaurant.
"Fancy a walk in the park?" Preston asks as he loops my hand through his arm.
4
Ella
The clouds move across the sky, blocking the warmth of the sun. I'm walking between Preston and Tobias, and this time, it's Tobias' hand that's holding onto mine. He puffs on a cigarette as we stroll along the path that winds through Central Park. We come to the edge of Bow Bridge and walk to the center. Stopping, Tobias drops my hand and leans over the stone ledge, staring down into the murky waters. He takes another drag from his cigarette. The sweet scent of sage is quickly becoming a smell I crave, just like him. I crave him.
"Do you believe people are evil, Ella?" he asks.
I glance up, watching the thick smoke trickle from his lips, and again, I can't help but think he looks like the devil: beautifully tempting and wicked. "Of course,” I say.
He nods. "What do you think makes them evil?"
Preston leans his back against the bridge, crossing his ankles as he watches me. "Do you think they have a choice?"
I frown. "Yes, they have a choice, and it's in the choosing to do something they know is wrong that makes them evil," I say confidently.
"So," Tobias chuckles, "in order for them to be evil, they must know that it is wrong?"
My eyebrows pull together as he stares at me. "Yes. I think." I hate this, the questions, the pressure, never knowing whether I'm saying the wrong thing.
"Doesn't everyone's idea of right and wrong differ, sweet Ella?" Preston smirks.
"Maybe." I glance at him, at his unruly blond hair just brushing the collar of his suit jacket.
"How do you determine what is wrong?" Tobias asks, flicking the end of his cigarette into the water.
I blow out a sharp breath, exasperated. Tobias brushes his fingers across my cheek. "Don't get frustrated, Ella. It's all part of the game."
"Normal people know the difference I think. No killing, no blackmail, no lending an unsuspecting girl to your friend to do with as he pleases..." It's a low blow because I know Tobias stopped Three from fucking me, but he touched me, he did things that made me feel dirty and wrong. I know I've pushed it too far when Tobias slowly lifts one brow, his eyes hardening like pieces of shining jade. Preston hisses a breath between his teeth and in my periphery, I see him quietly step away from me. Fuck. Tobias' fingers are still at my cheek and his grip grows hard as he twists my face toward him. Leaning in, his lips almost brush mine and I can feel his warm, steady breath fan over my face. To a passerby this may look like a lover’s embrace, but the hard set of his body and his painful grip on my jaw says it’s anything but.
"Disrespect is not tolerated, Ella." Something flickers in his eyes, storm clouds rolling across, threatening.
My eyes drop to his lips without permission before snapping back to his eyes. My pulse thrums erratically, adrenaline firing through my veins because he's dangerous and it's exciting. "Sorry," I breathe.
He brings his lips to my ear. I tremble when his breath tickles my neck. "Little lamb, you walk a dangerous line." His teeth nip my earlobe quickly before he pulls back and stares at me.
Preston's finger sweeps along my arm and up to my shoulder before he sweetly tucks my hair behind my ear. "Everything is not what it seems, sweet Ella."
"Always remember that," Tobias says, his nostrils flaring. "I'm bored with the outside." And with that, he walks off.
Chapter Four
Ella
The car pulls into the roundabout and I stare at the sign: St. Matthew's Hospital.
"We'll be about an hour," Tobias tells the driver as he opens the door. He steps out, adjusting his suit jacket as he stands. I slide across the seat and get out, followed by Preston. What are we doing here, I wonder?
"Curious, sweet Ella," Preston coos as he holds out his arm. I loop my hand through, watching as Tobias walks toward the door.
"I live in a constant state of curiosity with you two."
"Makes life exciting, doesn't it?" I glance up at him and a wild smile flickers across his perfect face. Preston strikes me as the sort of guy who makes everything he does exciting. He's not bound by normal social constraints. He lives life to the fullest.
The glass doors to the hospital slide open and the cool air from inside wraps around me, sending a slight chill down my spine. Tobias has stopped in the middle of the two-story atrium and is speaking to a group of men in white coats. Preston and I stop behind him. The doctors glance at Preston and nod. They barely even pay any attention to me.
"The gala is set up for next Saturday, correct?" Tobias asks.
"Yes, everything is ready. Doctor Haines has had her assistant as busy as a little bee," one of the men say. "Your contribution is greatly appreciated. These children's families would be lost without it."
Tobias shakes the man's hand. "It's my honor."
"It's very generous of you."
"It's only money." Tobias smiles, and while that smile looks genuine and pleased, I know there's something more to it. Something sick and twisted, dark, depraved.
The doctor turns to Preston. "And thank you as well, Mr. Lucas." Preston nods. "Blaire will show you two—" he notices me clinging quietly to Preston—"you three, the additions."
"Right this way," a young girl dressed in scrubs steps out from the back of the crowd and motions us towards the elevators.
The ride up to the 8th floor is silent. Awkward. Blaire's eyes drift between Preston and Tobias, her gaze slowl
y, cautiously dragging over their fine-tailored suits, their chiseled faces that are impossibly beautiful. I know what she's thinking, because I've been there. I know the curiosity and wonder swirling through her mind. Against all odds, these two men are living breathing replications of the gods of old, the epitome of what every woman dreams of. Fiction brought to life. They are beautiful, they seem perfect. One look and you know they could bring you pleasure most men aren't capable of, and that is why they are dangerous. Some things are so tempting, you'll do anything for a hit, no matter how costly that one hit may be. I watch her eyes flick over to me and her cheeks redden because I caught her looking. I know she must wonder what I'm doing with them, and that is a question I still ask myself several times a day. Money. Desperation. Survival. The promise of living as opposed to merely existing... Or is there more to it? I want them, crave them, need them, and really, am I any better than the addict I witnessed kill himself yesterday? I’m doing this all for one hit, one moment of blissful escape.
The doors ding open and we step off. Blaire tugs at her scrub top nervously. "There have been new plasma TVs placed in each patient room," she says.
"And the game consoles?" Tobias asks.
"Yes."
We weave through a corridor, passing gurneys and wheelchairs, empty IV poles. Doctors and nurses.
"And there have been new recliners placed in all the rooms as well."
"Very good," Tobias says, checking his watch.
Preston pats his hand over mine and squeezes. I glance up and he smiles. I feel like I'm in a vortex being sucked down into a black hole because none of this makes sense, but I fear it all too soon will.
Blaire stops and swipes her badge over an access pad. The doors buzz and a motor whirs as the doors swing open. She immediately points toward a stainless-steel sink. "Scrub up please," she says as she opens a cabinet in the wall and pulls out pale yellow gowns, masks, and gloves. After we've washed, she hands us the supplies and we pull them on. My heart slowly picks up its pace. I want to ask why we need these things, but I can't.
"No one's been ill?" Blaire asks.
I shake my head and then she presses a button on the wall and another set of doors swing open into a ward. There are paintings of animals and princesses, superheroes and wizards. We turn by a nurse’s desk and I see a small boy in a wheelchair. No hair, a tangle of tubes hanging from his IV pole.
Tobias walks over to him and squats by his chair. He scrubs his gloved hand over the top of his head. "Hair's starting to grow back. I see fuzz." He smiles. "I think you should go for a Mohawk." I have to work hard not to openly gape at the scene before me. Who is this man? It's not the same man I've spent the last five days with.
The little boy smiles. "Thank you for the game, Mr. Tobias."
"You're very welcome." I focus on the little boy. He can be no older than ten, but he looks so frail, blue veins visible through his pallid skin.
Preston clears his throat as he stands, continuing down the hallway. "The library, have they updated that yet?"
"They are still in the process. They are planning to open it next week, you two are to do the ribbon cutting at the gala." Blaire stops in front of a door and pushes it open to an empty room. "This is the only vacant room we have right now."
Tobias drops his chin to his chest.
"So," she motions around the room, "you can see. New plasmas, game consoles, recliners..."
Preston releases my hand and walks around the room with Tobias, inspecting it.
"Looks good," Tobias says with a charming grin.
"Thank you, Blaire," Preston says, taking her hand and shaking it.
"I'll make my usual stop and then we'll be leaving," Tobias says.
She nods and shows herself out of the room. The door closes behind her and I suddenly feel afraid, worried, uneasy because I have no idea what’s coming next, and I live in a constant state of anxiety.
"There's someone I would like you to meet, little lamb." Tobias heads to the door and steps out into the hall. Preston and I follow him down the hallway and to the last room on the right. Tobias knocks before slowly cracking the door. "Thomas?" he whispers.
"Come in," a woman's voice comes from the room. Tobias glances back at us before he opens the door the rest of the way.
My chest tightens when my eyes land on the small boy laid in the bed. He's so tiny, so fragile looking. A breathing tube is shoved in his nose. His face is sunken in, cheekbones protruding in his face and his skin is yellowed from what I assume is jaundice. I look over to the mother sitting on the seat in front of the window. Dark circles sit below her eyes. She looks wearily at Tobias as he approaches her and kneels in front of her.
"How is he?" Tobias whispers, the conviction in his voice nearly breaking me.
The woman's eyes swell with tears and she gnaws at her lips, glancing down at a shredded piece of tissue clutched in her hands. "VOD. The study drug didn’t work.” She inhales and closes her eyes. “They've given him a few weeks at best."
Preston sighs and walks toward the woman and Tobias, leaving me alone by the door. The woman shakes her head before wrapping her arms around Tobias' neck and sobbing. Preston places his hand on her shoulder and closes his eyes. I feel like an intruder, like someone who should not be in this room, but I can't help but watch them even as my heart breaks for the mother and child. After a few moments, the woman sits up and dries her tears. Tobias stands and slowly walks toward the bed. He places his hand on Thomas' arm as he sits on the edge of the bed.
The little boy’s eyes slowly open and he turns his head on the pillow, looking up at Tobias. I can tell by the way Tobias' eyes shape under the mask that he's smiling. Thomas grins. "Mr. Tobias!" His face is so full of joy for Tobias and it has a lump rising in my throat.
"Hey, buddy."
"Guess who came to see me?"
"Who?"
"Superman."
Tobias chuckles. "The real superman."
The little boy nods. "Hey did and he told me I was strong."
"Did he?"
"Yep, he told me I was the strongest little boy he'd ever met."
"I believe that," Tobias says quietly.
The woman lets out a pitiful sound and I want to go to her, offer her a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, but I'm a stranger to her, an observer, and no amount of support will ever make this right. Her child is dying. No parent should have to witness that. I can only imagine her pain, her helplessness, how terrible it must be to watch such an innocent soul suffer. Tears prick my eyes and the lump in my throat swells until swallowing around it hurts. I feel like a fraud, someone who has no right to tears, no right to their grief so, I quietly slip from the room.
My chest is tight. I feel like I can't breathe. I need this mask off, but I can't, not in here, so I run down the hallway, slamming my hand over the button that opens the doors and lets me out. Ripping off the mask, I drag in a deep breath and press my back against the wall as I slide down to a crouch, resting my forehead on my knees. I came out here to get it together, but instead I fall apart. He's so young, and life is so cruel. That mother is losing her child to an enemy she can't fight. Tears stream silently down my face and I clench my fists, allowing my nails to cut into my palms in an attempt to push back this emotion. This is what Tobias and Preston want. They want to break me, why else would they bring me here?
Dragging in a deep breath, I lift my head and swipe at the tears and it’s now that I notice the plaque on the wall: The Benton and Lucas BMT Unit. Philanthropists, donors…buyer of women. It’s all so conflicting and confusing.
I hang my head once again and then I hear slow, measured footsteps that pause right in front of me. I glance up to see Preston standing in front of me. He's removed his gown and mask and is standing with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks.
He takes a deep breath. "Are you okay, sweet Ella?" he asks.
I sniff back tears and nod my head even though he can clearly see that I'm not okay. I drop my gaz
e to the ground and he moves beside me, sliding down to the ground and sitting on the hospital floor in his expensive suit. He stretches his legs out in front of him and wraps and arm around my shoulders. The damn breaks, ugly sobs wracking my body because I can't get the image of that little boy out of my head. He's going to die, it's an ugly, tragic fact and I hate that there's not a single thing I or anyone else can do about it. I snuggle into Preston’s side and his free hand presses to my cheek as he pulls me close, his lips pressing against my hair.
"You are too sweet, Ella. You feel too much." His thumb rhythmically strokes over my cheek.
"He's so young," I say on a choked breath.
He sighs. "I know." And then he just holds me, letting my cry until his shirt is soaked with my tears. I wrap my arms around his waist and clutch him as though he were a raft in a stormy sea, a source of comfort I shouldn't cling to, but I do. He kisses my hair, his lips lingering and hot breath blowing through the strands. "We have to go," he says quietly. I nod and allow him to pull me to my feet.
Preston leads me through the hospital and out to the car. He holds the door open for me and when I get in, Tobias is already here. His hard gaze fixes on me, but I can't deal with him right now. I'm emotionally drained and fragile. Preston slides into the back seat and as soon as the door closes, I press myself into his side again, resting my head in the crook of his neck. He hesitates for a second before wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close. A sadness hangs heavy in the air and I close my eyes, attempting to find some comfort in the crisp scent of Preston's cologne as we drive off.
5
Ella
We've been driving for four hours. They haven't told me where we're going and my nerves are rattled to the core. With each passing second, the sun dips lower in the sky. Night has fallen by the time we've pulled off the interstate. The car speeds along a back road passing by rundown houses and overgrown lawns. The car takes a sharp left and my shoulder bumps Preston. The car comes to a screeching halt. A chain link fence slowly opens, sending dust from the gravel road flying up in front of the headlights. As soon as the gate locks into place, the car drives through. In front of us is a huge factory with smokestacks and large industrial domes. What in the hell are we doing here? The car rolls to a stop and Tobias wastes no time opening the door and climbing out. Once he's turned around, he lends me his hand to help me out. Preston closes the door and I turn, watching him lean through the window and say something I can't quite make out to the driver. He straightens up, tugging at his suit jacket as the car pulls away and parks underneath a tree before the engine cuts.