His first words to me since we kissed at the altar.
His gaze is unreadable, jaw tight as the doors open and we step inside.
The house is quiet and gloomy, opulent but sterile. Black marble lines the walls, and there are dark hardwoods and paneling everywhere.
A man materializes to my right—inky black hair, a lock of it grazing a black half-mask covering the bottom half of his face with a cutout for his lips. He’s Asian, and with his tall frame and alert gaze, he reminds me of a superhero. Or a villain.
A subtle smile plays on his lips, as if he can read my thoughts. He takes my luggage and makes his way up the stairs.
Elias pauses at the staircase.
“You can go anywhere except the third floor. That’s off-limits. Ren,” he gestures to the masked man, “will be with youat all times. He’ll give you a new phone with a tracker. Don’t even think about ditching it, because I’ll know.”
Indignation burns inside me. I roll my eyes. “Anything else, O’ Shadow King?”
“You can’t go out. A stroll in the yard is fine, but that’s it.”
I gasp. “You can’t hold me prisoner in here!” The deal was to marry him and stay in the same house, so this is bullshit.
“Watch me.” His face hardens, and he steps toward me. “Don’t even think about disobeying. I’m the king of the underworld for a reason. Defy me, and your brothers die.”
The air between us vibrates with tension.
I shrink against the banister, wondering how I could’ve forgotten what the man did. The violence and bloodshed. Killing people without blinking.
He drops his voice into a menacing whisper. “Everything you do, you must clear it with Ren. Security cameras are everywhere.” He motions to the black domes affixed to the ceiling. “Don’t try anything.”
Then he stalks off, his steps echoing against the marble.
My legs tremble, and I plaster myself against the wall, needing support.
God, I hate this infuriating asshole.
This is temporary.Five more months until I’m thirty-five. Five months to figure out what The Association wants with me. What could my mother have written in her letter? I asked my brothers, and they had no clue either.
But I’ll find out. Because if there’s one thing Lana Anderson isn’t, it’s someone who wallows and cries.
I draw a deep breath, steel my nerves, and start up the stairs. Ren meets me on the second-floor landing and leads me down an equally sterile hallway to the room on the farthest right.
He hands me a phone. A message blinks back at me.
Ren
This is your suite.
I stare at the words on the screen.
“You don’t speak?”
A sharp nod.
“But you can hear.”
Another nod.
Ren
I hear just fine.
