My vision gets filled with wild, untamed specks of red and orange, and a flick of satisfaction fills me. This is a threat. I’m done playing nice. Everything they’ve worked so hard on, everything they’ve built on dirty money, on blood, is being burned to the ground, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kaya asks, her voice a hushed murmur.
I flick the cap of the whiskey bottle away, letting it fall down. The alcohol fills my system, the fire dancing in my eyes. By morning, all of it will be gone. Their empires that never should’ve existed, their reputations, and their homes.
“It’s cathartic,” I respond.
New York is burning down, and it won’t stop burning until they return my butterfly to me. For all I care, it can disappear tomorrow. It makes no difference to me. I’m no longer trying to go the nice route. The bastards had it coming a long time ago.
You’re coming home, butterfly.
Within the next five days, I’ll have Blair back in my arms, back where she belongs. And I don’t care who I need to engulf in flames. I’ll watch the flesh melt off their bodies, I’ll listen to the piercing screams of agony, and I’ll record them for later so I can replay them later on. If need be, I’ll continue burning down cities, one by one, until she’s back.
And she’ll be back.
Soon.
SEVEN
The plate in front of me is a plastic one. They’ve reused it for quite a while now, and I’d know because every time they feed me, I’d nip at the edge of the plate, thus marking how many days I’ve been in here.
This is the fourth plate, and each one had at least fifteen small nips. Then again, I could’ve miscalculated a day or two. And the food? Two boiled eggs, a slice of bread, and yogurt. That’s everything they’d give me in a day. Sometimes, if Zoe is around, she’d hand me something else: a banana, another slice of bread, or a small chocolate bar.
If I ever make it out of here, I’m never eating those again.
Everything they do is just to remind me thatI’m their prisoner. Someone they’re forced to babysit, to watch over until Simmons decides it’s time for him to either kill me or use me for the purpose he brought me here for.
I’m still uncertain what that is.
The tension is at an all-time high here. Zoe’s constantly irritated, and she easily snaps at me. Which is odd, considering that at this point, she’s the only one giving me more food and keeping me alive. She’d let me bathe twice a week, all while being in the bathroom with me.
This house isn’t too big. It’s way smaller than Arlo’s mansion but definitely bigger than a normal person’s house. Three floors, marble tiles, with golden details all across. Old, expensive paintings scattered on the walls, subtle yet noticeable decorations, and those fucking plants that Zoe’s watering three times a day.
If I ever find a way out, I’m pissing in those pots first, then leaving.
There are fifteen bedrooms in total, some bigger, some smaller, and most unused, just furnished. I’m not allowed to move an inch without Zoe or one of their men being by my side. In fact, they’re monitoring the way I breathe.
The bedroom they’ve given me contrasts the rest of the house — it has nothing but a mattress on the floor, a pillow, a duvet, and a toilet in the corner. The door is automatic, and it locks as soon as I’m inside. If that wasn’t enough for them to ensure I wouldn’t try to escape, they added four cameras inside. Yes, four.
“Eat,’’ Zoe sneers, pushing the plate closer to me. Bile rises in my throat, and I have to force myself to bite into the bread. It’s not stale, but it’s too sweet for my liking. My stomach churns when the food hits it, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to handle this.
Zoe’s expression doesn’t change. There’s a scowl on her face, the same she’s had during my oh-so-lovely stay here. From what I’ve gathered by eavesdropping, Adams hasn’t made contactsince the night they kidnapped me. She’s holding onto hope that he’s alive, but if Arlo has him, the chances of him still being around are slim.
My eyes subtly flick to the two men guarding the door, the guns safely holstered to their waists. A silent threat that I shouldn’t try anything. Their names are Sam and Cam — twins, and clearly, their parents weren’t very creative.
My thoughts wander off, and I try to distract myself from the terrible food. Yet, it’s next to impossible when all of my senses are filled with the taste and scent of boiled eggs. I swallow it down in one go, barely chewing, and gulp down the glass of water that’s next to the plate.
Impatiently, Zoe taps her fingers against the wooden table. Her eyes don’t leave my face, and she tries to school her features back to a neutral, stoic expression, but I can see right through her. It’s been over four months, and she’s getting restless.
Her hair is pulled into a tight bun, makeup done flawlessly, and she is dressed in the best quality clothes. Yet, none of that hides the fact that underneath the materialistic things, she’s unhappy.
She’s scared.
Because if there’s a possibility that Adams comes out of this mess alive, she’ll be on the receiving end of his anger. Somehow, I can’t find it in me to care. Arlo offered her a helping hand twice, and she stabbed him in the back. These are the consequences of her actions.
“All done.” I push the plate forward, and it takes her a moment to realize I’ve said something. She sighs, picks it up, then puts it in one of the plastic bags, alongside the glass I’ve drunk from. It’s to lessen my DNA on the kitchen appliances, and after I’m sent to bed, everything is wiped clean with bleach. Every single surface of the house, all three floors, even the basement, to which I have no access.
“Good,’’ she nods. “Now, it’s bedtime. Cam, walk her toher room.’’
