To lock him away in a single room and force him to paint day in and day out until he started to go mad…
Eli.
Kind, compassionate, humble, honest, and every other thing he is that I'll never be. Ambrose took the best of us and twisted and bent him to his breaking point and didn't bat an eye. He watched Florence's health decline and used Julian's grief and vulnerability to get the information he needed to steal the Ashfords' collection.
He's more than a narcissistic sociopath. He's cunning and ruthless and we need our heads in the game if we have a shot at this thing.
I press myself deeper into the shadows as they enter the front door. Seven kicks it shut behind him, carrying a giggling Aurora up the stairs. Her bare ass bounces with each of his bounding steps.
I don't move until his bedroom door shuts, then I frown at the dirty footprints over the floor and toss my towel onto the table to go and grab the fucking mop.
7
SWEET STING
SEVEN
Iset Aurora at the threshold of my door and push inside the dark space, feeling along the wall for the light switch. It turns on the stained glass Tiffany lamp in the corner of the room that's worth more than some houses. It casts red-and-amber-hued light over the dark surfaces of my room, glinting off my collection.
Aurora's hand in mine pulls, and I hear her intake of breath as she halts inside the door.
It takes me a few seconds to realize that even though she's been in here twice now, both times the lights were out and stayed that way. Once last week, when she snuck in, crawled into bed with me, and rode me practically until fucking dawn. And the other day when she fell asleep on the couch rewatching season four ofStranger Thingsand I carried her up with me.
Since there are no windows—becausefuckbeing woken up by the sun—it's still pitch dark in the morning when we get up and stumble downstairs for coffee. She might've seen some of it, but not clearly enough to realize what she was looking at.
"What is all this?"
Aurora lets the door fall closed behind her as she runs her fingers over a Roman helmet complete with red plumage affixed to the wall, moving down the line to a horrific black mask carved into petrified wood, and then a framed coin older than most of civilization. Each piece is near priceless, stolen from various collectors and museums.
Her steps falter as she comes to the next piece. It's new.
I hammered two long rail spikes into the beams to rest the metal bat atop. It may not have been anything special before, but now?
With her name carved into it and the blood of her abuser still staining the gouged lines, it's one of my favorites.
"Seven, you should get rid of this," she says, but by the way she's looking at it, I know she's glad I kept it, too.
I push my hands into my pockets and stand next to her to admire the work of art we made together.
"Nah." I shrug. "If someone comes looking, this bat may actually be the least of my worries."
She blinks, confused, until I jerk my chin to the rest of the wall. The ceiling. The surfaces of my dresser and the long table against the far wall.
Aurora spins in a slow circle, taking it all in.
The jawbones arranged in groups of four to look like morbid flowers and the teeth pegged into the empty space at their centers.
The ashtray forged of purest yellow gold.
The jewelry, rare books, sculptures, and instruments.
She stops to admire the woodwork in a Sugawara chair, and I smirk, recalling how fucking mad Atty was when I told him I wouldn't leave Paris without it.
"Eli calls it my cave of wonders." I lean a shoulder against the wall, watching her admire the spoils of my work.
She casts her gaze to the sweeping bolts of vicuna wool draped around the corners of the ceiling and the antique crystal chandelier that can only be lit with candles.
"Yeah," she decides. "It's like I walked into a treasure chest. A slightlymorbidtreasure chest."
