In which things get complicated. And bloody.
Sorcha…
When I woke up this morning, Eileen was standing over my bed. I yelped and fell off the other side. The poor woman was waving her hands anxiously.
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You’re callin’ me dear now?” I sass her, “Well, that’s a sight better than callin’ me nothing at all, aye?”
“Dear is better than calling you a cheeky monkey, young lady,” she admonishes me with a smile. “Now, get dressed and come to breakfast. I’ve made all the foods I’ve seen you enjoy.”
“‘All my favorites’ is right,” I murmur, staring at the breakfast buffet. Fresh squeezed orange juice, almond croissants drizzled with chocolate, sausages, mushrooms, sauteed potatoes with spinach, and smoked salmon… Eileen went all out today. Is she trying to add a little celebration to me finally escaping my room confinement?
Slowly making a plate, I can feel the ache in my neck and back that tells me it was another bad night. Nightmares always leave me sore and exhausted. Even so, maybe it’s just being set free, but I feel grand today.
My captor enters the dining room, dressed in another pristine suit in charcoal grey with a red and grey patterned silk tie. He doesn’t look over as he selects his breakfast from the buffet and seats himself, eyes on an iPad.
It would be wise to finish my meal in demure silence and get out of there quickly.
And then as usual my mouth opens without leave from my brain.
“I’m finally let out of my room?” I ask, “The great lord and master of the house has decided I’ve learned my lesson?”
His gaze rises from going over his boring stock reports or his plundered millions. “Have you?”
After I promise to wait until my brothers come for me, he gives the slightest sound that could, under the right circumstances, be considered a chuckle and we finish the meal in silence.
It’s not until I’m settled in the library with a book that I realize he didn’t punish me for speaking without permission. Is my captor softening? Just a bit?
***
The afternoon is usually quiet at the penthouse, my captor is out somewhere, ruling over his Underworld in his expensive suits and signature sneer. I’m restless, so I chance a visit to his gym.
It’s usually clogged with my captor and his top men, but it’s empty today. The place is beautifully designed so that you can look out the windows and over the city as you lift weights or run on the treadmill. Everything is spotless, the equipment gleams, and the room is filled with light. I start on the treadmill, pushing myself until I’m nearly in a full sprint. It’s been so long since I’ve taken a run, the last time was the day I was kidnapped. I’ve beenworried that being taken would ruin yet another thing I loved, but it felt so good to let loose again.
Slowing down, I wipe the sweat off my face with my forearm as I eye the other bank of windows. There’s a small panel there that controls the sound system in the gym, and I scroll through it until I find a playlist for Pierce the Veil. Perfect. Something aggressive. Slowly tracing the mat with my toe, I try to remember what it was like to just let loose, spinning and weaving in some raucous dance with my sisters-in-law.
My feet remember the steps and I take a couple of practice leaps before plunging into a dance that cycles through my fear and fury to come out the other side into something that feels almost… joyful?
I happen to glance at a mirror as I’m spinning past and stumble with a smothered shriek. My captor is leaning against the doorway, arms folded and watching me. Me. Not his phone or his laptop or his iPad. Me.
“Sorry, I’ll leave,” I mutter, grabbing the t-shirt I’d pulled off when I ran. Standing in front of him in a sports bra and yoga pants feels too bare. His eyes narrow slightly as he conducts a leisurely visual inspection. He’s standing there, looking impossibly huge and reminding me of just how much bigger he is than me, a mountain of a man in a blue suit. Even when he looms over me, though, it doesn’t feel intimidating. He might scare the hell out of me sometimes, but I don’t think he would hurt me.
Be a bastard and lock me in my room? Aye. But lift a hand to me? I dinna see it.
“You’re fine,” he says abruptly, “I don’t have time to work out today.” He still stands there, though, looking me over before turning and heading back down the hall.
***
My head’s drooping over my book and I know I should head up and go to bed, but it’s so nice in the library. There’s a fire chasing off the night chill and the amber lights are glowing softly. There’s just something about the perfect ratio of squishy and soft in a chair that makes leaving this one difficult.
When the back lift in the kitchen opens, there’s a cacophony of shouts and moans. I know what this is, my brothers came home wounded too many times to not know the sound of an operation that went sideways. I drop my book on the table and I’m in the kitchen in moments.
There’s a man on the table. He’s sheet-white and bleeding from at least two bullet holes. Callum’s holding sterile dressing over the wounds as Dr. Fujimoto hurries in, snapping on sterile gloves.
“Miss, you shouldn’t be in here,” Callum says, “please go upstairs.”
“I could help,” I offer, hurrying over to the sink to wash my hands, “I used to help my Ma and the doc patch up my brothers.”
