by Keri Lake
He steps toward me, to which I step backward, until the wall behind me is pressing against my spine. Planting a hand against the wall, he leans forward. It’s not his face that scares the shit out of me right now, but the proximity of his body, and I’m suddenly very much aware of his size compared to mine. How small and delicate I must look beside him. Small. Delicate. Totally breakable.
“Careful, girl,” he whispers in my ear, casting a shiver of goosebumps across my skin with the dark promise in his tone. The air of authority that radiates from every cell of his body like the crack of a whip. He pushes away from me and gathers up the books from the table behind him--references for music composition, I notice--and taps his knuckles on the wood. “At least I get to wear pants.”
As he steps past me, leaving a delicious trail of whatever cologne he’s wearing, I exhale a breath and shake my head.
Stupid dress.
Arms brimming with a selection of books, I exit the elevator, and at the sounds of screaming, I rush toward Laura’s bedroom, shoulder slamming into the door. “Laura?”
From beside the bed, Nell pins down her arms, while Laura squirms, trying to break free.
“Amelia! Why aren’t you answering me? Answer me!”
I drop the books onto a nearby chair and dart across the room to the opposite side of the bed. “What happened?”
“You can’t leave without telling me.” The anger in Nell’s voice strikes like a slap across the face.
“She sent me down for some books. I was only …. I was only gone a few minutes.”
“I found her out on the balcony, calling for Amelia.”
Oh, my God. This woman’s mental status is about as predictable as a category five hurricane. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll inform you each time I leave. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. I gave her something to sleep. Just waiting for her to calm down. You might as well go. She’ll be out the rest of the day.”
Shoulders sagging, I can’t help the feeling that I’ve failed her again. As I leave the room, I glance back to where Laura has finally settled. Only her head rolls back and forth, as she stares up at the ceiling.
Chapter 14
Lucian
Sixteen years ago …
With one arm tucked under my head, I lie stretched out on my bed, tossing a tennis ball into the air and catching it one-handedly.
At a knock of my bedroom door, I don’t answer, but keep on with my solitary game.
Another knock.
Jaw grinding, I throw the ball harder than the last and catch it again.
The door clicks open, and Solange steps inside, closing it behind her. I can’t deny the sight of her hardens my muscles, but at a flash of my father fucking her with the baton, I curl my lips and look away.
Arms behind her back, she rests against the door. “I waited for you. At the cave.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“You never showed. Why?”
I shrug with disinterest. “I wasn’t interested in fucking you after my father’s dick was in you.”
Lowering her gaze, she purses her lips as if to hold back a laugh, only pissing me off more.
“Get out.”
“I saw you kiss her. At the piano.” Her huff of disappointment echoes through the room. “I was … out of my mind. Jealous. Angry. Hurt.”
Catching the ball one more time, I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and sit upright. “She kissed me. I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you didn’t push her away.”
“No. I guess I didn’t. Just like you didn’t push my father away.”
“I can’t stand your mother … constantly making me feel like I’m nothing but shit under her designer shoes. The baton? Yeah. It was bad. But I’m tired of feeling like some lowlife.” She tips her head, no doubt trying to get my attention, while I do my best to keep from looking at her. “As for your father? I don’t have a choice. He threatened to get rid of me if I don’t fuck him when he asks.”
Frowning, I finally meet her gaze. “Fire you?”
“You’re the only one, Lucian.” The lower hem of her dress draws my attention to her bare legs as she steps further into the room. “The only one who makes me feel good. Who makes me feel … worth something.”
“And you fucked that up. So, like I said, get out.” I toss the ball into the air again, but she catches it this time.
“You’re angry with me.”
“Is it obvious?”
Dropping the ball to the floor, she crawls onto my lap before I can stop her, and pushes me back onto the bed. Straddling my body, she reaches behind her back for something. “I want to show you another trick.”
Hands on her thighs, I go to push her off, but her muscles vise around me, holding me captive. “I’m done with your tricks.”
“This one you’ll find useful.” A blade gleams in the corner of my eye as she twists it, smiling. “When you’re angry. It’s as easy as one long slice to release all that tension inside of you.”
Cold metal bleeds through my shirt when she sets the steel tip against my chest and pops one of my buttons. I don’t even bother to look where it falls. My eyes are riveted on hers, searching for any sign that she might plunge that blade into my ribs. Another button. Followed by another, until a wide gap shows off my bare chest.
“Just as fear can be an aphrodisiac, so can pain. If you learn to love and embrace it, you become invincible.”
The relentless pounding of my heart isn’t fear, but excitement, evidenced by the hardening of my body.
A cold burn streaks across my chest where she drags the blade, scoring my flesh, and I clench my teeth to the pain. “Fuck,” I grit, muscles flinching with the chasing sting. Never taking her eyes off me, she lifts the blade, showing blood running down the steel, which she licks away.
“You taste like rage and lust.”
Everything inside me begs me to throw her off and tell her to get the fuck out of my room. Instead, I grip the back of her neck, the rage exploding to the surface when I push her down onto the bed beside me. I swipe the blade from her hand and twist it in the same taunting manner as she had before.
Her lips part around a smile that I could cut from her face. “What do you wish to do with that knife?”
The blade is a quick diversion, and I stare at my distorted reflection in the metal. Without much prompting from my head, the cold steel is propped at her throat, my eyes locked on hers, as I reach down and tear away her panties beneath the dress. Furious with her.
One-handedly, I spring my dick from my pants.
She squirms beneath me, as if to fight me, but I’m stronger.
I wedge my legs between her thighs, and a cold sting smarts my cheek where she slaps me. The giggle that follows only goads my fury, and I press the blade enough to lift her chin.
“If I ever catch him fucking you again, I’ll take this knife and drag it across your throat.”
She lets out a moan.
A fucking moan.
Slamming my dick into her, I watch her eyes roll back, her tongue sweep over her lips.
Incoherent words in French dance around my head, while I rock against her.
“Tell me what you’re saying,” I demand.
Eyes weighted with desire, she gives a heavy blink and moans again. “I said fuck me harder, young master.”
So I do.
Chapter 15
Isadora
Present day …
When I was fifteen, Aunt Midge thought it’d be fun if I babysat one of the neighbor kids for extra cash. A little five-year-old girl, whose mom worked late into the afternoons, leaving her daughter with no one to pick her up from the school bus stop. I never had siblings, a pet, or anything that I might be remotely responsible for keeping alive, so I’m not sure where Aunt Midge got the idea this would be good for me.
For eight dollars a day, I met the kid at the stop, walked her home, and hung out watching mind-numbing episodes
of Larva until her mom got home. Didn’t seem like such a bad gig, until, one day, she decided to change it up by asking if she could play in the backyard. It was fenced, so I didn’t think anything of it. About ten minutes before her mom was due home, I ventured out to call her in.
She didn’t answer.
I searched every corner of the yard.
Didn’t find her.
To say I was panicked was an understatement. I literally suffered an anxiety attack while racing through the house in search of her. Wheezing for air, feeling dizzy with the urge to pass out. Full on panic.
With only a couple minutes before her mom showed up, I happened to wander outside to check the front, and found her camped out in the middle of the road, drawing with chalk.
Middle of the goddamn road.
Out of my mind, I swiped her up and carried her, as she kicked and screamed, to the sidewalk, where I could properly ask her what the hell she was thinking.
“Mommy lets me play in the street.” She was lying, of course, and not a minute later, her mom pulled up, totally oblivious to the drawn hearts and rainbows she drove over.
I didn’t bother to say a word, but later that night, the guilt gnawed at me. So much so, I skipped school the next day, to confess what happened and quit my job, feeling like a total failure. A year later, I learned the little girl was killed. Hit by a car in front of her house while she played. According to the article, she was left home alone after school.
Knees tucked up into my chest, I sit on the bed, staring off at the wall across from me. I don’t even know what it means that Laura was on the balcony earlier today. If she’s so mentally unstable that she’d try to jump, or chase her dead grandson over the railing. All I know is I can’t get the visual of her lying on the pavement with her skull cracked open out of my head. I should be asleep right now, but the scenario just keeps playing on a loop, and experience tells me it won’t stop until I check to make sure she’s all right.
Cold hardwood floors hit my bare feet, and I pad quietly toward my locked door. Cracking it open, I peek to find the hallway empty and quiet, and continue on down one flight of stairs, and past the foyer, where I skid to a halt. “Shit.”
Sampson lifts his head as I approach, but doesn’t bother to move from where he’s made the Blackthorne crest his bed for the night. Instead, his big blockhead pans slowly after me, as I tiptoe past.
The sight of him rattles my nerves even more, and I gotta believe the dog can sense it, the way he keeps a wary watch, while I scamper toward the elevator. Just a quick check will, hopefully, allow me to close my eyes and get some sleep, though. Start over tomorrow.
The elevator doors open, and I’m hit with the sound of screaming for the second time in one day. I race toward Laura’s bedroom, But skid to a halt a second time when I find Lucian camped out on the floor beside her door.
One leg propped up, he rests his elbow atop his knee, a drink dangling from his hand. He only spares me a momentary glance, eyes brimming with exhaustion and apathy.
“I’ll … sorry. I’ll leave you alone.” I spin around to leave, but pause and turn back toward him. “Is she okay?”
Without bothering to look at me, he gives a subtle nod and tips back his drink.
“Do you need anything?”
Lips pressed to a hard line, he shakes his head.
My heart is pounding in my chest, mostly from the unexpected encounter, but also because the man just makes me nervous as all hell.
Again, I turn away, but stall halfway. “I’m … sorry about my comment this afternoon. About your outfit? Diarrhea of the mouth sometimes.” I catch a flicker of distaste dance across his face, until he lifts his glass again for another sip.
The clink of the ice announces the last of it.
“If you don’t mind … I just want to wait until she settles. Just to make sure she’s okay.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t bother to look at me, at all, and I get a sense he’s annoyed by my presence. In fact, there’re probably very few things, like that glass of liquor, that doesn’t seem to irritate the man.
Unfortunately for him, I know I won’t sleep with the sounds of her screams echoing through my head all night. So I don’t really give a damn if he’s annoyed.
Taking a seat on the floor at the opposite side of the door, I pull my legs up, wrap my arms around them. From this side, I don’t see any of his scars, only the sharp profile of an attractive, but intimidating, man. One who doesn’t bother to acknowledge me.
For what feels like an eternity, we sit quietly, the sounds of moaning and sobbing bleeding through the door. Nell’s voice is flat and commanding, hardly compassionate toward the woman, as if she’s too tired to deal with her.
Lucian sighs and rolls his shoulders back, and I wonder how long he’s been sitting here. What’s going on with her?
His shirt is unbuttoned some, his tie undone, as though he’s had to get comfortable. Still, the awkward silence hangs on the air between us.
“Your mother told me you play piano. Or played. She didn’t specify if you still do, or not.” I’m not the biggest conversationalist. Lord knows, if there was a book in my hands right now, his breathing would get on my nerves, but this one-way conversation is ridiculous with him. It’d probably be easier if I were staring at his scarred half. At least I’d feel a small amount of pity for him, but from this angle, he just looks like an arrogant, moody prick with a perfect jawline.
At this rate, I’d rather stay awake all night counting cracks on my ceilings.
As I push to my feet, he clears his throat.
“What are you really doing here?”
The familiar pangs of guilt settle in, and for a moment, I feel like fifteen-year-old me preparing to confess to Ms. Phillips that I lost her daughter for a minute. Only, he’s not Ms. Phillips. He’s the Mad Son. Devil of Bonesalt. And my palms are sweating. “While I was … down in the library, she apparently went out on the balcony. I had no idea she would … or that she might try to--”
“That’s not what I mean. Why are you here? At the manor?”
“You. I mean, Rand hired me.”
“No shit.”
“I’m here to work.”
His face kicks to the side, his brows lowering. “Yeah? Sure you’re not here to gather up dirt about the fucked-up Blackthornes, to take back to your little friends in town? I don’t think there’s enough crosses out on the road. Maybe you can talk them into adding a few more.”
Once again, my face heats with embarrassment. “I’m not here to spread gossip. I’m here to do my job.”
“You’ve already done that well, it seems.”
Another shrill scream echoes from the other room, and I drop my gaze as the slap of his words settles beneath my skin. A flare of anger shoots up from my gut. “You only know that because I told you I screwed up. Not because you actually give a shit.”
Slapping a hand over my mouth is futile after what’s already been said, what now exists in the universe. I don’t even know the relationship between him and his mother. I only know that, in the two days I’ve been here, he hasn’t shown much interest in her.
The glare he shoots back at me crackles through my bones, and I slide my hands over my face to keep from having to look at him when he fires me right here on the spot. Muscles trembling, I brace myself for the onslaught of insults and the anger I see churning in his eyes.
Seconds tick in an agonizing countdown to my walk of shame, when I’m forced to go back to my room and text Aunt Midge to come pick me up because my damn mouth spouted off again.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say, worthless as it is.
“You’re not like the last girl.”
Daring a peek through my fingers, I find him staring ahead toward the wall of dolls across from us, swirling the ice in his glass.
“They all cower. But you … you just don’t know when to keep your lips zipped.”
“It’s practically a medical condition. I honestly
can’t stop myself sometimes.”
“Honest being the operative word.” Still swirling the cubes, he sighs. “I’ve been surrounded by liars my whole life. It’s strange to hear honesty. However brutal.”
The screams from before have died down to whimpers and quiet sobbing.“I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t even know your relationship with your mother.”
He thumbs at his nose and sniffs. “When I was younger, she’d have these horrible nightmares. Screaming and kicking, and just … unsettling to watch her. I couldn’t go to her, of course, because the staff were worried she’d end up kicking me in the face, or something. So I’d watch from the door until she calmed. Hours, sometimes. Listening to her cry. It was the most honest thing I’ve ever heard from her.”
His comment sits heavy in my chest, as I recall the nights my own mother would come down from one of her highs, lie on the floor, sobbing, while she apologized to me about how much she fucked things up for us. I hated her every other minute of the day, except for those few when I felt like I’d caught a glimpse of her, naked and vulnerable.
“I was thinking I might take her for a walk tomorrow. Get some fresh air.”
The door clicks open, and Nell steps out rubbing her hand across her forehead, until she sets her sights on me and stops with a gasp.
Eyes wide, she turns toward Lucian and lowers her gaze. “I … didn’t realize … you were outside the room.”
Pushing to his feet, Lucian straightens, towering over her and me, even after I finally clamber to my feet, as well. “She’s settled, then.”
“Yes. I’ve given her something for sleep. She’s fine. I would’ve given you an earlier update … if I’d known.” It’s strange to see Nell so nervous around him, fidgeting and keeping her gaze from his, when she acts so aloof with everyone else.
“I wasn’t looking for an earlier update. Her screams were pretty telling.”
“Of course.” It doesn’t take a genius, or junkie, for that matter, to see that Laura is addicted to whatever they keep giving her for sleep. I’ve been around addicts enough to know they’ll do just about anything to get the drug. These fits of hers could very well be real, but with the way Nell hands out sleep aids like candy, I wonder.