Lost in the Shadows (The Lost Series Book 3)

by Tracie Douglas

  Women like her are easy to read. Power hungry. Greedy. Observant. I bet there isn’t a single thing that happens in this compound that she doesn’t know about. Sans me and what I’m here to do.

  The only problem I foresee is whether the two top dogs will be taken down together or apart. Armando and Charles are rarely in the same place at the same time, and the next few days are going to be one of those rare moments. The pressure to get what I need has never been any stronger than it is right now.

  A quick rap on my door breaks me away from my thoughts, and I walk over and open it. Andre walks in without a welcome, pulling the chain connected to the flurry of white and blond following behind him.

  The sound of the chains clanking together whispers into the room as he leads her inside, stopping only when they get to the center of the room. He turns, bows his head, and extends his hand holding the chain, presenting it to me like I’m some king, signifying the transfer of her ownership.

  I cringe inwardly, step toward him, and quietly take the chain from his hand. I look at her and hate that her eyes are on the carpet. I don’t care for her sign of submission. I don’t want it. I want to see the girl I met an hour ago, the one with fire in her eyes.

  “Mr. Tony, I apologize if we took too long.” Andre finally looks up at me and nods his head respectfully again.

  “Thank you, Andre. Your timing couldn’t be any more perfect, since I, too, just arrived back to my room.” I stand facing him, fighting the urge to drop the chain and deck the son of a bitch. But I notice the way his eyes look around the room before settling once again on me, like he has been sent here not to simply deliver the girl but to observe me. Like a spy. “Thank you for bringing her to me.”

  “It was a pleasure, sir.” He nods again. His respectful nature makes me think of a bobble head sitting on the dashboard of some old beater. “If there is anything else I might do for you, please don’t hesitate.”

  “Thank you, but I have everything I need.” I narrow my eyes on him, more than ready to dismiss him. “You may go.”

  “Very well, sir.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a small silver object. And it isn’t until I feel the warm metal against the palm of my hand that I realize it’s the key to her shackles.

  I manage to keep myself composed and unreadable, knowing he’s here not to simply deliver Tony’s prize. I’ll be damned if I give him something negative to take back to Armando. He crosses the room and exits, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Straining my ears to hear his footsteps to walk down the hallway, I look over at her. “Cry out in pain,” I whisper, and she looks up at me in shock.

  I move across the room, lock the door, and look out the peephole to watch him. He’s moving slowly, throwing a look over his shoulder every two steps or so. He pauses to fiddle with one of the plants sitting in the hallway, waiting for a reason to come back this way.

  “Cry out,” I command her. My voice still a whisper comes out harsher than I intended, but she lets out a loud and long moan filled with frustration, anger, and, most of all, pain.

  That’s it, sweetheart, let it out.

  I place my eye over the peephole again and watch as the manservant nods his head with approval before disappearing around the corner.

  Thank fuck.

  I drop the chain connected to her and cross back over to her. She flinches when I stop in front of her, refusing to hide the way her body tenses and shakes, waiting for my next move. I drop down to one knee and reach for her foot. The need to free her from the heavy metal wrapped around her ankle is greater than my need for my next breath. She starts to put up a fight, but as soon as she realizes what I’m doing, she offers her foot willingly.

  The daintiness of her ankles perplexes me, and when I see the red markings from the shackles on them, rage fills me. I want to drag the manservant back here and punish him for marking her. I want to soothe the marks, and for a moment, I get lost in that want. I run my thumb along the inside of her ankle, wishing away the hurt and the marks. Her sharp intake of breath echoes in my head, promptly clearing my fogging thoughts and reminding me of who and where we are. I release her ankle and let go of her to stand. I take three steps back to place some distance between us.

  Her brow puckers in confusion. She doesn’t know how to react to me. I’ve probably shown her more kindness in the last thirty seconds than she’s known in a long time.

  My heart pounds in my chest, and I contemplate my next move, but the sensation of her soft skin under my thumb lingers. I can’t have that.

  “You need to go to bed.” I swallow hard, trying to control myself and the sudden reaction my body is having to her. “The door behind you, that’s the bedroom. I won’t bother you.”

  She moves toward the door, clearly relieved to be excused. Maybe she’s embarrassed by my inappropriate touching. She stops momentarily to look back at me and ask, “What should I call you?”

  “Tony. My name is Tony.”

  She nods and opens the door only to disappear behind it a second later.

  Chapter 6

  Penelope

  The smell of fresh coffee jolts my body awake from the deepest sleep I’ve experienced in months. I sit up and pull the blankets up to my neck as the unfamiliarity of the room penetrates my sleep-foggy brain. Panic and fear fill my lungs, but my next breath gets trapped in my lungs.

  The early morning light peeks in from cracks in the curtain, letting in just enough brightness to take in the large and luxurious room. It’s nothing like the dank and dark rooms I’m accustomed to. My brain begins to calculate every possible entrance and exit, looking for an escape route.

  Three doors. Two windows. No escape. The layout tugs at my mind.

  I drag a needed breath into my lungs as everything finally begins to become clearer. Memories of the night before replay, reminding of my current predicament. The tension in my body begins to subside a little. Confusion replaces panic, but my fear still lingers.

  Can you blame me? I have no idea what the next part of my life will be like. Tony, or whatever his name is, confused me even more when he sent me off to bed alone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. Last night wasn’t all I feared it would be, but that doesn’t mean my fears are placated. My life is not my own. My body is not my own. I’m his, and I have no idea what that means or what he plans to do with me.

  I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, but not before I notice a fluffy white terrycloth robe draped over the end of the bed. I reach for it and wrap it around my body, careful to tie it tightly at my waist.

  Last night didn’t go as I expected. When he bent down at my feet, I didn’t know what to think. Panic surged through me; I wasn’t ready for what I thought he might do. And when he touched me so gently, so softly, like I was going to break if he moved too fast, I didn’t expect it. After a moment, I realized he wanted to release me from my shackles, and while it frightened me, I let him. I wanted to be free of their weight almost as much as he wanted to free me of them.

  Then he saw the marks on my skin. They aren’t new. I’ve had them since I was taken from my family home many months ago. They don’t bother me anymore, but seeing them there visibly bothered me, reminding me I would never walk free again. But the gentle brush of his thumb against the redness nearly undid my reserve and planted the small seed of hope again.

  There was something about the look in his eyes. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me, and it melted a little of the icy demeanor I’ve tried to master. Which is why I didn’t hesitate when he sent me off to bed. Even if he had followed me and taken my body, I needed to get out of that room and break the spell I was slowly falling under. That little bit of caring made me feel warmth toward him, which was absolutely against the rules.

  The caffeinated smell permeating the air grows stronger, beckoning me out of my head and back into the real world. I move toward the door and slowly turn the knob. Pausing for a moment to swallow my nerves, I open the door a small crack, checking the safe
ty of the room. I push it open wider, but the response of anger and hatred I expect doesn’t come. Taking in the room as I step into it, I find Tony staring at me with a curious gaze on his face. He is seated at the table, which is covered with a few dishes of what I believe is food, but they are covered. There is also an electric coffee maker within arm’s reach of Tony.

  “Good morning, Penelope,” he says, clearing his voice, dragging my eyes back to him. I clasp my hands in front of me and look down at the floor, waiting for my instructions. “Please don’t do that. I don’t want you to avert your eyes, and I don’t want you acting like I’m going to reach out and strike you. Because I’m not.”

  I look up at him from beneath my lashes and take a step toward the table, assuming I’m meant to join him. He nods, reassuring me of my decision, and stands to pull out the chair next to him. After I sit, he sits and reaches across the table, sliding a clean white mug in my direction.

  “Would you like some coffee, or perhaps some orange juice?” He looks at me expectantly, but I don’t answer, feeling very self-conscious. Did he see me staring at the coffee earlier? “If there is something else you’d prefer, I can ring down and have them bring it up.”

  “No, coffee would be nice. Black, please.” My voice comes out small and soft. He pours a generous amount into the cup before placing it in front of me. My hands wrap around the mug, carefully lifting it to my lips.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Well, thank you,” I take a sip, letting the taste spread across my tongue and down my throat. I stifle a moan and look up to find his eyes on me again, a thousand questions in their depths. I place the cup down, almost spilling it. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”

  “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Penelope.”

  “Penny. I prefer Penny.”

  “Penny… Lucky penny.” He smiles softly, and for a moment, I forget who we are to each other and give him smile back. He looks off in the distance behind me, like he’s lost in some thought deep inside of his mind. “My lucky penny,” he mumbles before composing himself again.

  “What do you expect of me?” I ask, pulling him back to the moment. He looks down at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. I like this look. It makes me forget the truth of what we are.

  “What do you mean?” he asks carefully and places his napkin on the table next to his half-eaten plate of food.

  “Last night, I thought you would…” I trail off, unable to say the words.

  “I would what?”

  “You sent me to bed. Alone.”

  “I don’t know what you expected, Penny, but like I told you last night, I will not hurt you.”

  “But you were supposed to… Last night was supposed to be…”

  “You mean I was supposed to have sex with you,” he finishes for me. I don’t know if he’s playing with me or if he’s just that clueless to what was supposed to happen. “They told you to expect something, and it didn’t happen. Am I right?”

  I nod my head. “I belong to you, and I was supposed to submit to you last night and give you what you want.”

  “This is what I want, Penny. We will not have sex. You will remain untouched by me or any man. This is set in stone.”

  “But why? Are you not happy with me?”

  “It’s a very complicated matter, but no, I’m not unhappy with you.”

  “Do you not like girls?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to insult you, unless it’s true, in that case—”

  “I’m not gay.”

  “Oh. Then why won’t you take what is yours?”

  “Because it isn’t mine to take. You aren’t a piece of property to own. You’re a human being, caught up in a world that shouldn’t exist.” He stands, closing his mouth from saying anything further. He’s teetering on some precipice, a thin line between what he wants and what is expected, but from the look of his face, I shouldn’t push him any farther on the subject. “I have business to attend to. You will stay here in the suite. The stylist will be here around lunchtime to deliver your clothing. If you are not happy with the items I’ve preselected for you, you may send it all back and choose for yourself. However, do not allow anyone else into the room. You are not to talk to anyone else either. I have also prescheduled lunch and dinner for you; they will be delivered at the appropriate time.”

  He steps away from the table and begins moving toward the door, but something in me causes me to call out to him, to stop him.

  “Tony, please.” He stops and looks back at me, waiting for me to speak, but the words don’t come. Almost like he understands my struggle, he nods his head and walks out of the room.

  I take a deep breath, holding back the tears threatening to spill over. There is something about his words. I want to believe them, and not because of what it means to me. I want to believe him because he needs me to.

  For both of us.

  Chapter 7

  Damien

  I never intended to reveal so much to her. It was dangerous.

  Too dangerous.

  But I couldn’t help it. There was something about the way she stared up at me, on the verge of tears, that I couldn’t handle. The lines they fed her, the expectations she had, it was too fucked up to keep her guessing.

  She needs to know I’m not a threat. She needs to know she’ll keep that part of her and I will do my part to make sure she makes it out of this alive.

  After last night, and now this morning, I’m more determined than ever.

  “Tony, can I talk to you for a moment?” Mirabelle’s nasally voice stops me in my tracks. I turn toward her, offering her a smile, masking the worry I felt choked by seconds ago.

  Get a hold of yourself, Reynolds.

  “Mirabelle, sweetheart, how was your night?”

  “Cut the crap, Tony, you know I’m pissed,” she huffs at me and places her hands on her hips. Obviously wanting to appear more of a threat than she really is. “What was that all about?”

  “What was what about?”

  “Last night. The girl.” She taps her foot expectantly. “We had a deal, and you didn’t follow through.”

  “Is this about the blonde?” I ask just to irritate her. I knew last night she wasn’t going to be happy with what happened, but I’ve planned for this moment. I know how to deal with Mirabelle. She just needs to be reassured that Svetlana is a much better choice for her.

  “Of course, this is about the blonde. You knew I wanted her, but you chose her for yourself. Then you saddled me with a ghastly excuse of a woman.”

  “Don’t you fret your pretty little head over this.” I reach up and trace a line from her forehead down between her ample bosom, noting the way she shivers from my touch. “You should be thanking me. I did you a favor. The blonde was nowhere near the caliber of Svetlana.”

  “Of course, she isn’t. She couldn’t even be lumped into the same category as the beast you chose for me. How could you, Tony?”

  “The girl was a lousy lay. If anything, I saved you the frustration. While Svetlana might not be the prettiest girl—”

  “Prettiest? She’s absolutely hideous—”

  “Tell me, Mirabelle, did you play with her?”

  “Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “And how did she fare? Better than a girl of your usual caliber?”

  “Tony—”

  “The blonde cried during the entire experience. From the moment Andre left my suite until I walked out this morning. She was a weeping mess. I contemplated locking her in the bathroom last night, she cried so damn much.”

  “Get to the point, Tony.”

  “She wouldn’t have survived one night with the tigress you are known to be.” She opens her mouth to speak again, but I’m done with the argument. I feel like the worst kind of human being offering Svetlana up like I did, but having to convince Mirabelle of the woman’s worth, it’s like a knife twisting in my gut. “We had a deal, Mirabelle, an
d you received your toy at my request. You need a toy with stock and stamina, which is why I suggested Svetlana. Give her time to prove her worth. I have a feeling she will become your new favorite.”

  She sets back on her heels, contemplating whether it’s worth pushing the argument any further. She may not like me, but without her husband around, I believe her bark is all she has. She is a woman who controls her bed, but not the world around her. Though she would have it differently if given the opportunity.

  She keeps her mouth closed, smartly deciding not to push the subject any further. She’s backed into a corner, just the way I want her.

  “But you said she isn’t pleasing to your needs.” I was wrong. She isn’t smart at all, just calculating enough to be annoying.

  “She’s trainable,” I reply in a clipped, irritated voice.

  “Then you must inform Armando—”

  “Enough,” I interrupt. My irritation for this woman begins to morph into anger. She flinches and steps back to cower. “Thank you for your concern, Mirabelle, but I will not stand here and allow you to question me any longer.”

  She looks down, her eyes cast to the floor at our feet. I step back, ready to be done with her, but she stops me in my tracks.

  “Perhaps, I can join you tonight to help train the girl.” Her voice is timid and slightly shaky. She takes a few steps toward me and closes the distance between us to press her body against mine. Her hand slips up my chest and begins to fidget with the buttons of my shirt. With disgust churning in my gut, I place my hand over hers, wanting to push her away from me, but instead, I hook a finger under her chin, pulling her gaze to mine. It doesn’t take much to dominate this woman, despite the rumors about her.

  “I don’t share,” I whisper roughly. Anger vibrates in my chest, and she shivers, feeling the emotion roll off my body in waves.

  “I’m more than willing to pick up the slack without her there,” she purrs, closing her eyes as I adjust my hold on her to place a hand at her hip, squeezing it tightly. She gasps from the pain of my fingers digging into her flesh.