An angel among demons.
Chapter 4
Imogen
The leather seat is warm and soft against my bare thighs, but the climate-controlled interior of the black limousine prevents my skin from getting sticky. My hands are curled delicately in my lap and I desperately resist the urge to pick at a fingernail. To do anything. Movement might betray my fear, and I refuse to do that. Emotion is weakness.
So I simply stare out the window at the passing scenery, hoping for a clue as to where this devil is taking me.
Devil.The term fits him as well as his perfectly tailored suit. He sits opposite me, a laptop on his knee. The pale blue light from the screen illuminates him in the otherwise comforting dim light of the car.
He wears a mask, no doubt hiding the disfigurement people whisper of. It covers his entire face and appears to be made of something lightweight, possibly ceramic. Its surface is smooth and unnatural looking, with only subtle ridges along the cheekbones, like some attempt has been made to make it look vaguely human. But the mouth is expressionless, merely a curve indicating lips without having any.
It’s devoid of humanity. Cold and untouchable.
He has dark hair, a little longer than would be consideredrespectable in my grandfather’s opinion. Its curls fall over his forehead and ears, as well as the pristine white collar of his shirt. All that can be clearly seen of his features are his eyes. And they are enough—certainly the eyes of a devil. Dark, brooding, and so intense I’m convinced they could see inside a person’s soul.
Not mine though. Everything inside of me is locked down tight. Lincoln Knight will only ever see what I want him to.
He looks up from his computer screen and finds me watching him. Instinct almost makes me flinch at being caught, but I fight it, remaining still. We must have been driving for an hour, and there’s little else to look at, given that the scenery has morphed from the twinkling lights of the city buildings to a seemingly endless stretch of night and highway. I can’t help but feel as we get farther and farther away from the lights, we get farther from civilization. Farther away from people who could potentially help a girl who was just bought by a monster.
“Are you thirsty?” His deep smooth voice almost catches me off guard. I can’t remember the last time I ate or drank anything. Subconsciously, I swallow. My throat feels scratchy and dry.
“Yes.”
He opens up the center console beside him and pulls out a glass bottle of water. Condensation runs down the side of the bottle and suddenly it’s the most appealing-looking drink I’ve ever seen before in my life. I watch him intently while he slowly closes the compartment, still holding on to the bottle of liquid nirvana. He takes out his pocket square and carefully wipes the glass down before unscrewing the metal cap. Still, he doesn’t hand it over. He replaces his pocket square and palms the cap.
Is this some kind of power play? Is he going to drink the water himself after asking if I’m thirsty? It wouldn’t surprise me if he were to do something so cruel, but surely it’s in his interest not to let me die from dehydration after he paid ten million dollars for me?
My instincts are confirmed correct when he finally handsme the bottle. I take it with slightly trembling fingers, annoyed at myself for the one physical reaction I cannot seem to control. No matter how many tests and punishments I endured, I couldn’t always fully control the trembling. There were times when I could, but in others the slightest tremor would give me away, and it was always when I was facing something new and unknown.
“Thank you,” I say, my tone as cold and detached as I can manage.
Then I take a swig of the water, ice-cold and soothing. It floods my mouth with sweet relief, washing down my throat and almost making me want to groan with pleasure. I close my eyes and commit this simple experience to memory, having learned from an early age to find happiness in the smallest of things. And this, I will savor. Because I have no idea when I’ll experience anything close to happiness next.
When I open my eyes again, Lincoln is watching me intently. Those inscrutably dark eyes narrowed on my face, almost like he’s enjoying my pleasure—or more likely he’s enjoying my torment. Does he think me so easily rattled that I cannot endure his scrutiny? He may be used to that from the other women he has purchased like cattle, but he won’t get any such reaction from me. Unlike those others, I’m prepared. I, Imogen DeMotta, am not like other women, and I am ready for anything.
When the car finally rolls to a stop it’s still dark outside and I have no idea of the time. I think the auction started around noon, given that we left thesafe housea little after sunrise and we drove for a few hours to get to the venue. Then we were given some food and water before it started. The whole day felt like it lasted for an eternity, but I do some mental math and figure even if every lot sale took ten minutes, and accounting for the time between sales, it must have lasted at least ten hours. Then I had to wait around for a short time while Lincolnpaidfor me, so I would guess it’s already after midnight.
Lincoln opens the door and holds out a hand to me, offering to help me climb out. Because it would be impolite to refuse, I take it and allow him to assist me. In contrast to his cold exterior, his fingers are warm against mine. His grip is firm yet somehow tender. The gesture could almost be described as chivalrous... if he hadn’t just bought me like a piece of meat at some sick, twisted auction. If the man wasn’t a devil who’s in league with the Brotherhood.
He drops my hand as soon as I’m out of the car and turns his attention to his driver, who’s standing beside the open door, staring at his boss intently, his bright blue eyes unblinking. The driver’s tall, over six feet, and almost as broad as the brute beside me. My eyes scan the area quickly, always alert for any potential opportunities for escape, but there are none here.
Lincoln signs something and then his driver signs back. I wonder if he’s actually deaf, or if Lincoln just doesn’t want me to hear whatever it is they’re speaking about. However, I know a little sign language, and all I can decipher is that his driver is telling Lincoln to call him when he’s needed next.
With a respectful nod, the driver grabs a large flashlight from the car and hands it to his boss. Then he climbs back into the car and the sleek black limousine pulls smoothly away, leaving Lincoln and I standing on the side of a long deserted road lined with dense forest on either side.
“This way.” He flicks on the flashlight and jerks his head in the direction of the trees.
I walk beside him obediently, following the white arc of the flashlight as it bobs through the trees. I try not to think of what manner of wild animals or insects might be scurrying through this undergrowth and instead take in as much information about where we are and where we’re headed as possible. But there’snot much to go on at all. Just darkness, trees and more trees. Why are we even headed into the woods? I suppose it does make sense for Lincoln to live in the middle of nowhere, given his reclusive reputation. And the man has just paid ten million dollars for the pleasure of my company, so I figure even if he is a serial killer with a fetish for tracking his prey in the woods, he’ll at least want to keep me alive until he gets his money’s worth. If he was merely intending to kill me on the side of the road, surely he wouldn’t have gone to such expense. Still, my fear of whatever unknown I’m walking into is keeping my nervous system teetering on a knife’s edge, and I’m sure my body is being powered solely on adrenaline right now.
We only walk a few hundred yards before coming to a square concrete building. It looks so out of place here in the middle of so much nature, but it’s deep enough into the forest to not be seen by passing cars. The structure is bigger than a house, but from what I can see from the beam of the flashlight, it has no windows and only one steel door. And now my survival instinct is kicking in. Panic curls in my chest, its icy fingers squeezing my heart so tightly that I struggle to breathe normally. Is this some kind of torture chamber set up in the middle of nowhere where nobody will hear me scream? Bile surges up in my stomach, burning my throat.
I swallow it down and remember how to breathe.
In. Out.
One, two, buckle my shoe.
