After that realization, the running became more about fighting for control of my life. She wanted me to set the table, so I didn’t come home until bedtime. She wanted me to make a speech at a lounge meeting? I claimed I had laryngitis. Running away was supposed to cure this stupid mate contract too. It was par for the course she and I always played. Except this time, it’s different.
Prison was supposed to be a break from her and all the damn politics and messed up expectations. But this...this crosses a line that I might not want to cross. This is suddenly too much responsibility and I’m not sure my shoulders can carry it. I’m a sloucher, dammit. My posture isn’t meant for these kinds of decisions. I don’t want to obliterate my lounge. I just want to obliterate my mat’s hold over me.
“This is the only option,” my mat tells me coldly.
“Selling me off to a monster is the best you could come up with?” I shake my head. “Let me look over the books, maybe there’s something there that you’re just not seeing. I’ve always been good with numbers.”
My mat’s eyes turn hard as jade, and I know where this is going to go before she even opens her mouth to speak. She wants a solution to the lounge’s problem, but only the solution thatshe’sdecided on. After all, it’s not just the debt that she wants gone, it’s me.
“Sinclair Denali, I am your matriarch, and you will do as you’re told.”
I stare at her for a beat and wonder how I could’ve ever hoped that she would someday care about me. My eyes move from my mat to my pat. I wish I saw some hint of defeat in his slumped shoulders, like he had fought for me but lost, but it’s not there. He looks...unaffected.
Clearly, my mat and pat are a dead end on thehow to save the loungeissue, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other options. I just need to find out exactly what the debt situation is and why. Once I have that, I can figure all of this out on my own.
Hopefully.
Probably.
Maybe.
“No, I won’t,” I answer to her demand. There will be no sitting pretty and doing as I’m told.
I hang up the phone and push back my chair before standing up. My mat slams a hand against the plexiglass, but I ignore it. Another fist against the barrier echoes around me and then another, but I give them my back. I walk to the door and can just make out the high-pitched resonance of words being screamed at me. I let them bounce off my skin to land uselessly on the polished cement ground. Nothing either of them can say will penetrate. They raised me to have a hard hide, and they can be as mad as they want, but it’s partially their fault that my thick skin now serves as my armor.
I don’t pay any attention to the banging or aggressive noises. From the sound of things, my mat is attacking the barrier between us. I’m tempted to turn and watch the spectacle, but I know I need her hard eyes to be the last memory I have of this meeting. I need that image burned into my mind so I can find a way to get my lounge out of whatever mess she’s created for them.
I raise a fist and bang on the door, waiting for Sandbag to come back and try to force me to stay here. I don’t care if I have to gouge his eyes out through the little rectangle in the door, he better let me out. I’m not in the mood for any more bullshit.
I breathe through the adrenaline and anxiety that are forcing my heart to beat faster and my breaths to come quicker, but it’s not sand-colored eyes that I see. It’s a stunning pair of turquoise irises that take me in.
Rook looks over my shoulder at what is clearly my mat having a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums. The yelling seems like it’s getting farther away, and I can just picture my pat escorting her furious ass away and trying to calm her down. The noise fades, and Rook and I look at each other for a beat, me challenging, waiting to see if he’ll open the door or just leave me to stew in all the animosity saturating the room. I hear the lock click open, and then he pulls me out of the chaos and wraps me up in comfort and safety.
Or shackles. Same thing.
I look down at the handcuffs and arch a brow as he clicks them around my wrists, the door closing behind me. “Is this really necessary?”
His lips twitch in amusement. “I thought it would be a good distraction,” he says before fixing the last lock and then letting go.
My hands hang in front of me, the handcuffs firmly in place. “A good distraction?” I repeat dryly.
“Yeah, from your nice visit that seemed to go so well,” he replies, hiking his chin up toward the empty viewing glass.
I turn to look and confirm what the lack of noise already told me—they’re gone. My shoulders relax just a bit, and a sigh escapes my lips. That was one of the worst interactions I’ve ever had with my parents, and I’ve had some doozies in the past. Just as I feel the guilt and the emotions settle over me again, Rook suddenly holds up his black watch in front of my face.
“Timer starts...now.” He clicks one of the buttons on his watch, and it starts counting up from zero.
He drops his hand, and I cock a brow. “Timer for what?”
“The handcuffs, of course. Let’s see if you can get them off in under three minutes.”
Three minutes? Does he think I’m an amateur?
I shuffle on my feet, feeling myself growing excited. Me and my cockatrice always love a good race. “What do I get if I win?”
To my utter amazement, he shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out a trio of Pop Rocks packets. My mouth instantly waters. “Deal,” I blurt as I quickly raise my hands to my hair and pluck out my handy pin. My orange hair falls in front of my face, but I just blow it back with a breath as I get to work.
“You’re a terrible guard,” I point out. “Encouraging me to de-handcuff myself and whatnot.”
