I’ve never spoken much, but these last days of confinementhave robbed me entirely of my ability to speak. I can only stare mutely, helplessly, as he closes the door, then turns the key in the lock, leaving me alone once more.
6
Damien
Itear myself away from her again, and it’s even harder this time. I can tell she wants me. Her large violet eyes are locked on mine, and in them I read a mute plea to stay. But I won’t give her what she wants. Maybe there’s a streak of sadism in me. I’ve never thought of myself like that, but the truth is, I could give Igor a run for his money.
She needs to know that I decide.
Besides, there’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, and this is the first chance I get. I couldn’t do it in the cell because there are no cameras down there. The cell is where people go to be forgotten.
But during her week downstairs, I’ve been busy outfitting thefourth-floor apartment with cameras. Going up to my office, I settle back in my chair and open the feed on my phone.
She’s inched timidly into the living room, staring in awe at her surroundings. I suppose theyarea lot nicer than what she’s been accustomed to.
It’s true I never went to the trouble of finding out her name until she was already in my hands, but I didn’t need to. I know exactly the kind of homes Oakley kids grow up in. Abject squalor. I was once an Oakley kid myself, and I have no desire to relive any of it, not even through her.
I actually went out of my way to keep from discovering anything about her. It was enough to see her in the camera surveillance system, to note her worn clothing, the lonely hungriness in her eyes. She was my pet, and that was all.
Of course, once she got mixed up with the nanochip, we had to do a background search. It took about four seconds for Vincent to find out her name and to dig up the only newsworthy thing about her. Her parents died in an apparent murder-suicide five years ago, and it was mentioned in a tiny column in theOakley Times. There’s nothing though to indicate she’d have any interest in a nanochip or in the annoyingly noisy politician to whom it belonged.
Still, she has somehow got caught up in this clusterfuck of a situation, and that makes her a target. We’re all in agreement on one subject, at least.Don’t tell her a thing. Keep her in the dark.Vale and Logan insist on it because they think she’s guilty. I know she’s innocent. But I also know what happens to people in our world who know too much.
-
It’s eight p.m. when Lucy walks in, carrying a notepad and pen. Time for our evening meeting, only today, I won’t be talking to her about business concerns. Well, not the kind she’s used to.
“The girl’s downstairs on the fourth floor. Apartment B.”
She nods, slightly confused.
“I moved her out of the cell.”
“Oh. Vale said okay?”
I scowl at her. “Since when does Vale get final say? I’m okay with it, and that’s what matters.”
She has the grace to blush. “Right. Sorry. What do you want me to do?”
I take a deep breath. It’s not the 1900s anymore, and it feels somewhat backward to require this of her just because she’s a woman. Though that’s not why I’m asking. She’s the person I trust most, after Logan. And I don’t see myself asking an actual Devil to do… well, chores.
“She has to eat. She’ll need some basic necessities, more clothes than what’s there for the moment. Someone to clean up after her.”
She arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t respond. She probably guesses what’s coming, but she keeps a neutral expression, waiting. “The apartment is pretty bare. No toothbrush, cosmetics, tampons, none of the kinds of things a woman may need. But I haven’t been able to find someone worthy of trust on such short notice.”
She chews the end of her pencil thoughtfully. “How about Igor?”
It’s my turn to look surprised.
“He was taking care of her in the cell, no?” she clarifies.
I snort. “I’d hardly call what he was doing taking care of her. Giving her shitty food three times a day and forgetting to give her the most basic things. She went four days without washing. Shelost weight, and she didn’t have much to begin with.”
“Right.” She’s stopped chewing the end of her pencil, and is busy chewing her lower lip instead.
“Besides, Igor likes the basement. That’s his domain, apart from when he comes up for our conferences. He’s used to dealing with prisoners, but I don’t see myself asking him to take care of the girl.”
I would also kill him rather than let him anywhere near her.
