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And with that, she thrusts the end of the poker up and into Felton’s throat.

Chapter 16

Darcy

FRIDAY

PM

God, this man kisses like a dream. With Christian’s lips on mine, I sink into the need to fuck him again, the tingling sensation between my legs growing despite having come only minutes ago. Christian can fuck like a god, but Jesus Christ, he’s annoying.

“You could leave him, y’know,” he murmurs, kissing down my throat.

I roll my eyes at this aged conversation. “Why would I trade a powerful man for … you?”

He pauses, pushing himself up on his arm to look down at me. “What the fuck is your problem, Darcy? You’re happy to fuck me but not marry me?” I give him a double-handed thumbs up and wriggle from beneath him and off the bed. “You’re un-fucking-believable.”

“And you are sounding like a broken record. We fuck, we come, it’s fun. Why do you have to ruin it with feelings?”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

I eyeroll and stick my finger into my open mouth, miming a gag. “You’re in love with yourself, Christian. You just want to take something that Felton has.”

I snatch up a robe just as the door opens, and Christian’s bodyguard gets an eyeful of my tits. He pauses, glancing between us.

“Just checking in, sir.”

“We’re fucking fine. Get out, Garfield.” Once we’re alone again, I arch my brow at Christian. “What?”

“I’m adding ‘hires bodyguards called Garfield’ to my ick list.” I pull on the robe. “Thanks for the orgasms.”

“Darcy, come on!”

I leave, slamming the door closed behind me, and stride down the hall toward Garfield’s room. What a name. I’ve killed a lot of men, but he’ll be my first Garfield.

Christian will keep his mouth shut because even though I treat him like shit, he really is in love with me. He’d rather hold out a little longer and see if I’ll leave Felton, which I never will. Felton and I won’t separate under typical circumstances, that’s for sure.

As I walk the cold stone hallways of the house I’ve visited since I was a teenager, I find myself wading through memories that used to keep me up at night. My screams. My pleas. My begs to go home. A year I stayed here at the beginning, until Felton and his father saw fit to allow me back into society.

A broken girl, they called me.

But no one breaks Darcy Whitmore.

Rapping my knuckles against Garfield’s door in a jaunty rhythm, I wait a few moments. An ornate vase sits prettily on the side table beside me, and I pick it up just as the door opens. It cracks easily over Garfield’s head and he stumbles back, allowing me room to step inside and close the door behind me.

I cut his throat with shards of expensive pottery, which isn’t a first but definitely not a favorite. For good measure I cut off his head, too. Maybe Christian will teach his bodyguards to knock, or maybe he’ll rat on me. Either way, I don’t care. I’ve sated two urges tonight, so now I have the strength to get into bed with a man I fucking despise.

SATURDAY

AM

Cocktails and floating in a pool. Anyone looking in would think I was living the dream, but truthfully, I rarely drink. It impairs me, and I don’t want to miss a single moment of my life, even though it’s hell. Maybe I’m creating a laundry list of horror to compare my new life to when I get out.

I open my eyes, my mind still clinging to the hopes of a nap, when I realize Sunday is gone. Sitting up, I glance around. “Sunday?”

She said she was going to the bathroom.

But when was that?