Endless

by W Winters

  I stand a little too quickly, and nearly fall as I try to make my way to the door. I’m dizzy, lightheaded, and I think I may throw up.

  Still, I head straight for the door, pulling at the doorknob and desperately trying to open it. My fist slams against it, over and over.

  There’s no use, stupid girl.

  Again, I slam my fist and scream out, “Let me go!” but I’m only met with an unmovable door in an empty room, with no way out and no idea of what will happen to me.

  The pain from the next slam of my fist makes me wince and cradle my hand to my chest. My back presses against the door as I fall down slowly onto my ass, resting my head against the door.

  So many slow moments pass. Moments where I just try to breathe. Moments where my fingers brush along the cuts at my wrists. Moments where I stand and stretch and pretend like it’s not odd to stretch when you’re caged like an animal. What’s the point if there’s no escape?

  It takes me longer than it should to see the foam tray with a grilled cheese sandwich and the cup of water next to it.

  And a bucket of water with a sponge behind it. I spent so much time staring at the door, I didn’t see it.

  He came in here.

  He was here.

  My chest heaves and again my fingers travel to my thighs. He didn’t. I would know. I can barely contain the fear of knowing he came in here while I slept. It’s hard to swallow and I stay far away from the tray of food.

  Time slips by again. And then more time. There is no change in my predicament, save my sanity.

  Although my stomach grumbles and the delicious scents of butter and cheese are all I can smell, I leave the tray where it sits.

  I don’t eat, and I don’t undress to bathe myself. Not with him watching. The anger boils and rises to such an extreme that I almost slam the bucket across the room, straight at the camera.

  I’m not his pet or his test subject. He can take that foam tray and go fuck himself with it. At least that’s what I think when I first move closer to see it; the thought even gives me joy. Hours pass and then more. How much time, I don’t know. There’s nothing in this room and loneliness and boredom are only two of the emotions I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle if this is how my new life will proceed.

  My mind starts playing tricks on me and I find myself etching small things into the cinder blocks with a button on my shirt. The shirt’s already ripped so it doesn’t matter. The top two buttons have been pulled off, the first one long lost and the second now a writing tool. A small and poor one, but there’s nothing else to do but pace and let my mind wander.

  And that leads me to awful places.

  I’m busy carving a pattern, a useless, meaningless pattern of birds and vines into a block that’s not even deep enough to be seen clearly when the door opens behind me.

  My heart lurches and I swing my body around so violently that the back of my head collides with the wall, the button slips from my hand and the sound of it pinging to a stop on the ground fills the room.

  The flood of light is lost quickly as Cross steps inside my cell and closes the door behind him. His figure is like a shadow of darkness as he walks toward me.

  “What do you want?” I ask instinctually, barely able to breathe, let alone swallow the pathetic words before I can speak them. I’m glad I didn’t eat because if I had I would have lost it all in this moment. Panic rages inside of me.

  He’s quiet as he takes one step forward and then another. He only takes his eyes from me once, and that’s to look at the chair in the corner of the room.

  “My father will come for me,” I tell him as he walks toward the chair and positions it so he can sit and face me. “He’s going to kill you,” I add, and my words are strangled, but audible.

  All I’m rewarded with is a soft smile on his lips. The stubble on his jaw is more noticeable and his eyes seem darker, but maybe it’s just the light. Everything else about him is more foreboding than I remember. His height and broad shoulders, the lean build of his body with the rippled accents of his muscles. God made him to do deadly, sinful things. One look and that’s obvious.

  As if reading my mind, he grins at me, forcing me to take a step back, which only widens the grin to a charming and perfect smile. I feel like I’m caught in a cage. A little mouse to a lion. And he’s only toying with me.

  “You’re sick,” I spit at him, clenching my hands into fists.

  “I’m well aware of that little fact, Aria. Tell me, what else do you know about me?” His voice is smooth velvet, and it echoes in a deep way from wall to wall in the room. The kind of echo you feel deep in your gut, one that haunts you so much later in the night.

  “I know my father will gut you,” I answer him with sickening contempt.

  “He isn’t going to do anything. He doesn’t even know I’m the one who has you.” His head tilts slightly as he examines my every reaction.

  “Yes, he does,” I breathe as if it will be true if only I say it is. His look turns to pity, but only for a moment. It passes so quickly I wonder if I even saw it, or maybe it was only the dim light in the room playing tricks on me.

  “He doesn’t and even if he did, he’s useless.” Menace lingers on the heels of his words, falling hard and crashing to the ground around me.

  He adds, “He couldn’t even defend your mother’s honor.”

  “Fuck you,” I dare to sneer at him. Anger rises quickly inside of me and my breathing quickens.

  “You fight now, but you’ll submit later,” Cross says easily, completely unaffected by my words.

  “Submit?” the fear is evident in my voice.

  “You’ll do as I say. Every command. Kneel at my feet, undress, lie in my bed… Spread your legs for me.” The depth of conviction in his voice is frightening.

  “I’ll die before I submit to you.” My throat dries and tightens. I can barely breathe as he stands.

  He’s not quick, not hurried in the least to stalk toward me. I can run. I know I can, but the room is small; there’s nothing to hide behind and he’s so tall, it wouldn’t take much beyond a lunge for him to catch me.

  My knees weaken, and I nearly fall to the ground, but I don’t. I stay as tall as I can although I have to crane my neck to look Cross in the eyes. My heart pounds chaotically as if it’s trying to escape. For every step he takes forward, I take one back until I’ve hit the wall.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks me in an eerily calm voice.

  “Like a baby,” I say, and my answer is nothing but defiant. I surprise myself with the immediate answer. Fuck him. Fuck Carter Cross.

  A crooked smile twitches onto his lips. “Do you always have nightmares?” he asks and the strength inside of me wavers. My gaze flickers from him to the floor.

  “It seemed like a terrible dream,” he adds, his eyes blazing with a threat.

  I get the sense that he was here, that he knows I had a nightmare because he was here, not from the camera. As much as I’d like to hide the sickening sense of defeat from my expression, I can’t. He sees my weakness, and I can’t hide from him.

  “Answer me.” His command comes out tense and deep.

  I almost tell him, no, but then decide on silence, pretending to ignore how the fear that’s growing inside of me makes my limbs feel numb. I expect anger from him, but all I can see is the twinkle of humor in his eyes.

  “You will give me everything that I want,” Cross says and then reaches out to me. My eyes close tightly as his fingers brush the hair from my face. He tucks the lock behind my ear and I think about biting him, about fighting him when I remember the first time he touched me so comfortingly, only to then grip my throat and hold me like his prized possession.

  With another step forward, he bathes me in darkness, blocking the light and forcing me to push myself against the wall and stare up at him with genuine fear I wish I could deny.

  “You’re going to love doing it too,” he whispers in the small space, heating the air between us and my body bet
rays me at the thought.

  It makes no sense at all. Save the scent of his presence. He smells like the woods. Inhaling the deep scent reminds me of the way my mother used to describe our eyes. Like the canopy of the forest after a long day of rain. Maybe I could blame it on instinct.

  Or maybe I’m just meant to be the whore to a monster.

  I don’t admit my response to him. There’s no way in hell I ever would.

  “Let me go,” I whimper the plea and hate myself for it. I can pretend to be strong. He can’t see what’s deep inside of me. I can pretend to be stronger than he knows.

  His only response is to chuckle, a deep and rough masculine sound that rumbles his chest and the anger I feel from it overwhelms me.

  I’m barely holding on to my composure. I know if I strike him, he’ll respond, and I will lose. I’m not stupid. This is what he wants. The realization makes my eyes widen. He’s playing with his shiny new toy.

  “Just kill me.” My muscles scream as I stiffen them, refusing to lash out. Although my body heats and adrenaline pumps faster at the thought of him doing it, I still tell him to just get it over with. I don’t want to be played with. “I’ll never give you anything.”

  “Now what would that accomplish for me, songbird?”

  I don’t want to cry and give him the satisfaction. I refuse to. My eyes are already burning from being so fucking weak. I won’t be weak. I won’t let him win.

  Be smart. A million possibilities run through my head at what the smart choice would be in this moment, but the only situation I allow to rule my actions is to not give in. I’ll wait. I’ll survive day by day until my father comes. He will come. I know he will.

  “I’ll fight you until the day I die,” I sneer at him with every ounce of conviction I can gather.

  It only makes him smile. A wicked grin that sends a chill through my blood. “You’ll find comfort in thinking that… for a little while.” With a growing smile of triumph, he leaves me where I am. His shoes smack on the ground, and the sound grows quieter as he confidently strides to the door and turns the knob with ease.

  How? He’s simply walking away, and the door opens for him. I don’t have time to consider anything. All I know at this moment is that the door is open. And whether or not he’s there, I need to try to run. He opens the door just enough to get through. But I still run to it. I do my damnedest to make it to the door before it shuts and like the merciless prick he is, he leaves it open.

  My bare heels bash against the cement as I sprint toward the light, but just as I make it, my hopes are so easily dashed. Just as the hope that I’ll actually get out of here so easily burns into my chest, his tall broad frame fills the doorway, standing with a foreboding presence and taking a large step toward me.

  A step so powerful and undeniably in control that I stagger backward, my foot scraping against the cement and throwing me off balance.

  My ass hits the floor first and my head would have smacked against the concrete as well if Cross’s hand wasn’t wrapped firmly around my forearm. His fingers dig in and I let out a squeal of both surprise and pain.

  “You’re smarter than this,” he hisses. The rage in his eyes swirls with darkness, but with it are golden flecks of intrigue and delight. “You won’t leave this room until I say so.”

  I’m paralyzed by the certainty in his voice. The strength of his grip. The desire that drips from each of his words.

  “You. Are. Mine. Aria.” He says each word lower and lower until I can barely hear him over the pounding of my heart. The concept of being owned by this man is a deadly concoction that sends a ripple of both fear and desire straight to my core.

  Without warning, he releases me, and I fall to the ground, still shaken but staring up at him. “I’m not an object to own. No one owns me!” I scream at him even though I don’t believe my own words in this moment.

  He merely smiles at me. As if it’s all a joke to him.

  “Let me go,” I try to scream at him as if it’s a demand, but the words are a pitiful plea even to my own ears.

  Still, I try to stand, to get back up as he smiles and closes the door, leaving me right where he wants me.

  I swear I hear him answer me before the steel door closes with finality. I would swear on my life I heard him say, “Never.”

  Chapter 9

  Carter

  * * *

  Daniel is my only brother who doesn’t knock. He never has.

  I know he isn’t going to this time either. His steps are hurried, angered and I have to suppress a sigh of irritation. I’m fucking tired and I don’t have time for his bullshit.

  “This war between Talvery and the Romanos doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

  Daniel’s always had a knack for speaking as he enters the room, regardless of whether or not my gaze is down on my desk, focused on a spreadsheet of product and how much is selling. Having high demand is good, but some of this doesn’t make sense. And it’s only on the border of our territory that touches the Romanos’ territory.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I ignore him.

  “Did you go to the club with Jase?” I ask Daniel as I continue down the order of supplies.

  “Did you hear me?” Daniel questions me, kicking the office door shut and making his way across the office to sit in the chair opposite me.

  “I did. You didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.” Shutting the laptop computer, I finally give him my attention and for a moment I’m caught off guard.

  “You look like shit,” I say, and I don’t hide the surprise in my voice.

  My brother’s eyes spark with a hint of humor as he smirks at me and replies, “And you look like a fucking Ken doll. Drug dealer Barbie style.”

  A huff of a laugh escapes me as he runs his hand along the scruff on his jaw. “Addison isn’t sleeping. She’s having a hard time with this.”

  “With what?” I ask him, feeling a chill in my blood.

  “With the shit that’s going on. The war, not knowing who tried to take her or what they were planning.”

  “She doesn’t need to know about a damn thing,” I say beneath my breath with every bit of humor long gone. “You shouldn’t have told her anything. We stay on lockdown. We wait for the Talverys and Romanos to trim their own numbers. If you have to tell her anything, that’s all she should know.”

  Daniel’s head tilts back slightly and he runs a hand down his face, his body slumped in the chair. “She’s not allowed in the north wing and I don’t want her leaving without me or someone else with her… and I’m not supposed to tell her anything?” he questions me, letting his chin drop and daring to look me in the eyes.

  “The women should stay out of this.” He fucking knows better.

  “Says the man who started a war over a piece of ass.”

  “Careful.” He cocks a brow at my response, but I stay firm.

  Leaning forward, he puts both palms on the desk and asks quietly, like it’s a secret, “What’s going on with you?”

  I steady my back against the leather chair, letting one hand fall to the armrest, my fingers tracing along the steel nail heads.

  “I wish I knew,” I tell him in a breath. “We have to move forward with this and there are some things that will benefit us, but it’s a careful walk from here until the end.”

  Daniel nods his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “And when are we getting revenge on Marcus? The man who tried to take what’s mine?”

  “We don’t know that it was Marcus who tried to take her.”

  “Who else would have done it?” Daniel asks but even as the last words slip out, his conviction wanes. Our enemies are surrounding us. The only saving grace is that they fear us, and they have other wars to fight.

  “He has yet to answer any of our messages and no one’s confirmed he had anything to do with it.” Daniel’s nostrils flare as he slams himself back into his seat, making the front legs of the chair nearly come off the floor while he looks past me and
out the window.

  “So, I’m supposed to do nothing and keep Addison in the dark?” Daniel asks with contempt. “I need to do something. I can’t let him or whoever the fuck it was get away with it.” His frustration is getting the better of him. And I understand. I do. But we have to be smart and know how best to move forward before we act.

  “We don’t know who did it. There will be nothing done until we do.” My answer is absolute, with no room for negotiation, and the air tenses as Daniel considers me. A moment passes, and I can’t breathe. My brothers are everything to me. All I have. And they’ve never questioned me. Not until this past week.

  I’m losing my grip; I can feel it. And that’s never a good thing.

  Finally, he nods once and relaxes his posture, moving one ankle to rest on his knee.

  “Can I ask you something else?” he asks, and I rest my elbow on the desk and then my chin in my hand, nodding as I do. He’s going to ask me regardless.

  “What are you doing with her?”

  “It’s personal.” That short answer already reveals more than I’ve told anyone else, but Daniel shakes his head, a look of disappointment clearly written on his face.

  “You aren’t the brother I remember.” He’ll never know the pain that comment causes me.

  “Tell me what you remember, Daniel? You never saw anything past Addison.” I practically hiss her name.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” His anger is evident, and his jaw tightens.

  “You had her and I had no one.” My voice cracks at the revelation. Time marches on as we stare at each other. He has no idea how she saved him. Having someone to love, even if it is from a distance can give you hope. And hope is everything.

  “We had each other,” he finally tells me. I know he’s thinking about the same shit I am. All the shit we went through. There were five of us, five brothers, but Daniel and I were the oldest and the two our father paid more attention to. If you can call what he did attention.

  I let the anger and every other emotion fade, opening up the laptop to cue that this meeting is over. The truth slips by me unintentionally as I point out, “It’s not the same.”