by W Winters
The necklace, the dress. They’re classically elegant and hug my curves. I’m tempted to brush my hair and use some of the toiletries Jase bought for me.
More than anything, I want to draw the image of the woman I used to be onto the new canvases I was given last night. A blank page begs to be covered in ink, and I feel and look so different now. Maybe not so much on the surface, but everything I think and feel is no longer a semblance of what once was.
But first, I dress how he wants me to, I’ll seek him out, and then I’ll bide my time hiding in the art where I can remember what used to be and hold on to the last piece of the girl I used to know.
I know I’m only playing into Carter’s hand as I thread my fingers through my locks and make a braid, placing it over my shoulder and then reach for the cosmetic bag. I don’t recognize myself.
But the woman in the mirror is lovely. The kind of lovely that fills other women with envy, but as I drop the mascara onto the counter, I know that no one would envy me and all I am is a pretty fuck doll for Carter.
For now. It’s what I have to be. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I try to dignify it by convincing myself that I have to in order to survive. But I can’t deny the thought of him commanding me to spread my legs for him sends a wave of heat and want to my core.
Stepping out of the bedroom makes me nervous. It doesn’t make much sense to feel safe at all here, but there is a hint of safety in knowing that only Carter will come into his bedroom. I know what to expect. Outside of the confines of those walls are things I have yet to explore.
I know where the den is, and I spent a good bit of time there yesterday. Photographs upon photographs and beautiful art lined every inch of wall in the den. It was easy to lose myself, and take in each one, imagining I had somehow slipped away and fallen into the art, away from here.
Someone in here has a fondness for old trucks. Nearly ten photographs had trucks in them, rusted and worn down, the hoods covered in snow or blue flowers peeking out from under the tires. I’ve never felt so strongly that old trucks are beautiful until I felt the emotion from the photographs. Maybe I’ll draw that instead. Or both. I have plenty of time for both.
I know where the kitchen is from Carter’s bedroom too.
And I’ve ventured there on my own once, but the other times Carter’s brought me there.
Yesterday he made me kneel in the kitchen. The way he said it reminded me of the punishment in his bedroom, and I quickly fell to the ground to obey.
The cold floors were smooth and unforgiving against my legs, but I stayed still and at his feet as he fed me bits of his meals. I think he truly enjoys doing it. Having me on my knees beside him and at his mercy. And I have to admit, I didn’t hate it, at least not until someone came into the kitchen.
I could hear whoever it was walking in, but they didn’t say a word. I remember how I stilled, how I didn’t know what to do.
Carter continued to place the chunks of salmon between my lips. And within seconds, whoever had entered, left.
From what I know, there are four men living here. The only other one who’s talked to me outside of Carter is Jase. But I imagine it’s only when Carter permits it. And I have a mental note in the back of my head to befriend him. The more ammunition I have, the better.
But I’ll be careful. I’ll be smart. And for now, that means obeying.
I’m nearly to the right threshold of the grand kitchen when I see Carter leaning against the counter, an iPad in his hand and his attention focused on it.
I can’t help the way I freeze. As if I could somehow blend into the rich hall and vanish before he could see me.
Even if his touch lights every nerve ending of mine on fire, I still fear Carter. That will never change. Letting out a shaky breath is my downfall; Carter peeks up from his task and sees me. His gaze is lethal as he takes in my appearance.
Slowly. Ever so slowly.
Every inch of skin where his gaze lingers is instantly set ablaze.
“Come.” It’s the only word I’m given. A command not to be denied, and that rapid hammering in my chest intensifies. One step after another.
My life has become a series of careful steps.
Before I’ve even come fully into the kitchen, he commands me to kneel and I hesitate. His voice is different. The reverence and desire are absent. Something’s wrong and immediately I feel defensive. My hands feel clammy as I wonder what’s changed. I nearly swear to him that I haven’t done anything wrong.
I’ve only ever kneeled at his feet, but the power in his voice makes my knees weak and I drop to the floor where I am, feet away from him in the hall, although I’m afraid he wanted me next to him. Fear. Fear commands these so carefully taken steps.
A moment passes and then another before he glances my way, through the doorway to the kitchen. “Here, songbird. Come kneel here.” There’s an edge of annoyance in his voice and I nearly cry. It’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous that his reprimand would upset me to that extent, but as I crawl the last few feet to sit beside him in a kneeling position, my body nearly buckles, and I realize why this morning Carter seems different. Harder and less interested.
“You have her trained well.” The man’s voice sparks anger in my blood. It mixes with the fear, confusing me and I have a difficult time managing my expression, my movements. Everything in me is screaming to look at Romano, to stare into his cold dark eyes and tell him to go fuck himself.
“There’s still plenty for her to learn,” Carter speaks absently, swiping the screen of the iPad and focusing his attention on it. He doesn’t touch me. Not like he does around his brothers.
My head hangs low, so low it nearly hurts my neck, but I don’t want Romano to see my face. I have to bite the inside of my cheek so hard that it bleeds to keep from speaking up.
Be smart, I remind myself although it doesn’t soothe a damn thing I’m feeling.
“How’s--”
Carter cuts Romano off and states, “I’m happy with it. Let’s move forward.”
With his simple words, Carter leaves my side to walk the few feet across the kitchen, passing the iPad back to Romano and I chance a peek up. In his crisp dress shirt and dark gray slacks, Carter’s expensive, dominating appearance is at odds with Romano’s mien. His shirt hangs baggy in the front, not tailored to be fitted, I’d suspect because of his weight.
“When does it begin?” Carter asks with his back to Romano as he stalks toward me. He catches my stare and holds it until he reaches me, forcing me to pull my chin up so I don’t break his gaze.
He only looks away when his hand reaches my hair and he cups the back of my head. The satisfaction and thrill of having him hold me so gently and possessively are undeniably fucked up. But still, I nearly smile.
The more comfortable I get, the more I grow to crave his small touches and the warmth of his body.
It’s not supposed to be this way, but I can feel myself slipping into this new reality.
“Next week,” Romano answers him and I can practically hear his grin. “We’ll start taking them out all at once. As many as we can.”
Adrenaline pumps in my veins, remembering the conversation from weeks ago. He’s going to kill my father’s men and all I can think about is Nikolai, my first kiss and only true friend in this world. My family and everyone I grew up with.
I know, and yet I can do nothing. The air around me is suffocating as I sit there silently, remembering how easily some of them have killed before, how I’ve wished that those men would die so many times. But not all of them. Not my family. Not Nikolai.
Inside I scream at myself to beg for answers, to beg for mercy. But on the surface I stay calm and wait for Romano to leave. There has to be a way for me to spare some of the people I love. The only people I love. The only family I have.
Please, show mercy. I nearly whisper the words as Carter leaves me yet again, walking Romano to the door and leaving me lonely and pathetic on the floor of the kitchen.
&nb
sp; I don’t make a sound. I stay silent.
But I will beg. I will fight. I will do anything. I won’t let them kill my family.
There has to be a way.
If he cares anything for me, he’ll show mercy. My gaze drops to the shadows of the two of them in the hall. The saddest part of the last thought is that I already know he won’t show mercy. I’m only his whore.
Chapter 23
Carter
* * *
The fire crackles. I’ve always found comfort in the soothing sound. My songbird’s humming is the only thing that’s come close and whether or not she knows it, she’s been humming every so often since I left her in the den.
Gripping the back of the tufted sofa, I watch the glow of the fire play across her face. The shadows only make her look more beautiful. Even though she’s drawing near the hearth, she hasn’t turned on the lights. The sun set hours ago, taking the daylight that filled this room with it. But she’s stayed by the fire, consumed with her art.
“Aria.” I attempt to keep my voice calm and gentle, so I don’t startle her. But I achieve the opposite and the black charcoal in her hand leaves a mar across the center of the piece she’s drawing. Surprise and fear are evident from her parted lips but she shifts her expression quickly, leaving her pad and the charcoal on the hearth to kneel for me.
She doesn’t address me any other way, simply waiting for a command. Her submission is beautiful, but there’s a twisting in my gut. She’s faking it. It’s only because of yesterday. She’s only being good because I caught her searching through my room. She doesn’t fool me.
“You did well this morning,” I compliment her as I round the large sofa. Her eyes watch me; they watch every movement I make.
As much as I see her, I know she sees me. It’s one of the things that’s pulling me to her every second of every day.
I don’t want to miss the little hints of honesty that she can’t hide from me.
“I don’t like that man,” she says under her breath, daring to raise her eyes to me. “Romano.” A grin pulls at my lips. “I couldn’t tell,” I say, toying with her.
She did perfectly. Submitting to me and showing him how I have her under my thumb. That I’ve gained control of her, even when she couldn’t contain her contempt for him.
She’s helping me set him up for his own demise, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask her as I sink into the sofa, relaxing against it as she nods once and then whispers, “Yes.”
“Come here.” I pat the seat next to me and watch her debate on whether she should crawl or stand to get here. Glancing at her right hand, covered in charcoal, she chooses to stand and reach for the towel on the coffee table. She’s deliberate in her motions as she quickly cleans her hands and then walks quietly to sit beside me. Only the crackling of the fire occupies the silence.
As she sits, I slip my arm around her waist, pulling her closer, lowering my lips to her ear then nipping her lobe before moving to her neck.
When I’m touching her, she knows exactly how to behave. She loses that constant inner questioning and gives herself to me completely. Letting her breathing quicken and her head fall to the side. She can’t hide from me when my hands are on her.
It’s a heady feeling I’ve grown addicted to.
I imagine she doesn’t realize how often she touches me. Like now, how she reaches out to my shoulder as I rake my teeth up and down her neck.
Nipping her ear once more and feeling the thrill of her ragged moans deep in my chest, I whisper to her, “I want the man dead.”
Her lashes flutter open and as they do, Jase enters the doorway. He hesitates and nearly turns around, but I gesture for him to enter. Time and time again, she seizes up when another person is added to the equation. She forgets how to react and becomes a lost little bird with a broken wing. Stiff in my embrace, she struggles to know where to look as Jase enters.
Slowly she pulls her legs up onto the sofa and bows her head. I know Jase is watching me, but I can’t take my eyes away from her.
“You’re mine,” I tell her in a voice that commands her to look back at me. “You will hold your head up high.” Her eyes widen slightly and then follow my fingers as I trace them from her collar down the center of her chest. “How else will they see this?” My pointer intertwines with the necklace and she nods in understanding.
I can feel her heart racing just beyond my touch, but I let the necklace fall into place and turn back to my brother. The judgment and disgust that lingered in his eyes only days ago are gone, replaced now only by curiosity. It’s all going better than I’d hoped, even if it has taken longer than I’d planned.
“It’s set for next week.” As the words register with Jase and he tells me the shipments are coming in early for Romano, I notice how Aria’s demeanor changes again.
She already knows too much. As much as I enjoy her presence, she shouldn’t be privy to the knowledge of how her father’s empire will fall.
“You look lovely tonight,” Jase speaks directly to her. Surprise lights up her face as the fire continues to cast shadows over her.
“Thank you,” she says, but her voice is soft, too soft and she clears her throat to repeat herself. “Thank you.”
“I admire your art,” he adds, and I glance down at the scattering of papers on the floor. Three new ones today, and each more stunning than the last. She’s not rushed anymore. She takes her time, and the beauty she creates is captivating. I never expected to feel proud of what I thought was only a distraction.
The thrill rings in my blood. She craves acceptance, protection, and a tenderness that I can’t always give her. But my brothers can. Even now as she worries and struggles, his kindness makes her weaker toward me. Each small gesture of acceptance makes her more willing to obey me.
“She’s talented.” I compliment her as well, although I speak to Jase.
“Thank you,” she says again, and the fidgeting stops momentarily, replaced by a calmer demeanor.
“We’ll go over the rest tonight,” I tell Jase and he takes the cue to leave easily enough. No more of this in front of her. She needs to be perfect for the dinner.
And then everything will change.
“Tonight then,” Jase says and nods a goodnight to Aria. A gentle smile flickers on her lips, but she struggles to speak to him in return.
“You’re doing so well,” I speak to her gently as Jase leaves us. Her hair is soft under my fingers as I push the locks from her face. “Apart from yesterday morning, I mean.”
The reminder makes her stiffen, but only until I trail my fingers back to the necklace, the mix of pearls and diamonds strung together on a thin platinum chain. So delicate and breakable, just like her.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes again.
“No, you’re not.” The words come out with a sternness that’s irrefutable. “I expected as much, but you aren’t sorry.”
“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she says, and the statement sounds genuine, even as she closes her eyes and swallows noticeably. I take in every hint of her features, seeing nothing but sincerity.
“Aria,” I tell her as I slip my hand to the nape of her neck, “you haven’t disappointed me.” My voice is deeper than I intended, laced with the lust I still have for her.
I thought I would grow tired of her but having Aria and playing with her has become my favorite game.
She only sighs at my statement, a soft sound that’s a mix of want and need and something else.
I whisper at the shell of her ear, “I can spoil you; this doesn’t have to be something you hate.”
“I will give you anything,” she whispers and those beautiful eyes peer into mine, searching for mercy, “Please don’t kill my family.”
“I had to pick a side, but they’ll both die, Aria. There’s no changing that.” If I could steal the pain from her, I would.
“You said you wanted him dead. Romano. Why not side with my father?�
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“Do you think your father would spare me, Aria? Do you think he’d allow me to live?” My voice comes out harder with each word, remembering how my life was almost snuffed out by his hands. Her gorgeous eyes turn to dark wells of sadness. She knows the truth about her father, but still, she continues.
“He would,” she whispers with hopefulness.
“He wouldn’t,” I tell her, expecting to be angered by her naivety, but it’s only pity for her that I feel. “You need to stay out of this, Aria,” I command her, and she nods once, but I can see the pleas written on her face.
“I can’t just do nothing,” she whispers.
“You must, or you’ll leave me with no choice.” It’s not a threat, but it’s full of truth and I pray she behaves. “You’re smarter than this. You know how to survive.”
“I’ll always be a prisoner,” she murmurs, and her voice is soft but desperate. Her eyes open and she almost says something. She almost begs or pleads or questions. But she doesn’t.
“I want to steal the fight from you,” I say the words without thinking, without realizing how honest they are. “I will have all of you, Aria.”
It takes a moment for her to respond, and when she does, it’s with her eyes closed and her words are laced with pain. “I know you will.”
She holds on to that pain so well. Gripping it chaotically, just to hold on to something. In a way, that enrages the very core of my being. But soon all she’ll hold on to is me. So soon. I have to be patient with her. If nothing else, time will dull her pain and then all she’ll have is me.
“Lie back,” I give her the command and she obeys instantly, falling onto the sofa and resting her head on the decorative pillow. Brushing my hand against her inner thigh, she parts her legs for me. The cotton slips up higher, but I have to lift her ass up and push the dress up to her waist to see all of her.