The corners of my lips tip up into a smirk as Jared lights up a cigarette. But with a puff and the words that come out of his mouth, the smile vanishes. “With the Talvery girl shit, they should know we aren’t pussies when it comes to women.”
The silence stretches in the room for a moment with neither of us commenting.
“The Talvery girl,” I say beneath my breath and it gets a comment from Jared, but I don’t bother to listen to him. “She’s mine,” I tell him, cutting off his joke or whatever the fuck was coming out of his mouth.
I stand abruptly, letting an anger I haven’t felt in a long time dictate my words. Staring into Jared’s eyes, the words rip from my mouth, “The next time someone refers to her as that, the Talvery girl,” I practically spit out the name, “you tell them, she’s all mine.”
My teeth grind against each other so hard, I swear they’ll crack.
Jared doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. I don’t think he’s breathing, although the cigarette in his mouth stays oddly still with the glow of amber making his expression look even paler.
My muscles coil, waiting for him to call her that again. She’s not the Talvery girl. She doesn’t belong to them.
“What’s her name?” I ask him, tilting my head and that cigarette wavers in his mouth. “Take out the fucking cigarette and tell me what the fuck her name is.” My eyes pierce into his as he drops the cigarette from his mouth, barely catching it between his fingers and swallowing thickly. The cords of his neck are tight, and I can hear him swallow.
“I—I—” he stutters, and I lean in closer to scream in his face, the words of my question scratching and ripping their way up my throat, “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know,” he says in a quavering admission.
“It’s Aria,” I say then pat his shoulders with both of my hands as he struggles to look me in the eyes. The anger wanes as I feel his sweat beneath my hands.
“It’s Aria, and she doesn’t belong to the Talverys anymore.” My words are calm, eerily so.
“Of course, she doesn’t,” Jared shakes his head slightly, his lips turning into a hesitant smile. “She’s yours. Aria is yours and she’s called Aria.”
He won’t shut the fuck up, the poor prick.
“You let anyone who calls her otherwise know,” I tell him, nodding my head once toward a spot on the brick wall. The bricks are redder, newer and don’t blend in.
“I’d hate to lose it and have to blow some fucker’s poor skull open because he pissed me off.”
“Yeah,” Jared’s answer is a whisper of fear. “Aria, and she’s yours.”
Jase’s hand hitting the back of my shoulder is the only thing that rips my gaze away from Jared’s.
“Keep up the good work, Jared.” Jase adds, “Good job tonight,” and pushes the door open to go back out into the bar.
He holds it open for me and I move around Jared, still very much stuck in his place and only nodding his response as if he’s scared to speak. As I take a step to leave, I glance down at him, the disgusting smell of piss overriding the scent of cigarettes. The fucker pissed himself.
I wish I could smile or feel any sense of pleasure from knowing how deeply rooted the fear goes. But all I can think is that these assholes are calling my Aria, the Talvery girl.
She’s so much more than that.
“You’ve got to back down with that,” Jase tells me as we walk side by side through the club. There’s no one around us that could hear, but still, I want to tell him to fuck off.
“I don’t have to do shit,” I respond in a grunt, the rage still looming, but even as the words are spoken, I know he’s right. They could use her against me. She could so easily become known as my weakness.
“What’s the point of doing that?” he asks me, cutting off my train of thought.
But I don’t have an answer ready. There’s always a reason. Everything I do has a purpose. It takes the entire walk through the club for me to respond, and not until we’re out of the front doors where the cool air greets us, and the moonlight lingers over the parking lot.
The wind whips against my face, and Jase slips his hands into his pockets as the valet pulls our car up to the curb. “The point is that they’ve forgotten she’s mine when they call her a Talvery. I won’t have anyone forget she belongs to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aria
Carter had me drink a glass of whiskey with orange bitters but somehow it tasted like chocolate. I don’t know what it was exactly, but it’s still humming through me. He left me with a second drink in his office and it’s the second one that did this to me.
Even as I stand in the kitchen, busying myself with something to take my mind off everything that’s going on around me, I can feel the alcohol numbing the pain. As if I’m spared from what’s going to happen, and it’s everything else that’s moving. I’m just standing here.
But I hate it. I don’t want to be helpless and beg for mercy from a man who won’t show it. I don’t want to seem helpless, but I have no choice.
The refrigerator is full of nearly anything I could want. Fresh eggs, deli meat, fruits, and vegetables. Most of the meats for dinner are frozen, but there’s plenty to satisfy me.
I’m not hungry in the least, but Carter told me to eat and so here I am.
It took me a while to get started, long after Carter had left.
Instead of doing anything at all, I stared at the door. And then each of the windows I passed. And the windows to the garden. I wish I could leave and tell my father they’re coming, but I’m sure he knows. That’s the only comfort I have in this powerless state. My father must know they’re coming for him.
The knife slices through a tomato. It’s so sharp the skin splits instantly without any pressure at all. I suck the taste of the whiskey from my teeth. I can’t do anything, but I need to do something.
The thunk of the knife on the cutting board is the only thing I hear over and over again.
“What are you making?” A deep voice from behind me makes me jump. The knife slips from my hand and I’m too scared to jump away from it as it crashes to the floor. I stand there breathless with anxiety shooting through my veins.
“Shit,” the voice says as my heart races and pounds in my chest.
It’s Daniel. I’ve seen him before and I know that’s his name. But he hasn’t said a word to me. He never even looks at me. Yet, now I’m alone with him, and Carter’s nowhere to be seen. In dark jeans and a black t-shirt, he runs his hand through his hair with a shameful look on his face. “I should’ve come from the other direction, huh?” There’s a sweetness about him, but I don’t trust him. I don’t trust any of the Cross brothers.
“I’m just keeping an eye on you,” Daniel says easily, and his lips quirk up into a half smile. “A salad?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, but my answer is a whisper. It’s odd to be a prisoner yet remain free to move about. Even odder to have a conversation with someone as if there’s nothing at all wrong with my position.
I force myself to swallow and bend down slowly, keeping him in my periphery, to pick up the knife. My body trembles as I turn my back to him just enough to walk to the sink and rinse it off. “Avocado, tomato and Italian dressing. I was craving something like it,” I tell him as the water pours down onto the sharp edge of the knife. The light reflects in the water and my heart thumps again.
“Salt tooth?” he asks me, and I nod, eyeing him but trying to just have a conversation. I wonder what he thinks of me. What he thinks of Carter for keeping me here.
All I can look at is the knife in my hand, the alcohol is thrumming, my nerves are high, and I don’t know how to survive anymore.
The idea of an escape plan is forming, but the anxiety is so much higher.
His footsteps give him away as he walks to the other side of the counter, closer to where the chunks of avocado and freshly cut tomato wait for me. My mind is highly aware of where he is. And who he is.
H
e knows how to get out of here. He could be my ticket to freedom.
“Did you find the bowls?” he asks me as I turn around to face him, the knife feeling heavier in my hand.
With the water off, the room is silent. Eerily so. Or maybe it’s just because of the thoughts running through my mind. The counter is hard against my lower back as I lean against it to keep me steady as I watch him open a cabinet and pull out a bowl.
He smiles at me like he’s my friend or my companion, and not a guard to keep me here. And he lets me hold the knife. He doesn’t even look at it. I have a weapon and I’m a prisoner here, yet he doesn’t care in the least. Why would he, you weak girl? the voice in the back of my head taunts me and laughs.
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice sounds small and weak. Gripping the countertop behind me, it feels so cold, so unforgiving in comparison to how hot my body is right now.
The ceramic bowl clinks as it hits the countertop and Daniel smiles at me. A handsome, charming smile with his hands up in the air as he says, “I’m not going to hurt you; I promise.”
I’m the one with the knife.
I keep thinking it as I take each small step toward the counter.
My bare feet pad on the cold floor.
I offer him a small smile, but I don’t say anything and neither does he.
Until that knife slices so easily through the tomato again. I imagine the way it would go down, but it’s hard to focus. I couldn’t kill him. He’d have to push in the code and then I’d run.
“Is he treating you alright?” he asks me, and my grip tightens on the knife. He could so easily push in a code and grant me freedom. And then I could tell my father they’re coming.
Raising my eyes to his for the first time, I ask him, “What do you think?” I’m surprised by the strength, but I crave more of it.
His gaze flickers to the door behind me and then back to me.
Silence descends upon the kitchen.
“He’s in a difficult position,” Daniel offers me when I start to cut the slices into chunks, trying not to think of what would happen if I failed. What Carter would do to me if I tried to escape and failed. My chest hollows and my stomach drops at the thought. The cell. Or worse, the box. He knows what that box would do to me if he put a lock on the outside of it.
My blood runs cold.
“He’s not a bad man,” Daniel says, and I watch as the knife in my hand trembles as it hovers over the remaining slices.
Bad man? He’s not a bad man? If only Daniel knew what I was thinking.
“Good men don’t do what he’s done,” I tell Daniel without looking at him. “I begged him last night to spare my father. My family,” I say and my voice cracks.
“I’m sorry, but you know he can’t do that.” It’s his only response and I crumble inside. My heart twists in a painful way. It’s a horrible ache that I can’t explain when I hear Daniel turn to walk away.
He’s leaving me. Because he can. Because it doesn’t matter if he leaves me to wallow all alone. All I’ll ever be is alone and pathetic if I don’t even try.
My fingers wrap around the knife until my knuckles are white and I cry out for him. “Daniel!” His tall, lean body stiffens, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he turns around.
He’s maybe five feet from me. But the kitchen island separates the two of us.
Be smart, I remind myself. But at this point, nothing I’m about to do is smart. Lowering the knife to my side, the blade nearly caresses my skin when I clear my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I offer him although I can hardly hear myself over the furious pounding of my heart in my chest. “Could you show me where the seasonings are?” I have to swallow before I can add, “Please.”
Daniel’s mouth is set in a grim straight line; his eyes pierce deeply into me like he knows exactly what I’m about to do. But he walks toward me. He walks to my side of the island. Inside I’m screaming that it’s a trap, that he knows. My blood rushes in my ears and the sweat from my hand nearly makes the knife slip.
Five feet becomes four, becomes three, becomes two.
And he turns his back to me, reaching at eye level to open a cabinet before turning around and finding that knife pointed at his throat.
The sweat that crawls along my skin is sickening. It covers every inch of me as I try to speak, but my dry throat won’t allow it.
Stupid girl! I hear the voice yell at me. Regret and fear are instant, but the knife is in the air and I can’t take it back. My hand feels as if it’s shaking, but the knife is steady.
I can’t go back. “Get me out of here,” I breathe as he stares at me with disdain.
“You don’t want to do this, Aria.” Daniel’s words are so genuine, so sincere, that I almost regret taking the step forward and nearly pressing the blade to his throat.
“I want to leave.” I somehow push the words out. How strong they sound, although I’m panicked.
Daniel’s eyes turn sympathetic, or maybe they just look back at me as if I’m the pathetic one. I can’t tell. He deceives me so.
“I can’t help you with that.” My heart plummets and races at the same time. This is my only chance, my only hope.
“Open the front door.” As I give the command, I step forward and my trembling hand pushes the knife closer to him, slicing the skin of his upper neck, just slightly. A small nick, but it cuts him. I cut him.
The horror of seeing the bright red blood distracts me for a moment, a moment long enough for Daniel to shove his hand in front of me and try to grip the knife.
He may be fast, but my fear is faster. The knife pierces through his shirt and bicep, easily cutting into him, slicing his arm as I stumble back.
My heart beats so hard I swear I’ll die from terror alone.
The hot grip of his hand burns into my forearm even after he’s let go. My back hits the counter and I jump slightly, but I keep the knife up and sidestep slowly around him. The adrenaline is higher than I’ve ever felt before.
This is bad, my heart screams in terror, this is fucking bad. And I’ve lost the advantage of surprise, the threat of the knife minuscule compared to what it was a moment ago.
“Let me go!” I yell at him as he seethes at me. His grimace grows to something else. Something that looks hurt for me once again. And I want to sneer at him and his pity, but I feel sorry for me too. And there’s nothing lower than that.
“I said let me go!” I’m too afraid to get closer to him and every step feels like my knees may give out from the pure adrenaline pumping through me.
“Even if I opened the door, there are two guards at the gates and I’m not leaving anytime soon. They know that.” His voice is stern, and he takes his eyes from me to look at the cut. “Damn, you got me good,” he says, still not even bothering to look at me. As if I’m not a threat.
“You could hide me in your car.” My voice skips over my words as I struggle to think about the next step.
“And be scared of your knife that’s with you in my trunk?” he asks and my head sways. My body threatens to sway with it. I failed. I already know I’ve failed.
Stupid girl, the voice says, but even she pities me and the earlier anger from her is absent.
My heart sinks and it doesn’t stop like it’s in a never-ending free fall even though I can already feel it in the pit of my stomach. “Get me out of here, please. You can get me out of here,” I say although my voice cracks and I take a step forward with the knife. “Please,” I beg him.
He finally glances up at me and says, “Put the knife down.” That’s all he says, in that disinterested tone that all of the Cross brothers seem to have. A tone that’s utterly dismissive.
“Fuck you,” I almost cry as I tell him off. I have to step closer to him, I have to go through with this. He nearly got the knife from me last time and if he does this time, I’m going back to the cell. Fuck. My throat closes in on itself.
As if hearing my thoughts, Daniel tells me, “I could grab my gun, Ari
a, don’t make me.”
His words kill the last bit of hope. What would I do? Throw the knife at him if he ran to get his gun? “Put the knife down.”
“Please don’t,” I plead with him. Tears prick my eyes at how stupid I am. At what’s to come.
The cell. I’ll be in the cell tonight. And for however long it takes for Carter to let me out after.
The heavy knife feels heavier and I want to point it at myself. A very big part of me thinks I could get farther if I would threaten to hurt myself. But I don’t want to be in pain. “Please help me,” I barely get the weak words out.
Daniel’s response is immediate, his steps deliberate and powerful. My body shakes as he comes close enough to grip the knife, but this time when he wraps his hand around my forearm, I loosen my grip and the knife falls from my hand to his other hand and only then does he let me go.
I cower like a disobedient child or worse, a dog who knows he’s about to be beaten.
Silent tears fall, and I wipe them as I listen to the knife drop into the sink before Daniel turns on the faucet to clean his cut. The cut I gave him.
“I’m sorry.” My words are choked, and I try to repeat them again but fail. My breathing comes in shallow pants. “I can’t go back. Please, I can’t.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Daniel’s voice is soft as he approaches me, but fear is the only thing I have to give him until he says, “We don’t have to tell Carter.”
His words make me stare into his dark eyes. They’re so like Carter’s. But the heat and desire aren’t there. Just sincerity.
“I won’t tell him, okay?” His comforting voice soothes the fear in me. “This will stay between us.” The relief that replaces the anxiety nearly makes me throw up.
“Why would you do that?” I question him. “I hurt you.”
“Because I would have done the same.” His simple answer is comforting, but it doesn’t give me any hope.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble my apology and have to clear my throat. I’m choking on my words. “I didn’t want to… to hurt you.”
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