by Rina Kent
No one is.
It’s only me and him.
By the time we reach my room, my energy has waned, but that doesn’t make me stop. I can’t stop. If I do, that means I’m admitting defeat, and I would never do that.
I hate how easily Jonathan overpowers me with a squeeze of his big hand around my thigh or arm. I hate that I’m so small in comparison to his frame.
I hate him.
I hate him so much, not only because of what happened to Alicia, but because I was about to instil my trust in him.
I was fucking falling for him, and for what? For this betrayal. For this…desolation.
It’s like my feelings are trapped in a state of hyperawareness and it’s almost impossible to sort through them.
All I know is that I need to leave. Now.
“Are you done?” he asks in that closed-off tone of his. His features are blank and the lack of reaction, the fact that I can’t read past his façade, is more frightening than if he’d lashed out at me.
Jonathan isn’t a man to be taken lightly, and to be caught under his thumb means danger. However, that doesn’t stop my innate need to run.
“I’ll never be done. Lock me up again and I’ll try to escape until I finally do it.” I punch him one more time for good measure.
He places me on the bed and I scramble away like an injured animal.
In fact, I am.
The bandages covering my palms are soaked in blood. My knees and lip sting, and the back of my head throbs.
However, that’s nothing compared to being stabbed, crawling out of the grave, and suturing myself.
If I could endure that, then I can endure this.
Jonathan stands in front of the bed, both hands in his pockets, appearing like a warlord sampling his prisoner of war. There are a few scratch marks on his neck and collarbone, and blood stains on his light blue shirt.
I try to hold on to my hate for him, but I don’t like inflicting pain on others. That’s so similar to my dad, and I promised myself to never be like Dad.
No.
I’m only defending myself like any injured animal trying to escape. It’s only natural that I’d scratch, bite, and claw.
Jonathan stares down his arrogant nose at me. The storm brewing in his grey gaze is a force not to be reckoned with. “Measures are already in place, so you will not be able to escape, and even if you do, I’ll find you in no time, Aurora. Now, why don’t you stop fucking around and tell me what’s with the show you’re putting on.”
I lift my chin, refusing to answer.
“You won’t talk? Is that it?” Jonathan lowers his knees to the bed, dipping the mattress.
I hold my ground, meeting his unfeeling eyes with all the bitterness and hate in mine.
His knees are on either side of my legs as he cages me in and lifts my chin with two lean fingers, trapping me with his savage eyes.
At a naïve moment, I imagined that I was seeing myself in those eyes. That’s far from accurate.
There’s no way I’d be able to. His gaze is bland, lifeless, and only filled with the purpose to hurt or to be obeyed.
Or both.
His philosophy is that he’ll hurt whoever doesn’t obey him. That he’ll make them disappear as if they never existed.
Is that what happened to Alicia?
Despite my attempts to regulate my breathing, it’s chopped off and I’m straight out panting as if I’ve just returned from a hike.
“What was that stunt all about, Aurora?”
“I want to go out,” I blurt.
“Go out where?”
“I want to go to visit Layla.”
“At three in the morning dressed like that?”
I stare down at myself and realise I’m only wearing a thin nightgown that outlines my breasts and stops above my knees. I hadn’t thought about that earlier, but now, I’m starting to feel self-conscious. It takes all I have to speak in a semi-neutral tone, “She’s a night owl. She wouldn’t mind.”
“Try again.”
“Just let me go, Jonathan!”
“That’s not how it works. You live here, and that includes abiding by my rules. That means, no jumping from the second fucking floor when you’re injured. In fact, even if you aren’t. That nonsense won’t happen again.”
The anger in his tone lands on my skin like whips. It’s even more painful than his clutch on my jaw.
He releases me and I suck in big gulps of air. It doesn’t last long as he pulls the first aid kit and undoes my palm bandages. I wince when the bloodied cloth is ripped off my skin. Despite his lethal expression, he’s not harsh about it, but the flesh is cut deeper than I anticipated.
“Were you even fucking thinking?” He examines my palms with disapproval as he soaks them with the disinfectant.
The sting makes me sink my teeth into the cushion of my bottom lip and I inhale through my nose until they’re finally clean. There are a few cuts positioned both diagonally and horizontally.
Jonathan wraps new bandages around the wounds and I stare at him from beneath my lashes, my body tightening for the next fight-or-flight mode.
I’ve had too many rushes of adrenaline for one day. I feel like I’m going to collapse from the force of them.
But it’s not like I can order my body to shut down. Survival has always been my natural gift.
After he’s finished with my palms, he checks my knee. Seeming satisfied with the bandage, he leaves it alone and pushes the box away. However, he remains looming over me like a threat, his brows still drawn together, and his expression is that of destruction.
It’s like when I first re-met him. When I didn’t trust him. Why the hell did I think I could trust him?
“What’s going on, Aurora?”
“Nothing.”
“You want to tell me you escaped to fucking Yorkshire, got attacked, pushed me away, then jumped by a rope made from sheets for nothing?”
Not finding anything to say, I purse my lips.
“I thought so,” he continues, his closeness doing shit to me I’m not supposed to feel right now. Why the hell do I keep inhaling him in?
And why on earth do I want to erase those scratch marks on his neck? He deserved them.
Right?
He grabs my jaw, nearly swallowing it in the palm of his hand. “Here’s how it’ll go, Aurora. You’ll tell me the truth, and I’ll decide how to deal with you afterwards.”
I clamp my mouth shut.
“Last chance.” His fingers dig into my cheeks. “You won’t like how I’ll react if you keep this tantrum up.”
“The only truth you need to know is that I hate you.”
“Wrong answer.” He releases me with a shove and I fall back on to my elbows.
My heart hammers at the dark promise in his voice, and I hold my breath, waiting for his next move.
Is he going to punish me?
Spank me?
I hate how my thighs throb at that thought. Screw that and screw him. I’m getting out of here the first chance I get.
It may take me a day or two, or however long it does, but it’s not like Jonathan will remain by my side for eternity.
He’s a workaholic. Come morning, I have no doubt he’ll piss off to screw more lives over. That will be my chance to escape.
Jonathan stands in front of my bed, his monster mask back on as he slips a hand in his pocket. “You’ll remain in this room until you talk.”
“W-what?”
“You’re the one who’ll choose if it’ll be hours, days, or weeks.” He tilts his head to the side. “Or even months.”
“You can’t lock me in. That’s kidnapping!”
“If that’s what you want to label it.” He turns to leave but stops and throws over his shoulder, “And don’t try to jump from the balcony again. I have my security surrounding the perimeter.”
“You can’t keep me here, Jonathan!”
“Then fucking talk.” His threatening tone slams into me and remains behind him as the do
or closes.
That’s when I hear it. The sound of my freedom being stripped away.
The sound of a lock.
Shit. Fuck.
I run to the door and test the doorknob, and sure enough, it’s locked.
After kicking it, I jog over to the balcony where the sheet rope is still hanging, and sure enough, two buff men dressed in black stand there.
My legs fail me, and I slip to a sitting position. Two realisations hit me at once.
One. I failed the only escape I could’ve had from here, because now that Jonathan knows of my intentions, he’ll make sure I never have the chance to repeat it.
Two. I have a weird sensation that I’m reliving Alicia’s fate all over again.
8
Aurora
I don’t sleep for the entire night.
I can’t.
It’s like I’ve been pushed back to eleven years ago, to those safe houses and in police custody. My body is scratched and my existence is humiliated.
Back then, I couldn’t sleep much, and now, it’s the same.
Survival is a bitch.
The moment it kicks in, all your brain is attuned to is the need to appease it. To fucking survive.
The game I prayed to never play again is back, and this time, I can’t drop out of the Witness Protection Program or forge a new identity.
I’m stuck in a gilded cage, and if I stay here for more, my fate will be just like that of Alicia’s.
That’s the only thought my brain is able to conjure up. That if I don’t get out of here, I’ll die.
I spend the long dawn and early morning hours searching around the room for a way out.
My phone isn’t here; I lost it somewhere. The landline is busy, which means Jonathan must’ve suspended it. I left my laptop in the car, so that’s out.
Every now and then, I spy on the buff blokes through the window in case they change position and I get a chance to escape.
They don’t. Both remain standing there as statues.
Not that I expected less from Jonathan’s level of control freak.
Around eight in the morning, I’m in my wardrobe, searching for something, a modern device or anything I can use to call for help.
The door opens and I startle, my injured knee hitting the wood panel. I wince, using my other leg to stand upright and bending the hurt one.
Jonathan waltzes inside, carrying a tray of food and wearing his impeccable suit as if this is an ordinary morning.
I can’t help feeling relief at how his shirt is clean, not smudged with blood like earlier. It hides most of the scratches, but there’s a long one that peeks from the edge of his collar.
I swallow at the view. It’s reddened compared to when I last saw it. Not that I should be sorry. He’s the one keeping me against my will.
“You haven’t slept.” He places the tray on my makeup console, flips over the coffee table I used to block the door during my failed escape, then slides the plate across it.
“Do you have a camera in here, or something?” I study the corners of the room because I wouldn’t be surprised if he does.
“Not currently, no. But that’s a good idea.”
Damn it, there I go putting ideas in his messed up head. I bite my tongue to stop from spouting nonsense. That will only give him the upper hand more than he already has.
“Sit down.” He motions at the sofa with a tilt of his arrogant nose. “Eat.”
“No.”
“Do you want me to shove the food down your throat, is that it?”
“I want you to let me go.”
“Are you going to sit the fuck down and eat, or will I have to do it?”
I jut my chin and realise my mistake too late. Jonathan reaches me in a few long strides and throws me over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of potatoes. A squeal rips from me as my world tips upside down, my hair falling to his thigh-level. Blood rushes to my head from this position, and I hit his back over and over, ignoring how my palms sting.
“Stop that or it’ll reopen your wounds.”
“Then let me go.” I hit him some more.
Slap.
I freeze as fire erupts in my arse. My thighs clench, and I can feel the wetness coating my knickers.
Shit. Fuck. No.
This can’t be happening. Why the hell am I still turned on by this? I shouldn’t be. He…he’s going to hurt me, to kill me. Like he did with my sister.
However, a part of my brain is numbed to that fact as if it doesn’t exist. A part of my brain horrifies me because that idiot doesn’t think Jonathan would ever hurt me.
That part felt no threat when Jonathan walked into the room. If anything, it was something completely different that I don’t like to name.
“There. Good girl, though you’re not acting like it lately.” He slowly drops me on the sofa and I scoot to the edge, pulling the nightgown down, nearly ripping the straps.
Jonathan’s head tilts to the side, eyes devouring my chest in that purely lustful way. “I like the view.”
I stare down in horror and sure enough, in my attempt to cover my legs, I exposed my breasts and a hard rosy nipple peeks through. I let the cloth snap back into place and glare at Jonathan, who seems…slightly disappointed.
The moment ends when he points at the food.
“No.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
My stomach growls as if agreeing with his statement. I ignore it and the embarrassment that comes with it.
“I wasn’t joking about shoving it down your throat, Aurora. You know I can do it, so don’t make me act on it.”
“You don’t get to keep me against my will, then force me to eat as if I’m a prisoner, okay?”
“You’re not a prisoner. You get to walk out of here any second you like if you tell me what the fuck is wrong with you since last night.” His voice turns lethal with every word and I know that he’s losing his patience.
Jonathan and patience aren’t on the best of terms, even on good days, let alone on bad ones. He’s used to getting what he wants with a snap of his fingers and now that he isn’t, he’ll get more ruthless with every moment I remain silent.
But on the other hand, if I tell him about the message Alicia sent me, I’m never getting out. That’s like accusing him of murder, and someone like Jonathan won’t let anyone throw something like that around. He’ll smother it in no time.
Forget about the six-month deal. He’ll have me follow my sister as soon as he deems necessary.
“So what’s it going to be?” he asks with that sharp tone.
I stare at him, bemused.
“The food, Aurora. Are you going to eat or should we go with my plan?”
I glare at him as I grab a piece of toast. If I’m going to get out of here, I’ll need every bit of my energy, so I won’t refuse the food that’s able to give me strength.
My palm stings when I close it around the bread and I flex it a little to alleviate the pain.
Jonathan seems to notice that, too. He sits beside me, and I attempt to scoot away, but I’m already at the edge. His thigh touches mine, and I try to ignore the warmth or the woodsy scent emanating from him like it’s his second skin.
He takes the toast from between my fingers, puts butter on it like I usually do, then brings it to my mouth. I try to snatch it back, but he keeps it out of reach.
“I can eat on my own.”
“Not after you injured your palms and reopened the wounds.”
“But —”
“Stop being fucking stubborn. Open that mouth and eat.”
I purse my lips, once again feeling like a child being reprimanded. It’s the damn authoritative tone, I swear. The way he lashes it out with that firmness has always gotten to me.
Deciding to pick my battles, I slowly open and take a tentative bite of the toast to not trigger the cut on my lip. Jonathan also detects that fact since he places it back on the plate.
God. Is there anything t
his man doesn’t notice? He’s so attuned to details, it’s insane.
He uses the knife to cut it into small pieces, but he doesn’t use the fork to feed me. No, he goes with his bare hands. Every time he slips something in my mouth, his lean, masculine fingers scrape against my skin, and a shiver overtakes me.
It’s like we’re back to the days when we used to have breakfast together as he wrenched one orgasm out of me after another.
I hate that I’m thinking about it.
I hate that it feels weird to not sit on his lap like usual.
Snap out of it, Aurora.
The food melts in my mouth before I’m even able to chew properly. My stomach stops making sounds as Jonathan fills it with everything on the plate.
He keeps feeding me, and I keep eating. I tell myself it’s to get my strength back, but each time his fingers brush against my skin, I shudder.
“Is it because of the attack?” His cool voice drifts around me like a lullaby.
What? A lullaby? Jonathan? This must be the lack of sleep talking. Jonathan and lullabies are as far apart as they could be.
I continue chewing on a piece of egg to give me an excuse to not speak. My hands lie limp on my lap as if they don’t know what to do. Usually, they would be picking food while Jonathan’s fingers are busy with other parts of my body.
The balance is off, and the fact that it’ll never be the same again fills me with a sudden sense of grief.
“Or is it Maxim’s interview?”
My blood runs cold at that, and I stop chewing for a second before resuming. Of course, Jonathan doesn’t miss it.
“I assume it’s both.” He cocks his head to the side. “Do you think you’re eligible to have another rebirth to escape this?”
I clamp my lips shut.
“You cannot have a rebirth when you didn’t finish the first one, Aurora.”
My voice is calm, considering my internal mess. “What do you know about rebirths when you were born with a silver spoon hanging from your mouth?”
He scoffs. Jonathan scoffs. The entire motion is so weird that I take some time to commit it to memory. “If anyone here was born with a silver spoon, it’s you, wild one. Just because that spoon was snatched from your mouth in your teens doesn’t mean it wasn’t always there. Maxim gave you everything you wanted, didn’t he? You were his spoiled little princess.”