“I’m keeping her around for a while,” ‘Sir’ says vaguely, heading for the hallway.
“She that good of a fuck?” Another one of the monsters tilts his head, looking me over. “Let’s see how well she sucks my dick while you’re banging her from behind.”
‘Sir’s’ grip on me tightens in warning. “You know I don’t share. What happened with the two assholes who wanted to join the Lords?”
“Brennan’s getting his broken arm set,” Enzo says gloatingly, as if damaging a fellow human being is a magical thing. “He made it through, though. He’s worthy.”
“We only allow seven Lords,” another one of them says, sucking on a cigar as long as his arm. “The last vacancy was filled by you, Wallace.”
Wallace. My captor’s name is Wallace. First or last?
“He looks like the type who’s willing to wait it out,” he says indifferently. “I’m heading up to bed. None of you fuckheads wake me up.”
Laughter and an array of filthy comments trail after us as he pulls me down the hall. The cleaning people hurry out of his way, keeping their heads down. The woman I’d pulled out of the pool last night glances up and looks stricken to see me. I shoot her a small smile as I’m dragged past. Maybe she’d be willing to help me, I can tell she knows exactly why I’m here.
Although… whyamI here? Wallace/Sir didn’t try to rape me, he didn’t even hurt me.
The suite he pushes me into is elaborately decorated in blues and golds, the massive antique furniture is beautifully carved. It’s also remarkably clean, given the state of the rest of the mansion, though the little gardener’s cottage he’d seemed to claim was spotless, too. Maybe he’s a clean freak as well as a heartless psychopath.
When he shuts the door, I shudder in relief. “Your friends are bastards. Offense intended.”
“You really didn’t listen to me when I told you I’d keep you safe if you followed my rules, did you?” He’s scrolling through something on an iPad on the desk. These hedonistic pricks do something other than get drunk and indulge in hurting people?
“Sorry. We’re alone here, so I thought it would be okay.” The apology is stiff, but I force it out. I’m still alive, and unfortunately, he’s the reason why.
“I have work to do,” he says, still not looking up from his iPad. “There’s a mini-fridge by the bar, and they stock it with food every day. Get something to eat and stay quiet.”
He’s killing me. I’ve never been the “Sit still and be quiet” type, even as a kid. But since I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, I pull a sandwich and a bag of mini carrots out of the little fridge. I take a huge, happy bite and pause, chewing.
Chewing some more.
And more. The indigestible mass in my mouth tastes like how roadkill under a hot summer sun smells. Quietly spitting the mouthful into a napkin, I look up to find Wallace looking at me with a slight curve of amusement gracing his lips.
“You don’t like it?”
“What is that?” I ask, gulping half a bottle of water.
“Kale, beets, and protein paste.” He’s already going over his documents again.
“You eat this crap regularly?” I’m appalled. The monster isjacked,each muscle perfectly sculpted, and now I see why. He eats like an apex predator turned vegan.
“Every day,” he agrees absently.
“Maybe if you ate delicious and flavorful things, it would fulfill you and you wouldn’t need to chase innocent people through the forest.” I smile sweetly. I’m pushing it. I know I am. But the more time I spend in his company, the less I believe that he’s going to kill me.
There’s no small, amused smile this time. “You’ll stop talking now,” he says coldly. When I open my mouth, he holds up one threatening finger without even looking at me.
Seating myself by one of the windows, I free a slice of bread from the horrible sandwich and eat that, along with my mini-carrots. The suite looks out on the little harbor and the empty dock. I’m straining to see inside the darkened boathouse window, I don’t know if Marla’s still there. He said she was allowed to go; however, it’s not like there’s a firm foundation of trust between us after the horrors of last night. Ihaveto find a way to talk to her.
I lose my chance when a large boat pulls up to the dock, collecting several of the unknowing or unwilling guests from last night. Everyone looks pretty rough, clearly recovering from the world’s worst hangover.
Squinting, I spot a redhead, and she looks back at the house briefly before getting on the boat. My heart leaps as I realize it’s Marla. I pound on the window as she boards the cabin cruiser, but she doesn’t look back again.
Spinning around, I see that Wallace is finally deigning to look at me.
“Tell me the truth,” I say, putting my shaking hands behind my back. “They’re taking those people home, right? You’re not sending them somewhere equally as horrible?”
I can faintly hear the engine start on the boat, and I turn back to watch, nose pressed to the window, as it heads out into the main channel and disappears.
