“It’s only a matter of time before he comes for me.” I whispered, hoping maybe that was true, choosing to believe that it was—even if a sliver of doubt lingered at the back of my mind. Carter might not love me anymore, but I knew he’d never let me suffer this awful fate, he’d said so himself.I think.
“Kensington?” Taggart’s smile was cruel as he cocked his head like a predator, and my heart bottomed out, feeling like helpless prey. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
I stared up at him, my mind swirling. The events of that night were still so fuzzy around the edges, so many gaps in between, so many horrible things I wanted to believe I’d dreamed up. “He said he’d come for me.” I desperately tried to remember Carter’s face, the exact words. The promise was more of a feeling than an actual memory.
Taggart let go of me and wandered over to the vanity, ducking down to adjust his suit collar. “Hate to break it to ya, but Kensington isn’t coming for you—he isn’t going anywhere at all, actually.” Taggart laughed, looking at me through the mirror. “Goddamn, they must have given you a heavy hit of the good stuff. How were the hallucinations, by the way—I’ve heard they’re quite the ride.” I stared at Tag, heart pounding as sickening fear churned in my stomach. “Let me fill you in on the important details.Youwere crying—so much fucking crying.” Tag rolled his eyes. “AndIpumped Kensington full of so much lead it took multiple people to drag him away. Andheis probably already in the dirt.” Tag mused, clarifying. “He’s dead.Finally, the immortal bastard.”Tag fussed with his hair in the mirror. “Itenderized him up real good, so I’m sure the worms are already busy making a meal out of him.” I closed my eyes and clamped down on a sob. Tag strolled back over to hook a finger under my chin with a glazed look. “Don’t look so sad, it’s just you and me now, baby, and I promise we’re going to have all kinds of fun.”
“Don’t call me that.” I whispered, lower lip trembling. “I’ll never be your baby, and definitely not your goddamn wife.”
Taggart leaned in, his breath rushing across my face as a tear slipped down my cheek. “I’ll call you whatever the hell I please, you little cunt, and you’d damn well better get used to answering to me, becausenobody’scoming for you.” He dragged his finger out from under my chin roughly and walked backwards with a shrug. “Play nice, and it won’t be so bad for you.” He finally turned, not bothering to look at me as he explained rather indifferently. “Or don’t, but I’ll make you regret it, I can promise you that.” He locked me in the opulent room, leaving me to crumble.
The next night, a dress box was sent up to my room with a request to join Taggart and his father for dinner. As I lifted the skimpy thing out of the tissue paper, eyed the lingerie underneath, I knew I’d never survive as Tag’s plaything, and I also knew my one small act of rebellion would cost me.
It did.
When Tag discovered I wasn’t coming down for dinner, he came upstairs to scream at me and left me with another bruised cheek and without dinner, but I’d gone hungry before, and I could do it again.
He was emotional, and if that was the only thing I could use against him, I would.It had worked once before.
Weak from days of not eating, days of grieving, and all the residual sedatives still lingering in my system—I knew the truth of what Taggart had told me. Over the last few days, I’d had plenty of time to lay here and piece all the scraps together—Carter taking a chest full of bullets that was meant for me, him crawling, bleeding out in front of my very eyes. Even if he’d been rushed to the hospital, which I knew he hadn’t been—it would’ve been a miracle for him to survive. And even if he hadn’t loved me at the end,I had still loved him, never stopped loving him.
Now he was gone, and the only way I could be with him was in my nightmares, where his broken and battered body, his screams, echoed through my mind, whether I wanted them to or not.
My tears had long run dry as I laid in a puddle of too-soft bedding and cried, staring at the broken glass all over the floor when Taggart let himself into my room several nights later.
His brow raised as he took in the mess I’d made, and I shakily pushed myself up as he approached, shoes crunching over the glass. “Clearly, withholding food isn’t an ample motivator for you.” Taggart sucked on his teeth, and I couldn’t help the small smile that formed at the tiny win.
“You think this is funny?” Tag scoffed. “We’ll see how funny you think it is when I carve my name into your skin to remind you who you belong to. As you know, if you don’t do what’s required, I have all kinds of ways of making you comply. You can scream and cry, and break every damn vase in this house, but just remember that you were purchased for one reason and one reason alone.” He snapped. “So when the time comes, youwillcomply and provide me with an heir, wedding vows or not.” He threatened, “Or I’ll throw you into one of the cells downstairs, with someone a hell of a lot bigger and meaner than me.” I swallowed hard, trying to keep my features neutral as he approached the edge of the bed, his voice dropping to a low, contemplative tone. “Or maybe you like it rough? Hmm? That wouldn’t surprise me one bit.” I flinched as he reached for me, dragging a finger downmy cheek with violent softness. “Don’t forget, Sarafina, there are lots of ways I can make you suffer, makeyour fathersuffer. And you’d deserve it too—wouldn’t you? So why don’t you just accept the fact that you belong to me now. You were always going to be a Caldwell, one way or another.”
Tag didn’t feed or check on me the next day and it finally occurred to me that maybe he was waiting for something. For what, I didn’t know, but after the threats he’d made, and what had happened in that car all those years ago—I was going to fight for myself, even if I was the only one doing it. I was growing weaker by the day, so if I was going to try to escape, I needed to do it now.
I’d given up on the windows after the first night, which meant the only way out was through the house. Ear pressed to the bedroom door, I stared absentmindedly into the lavish room that was my prison cell. There hadn’t been any movement in the hallway for a long while now, so I was hopeful, if not pretty confident, it was empty.
Thankful for my foresight, I jammed the butter knife I’d stashed that very first day into the first hinge on the old door, hoping the pin would slide free.It did.
The second one slid right out too, and I started to get hopeful, but as I stood on a chair and pried and pried at that third pin, begging and cursing at it, it didn’t budge. I was growing more frustrated by the minute. I was so close and yet so damn far away—it was an old door, probably hadn’t been greased up in ages—I suddenly had a thought.
A few minutes later I was giving that old door hinge the best hand job I’d ever given. I lubed it up with one of the old lady scented bath oils that’d been left next to the claw-foot tub—sweet talking it so filthy I could rival Carter’s dirty mouth, and that realization gutted me. I tipped my head against the door and silently sobbed, realizing I was never going to hear another one of hiswitty little remarks again. I knew I had to get out of here, but part of me didn’t have the strength to keep going. Not when the reality outside this room seemed just as grim.
When the pin finally wiggled loose, I was exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Spots laced my vision with the exertion as I relied solely on adrenaline to get that door off the hinges—this was clearly an ancient estate given the decor in this room, and the thick wooden door was obscenely heavy. The door groaned, and I barely got my fingers out before it thumped to the ground, the hardwoods groaning in protest. I winced, waiting, but no one came running.
Quietly slinking through the massive manor, I found most of the bedroom doors were locked. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I headed down a new corridor, muscles locking when voices in one of the rooms became apparent.
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I slowly crept across the old floors, hoping they wouldn’t creak as I pressed myself against the wall, and moved closer. I listened for a long minute before I lowered, daring a peek inside. Tag was having an argument with his father—I’d only met him a handful of times, but I recognized him.
There was no other way out except to cross in front of this open door—which meant I’d have to make a run for it and hope for the best. I was terribly weak as I waited for my window.
“I’m trying.” Taggart yelled, pacing the room.
“You have one job.” His father seethed, “Find those goddamn files.”
“They don’t exist.” Taggart exploded. “There isn’t a single painting of roses or flowers anywhere in that damn house with?—”
His father was seething as he cut him off. “It cannot be that difficult to find a flower mural, your incompetence is testing my patience, boy.”
“We’ve checked every painting in the entire fucking neighborhood and then some.”
His father was glowering as he opened a box of cigars andpulled one out. “Then use the damn girl to make him concede.”Him who?
