17. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Olivia
F or fifteen years, I have experienced a restricted view of the world. Ironwood’s view was always beautiful, with its lush green woods that changed with the seasons, but it was like a blanket. A blanket in which a little girl could hide her head beneath so the monsters wouldn’t get her. It was a false sense of comfort and security, because the monsters got me anyway. The view behind the glass in this room is awe inducing. Even with the sensory overload happening inside this room, I can appreciate the magnitude of the world outside. Skyscrapers are alive with life, warm lights emanating from windows as the day blends into night. This view would make anyone feel small. The monster might be trying to intimidate me, but that view reminds me we are both just tiny particles amongst something much, much larger.
That knowledge eases some of the despair, gentles something in my soul. A tear trails down my cheek, not of helplessness or fear, but of acceptance. I never wanted my inheritance. It has always felt tainted—blood money. Money that left a road of death and destruction in my father’s wake. All the times I thought about it, I sat knowing that people died so my father could have it—so I could have it. An entire day I’ve had to think about it. The numb aches of my body dulled hunger and thirst, and then came the acceptance of my situation. I am done. I will sign my brother’s papers and accept whatever comes as long as I can be free of this horrible monster.
Even now as I think about it, my hatred blooms, spilling out into every crevice of my existence. Hatred, a powerful emotion I have not felt, even towards the Mafia or my brother. Maybe it’s because I still had hope, ideas and dreams that had still taken shape for a potential future despite my pessimism. But this thing—this monster—has taken that all away. He’s taken my dreams and literally turned them into a nightmare.
A piteous sob racks me again and I groan my discomfort as my body rebels. Don’t think about it. I’ve done too much thinking about it as it is. My situation is unchanged and there is absolutely nothing I can do to fix this. I can only wait to see what will come of this meeting with death.
Click.
I tense.
Click.
Icy dread seeps into my body.
Click… click… click.
The lazy steps of the executioner, drawing nearer and nearer. Knowing a thing doesn’t change the fear of a thing. I have seen him at closer quarters than I would like, felt his horrible caresses. And still the tension rises with every click of his claws on tiles. With nerves frayed, I keep my eyes trained on the unknown beyond the glass, knowing his voice will torment me more if I close them.
“Well, I slept like a baby.” My hands form fists as his voice trails down my spine. “How was your sleep?” There is a long pause. “That good, huh? You must be as excited as I am.”
Please, whatever comes of today, let me be free of him. His enormous shadow falls over me, his immense shape blocking the view that I so long to drown in. I twist my face away, my neck pulling painfully with the movement, and the sound of my discomfort mingles with his low chuckle.
“I need to get you ready,” he says, and the shadow moves till I feel his fingers plucking at the binds at my wrist. “Can’t have you go to this meeting in day’s old clothing.” He sniffs audibly over my shoulder. “Yep, you need a shower.”
Prick. In truth, a shower sounds like heaven right now, if I am about to walk into hell. The sounds that come from my throat as my arms fall to my side are pure animal. I curl over my body, hugging myself as pain burns from my shoulders down my spine, blinding me to anything else. Tears spill freely as I hug my knees and sob, dampening the denim beneath my cheek. I can’t even find the strength to struggle as I’m lifted from the chair, or the energy to protest as fur-covered steel and a peculiar smell surround me.
I would have expected him to say something nasty, to drive home how pathetic I am, but only silence coats this moment as he carries me. The smell of him fills my nose as I gasp for breath beneath the stream of tears. I wish it were unpleasant, like the smell matched the look. To my despair, I find it another assault on my senses. He smells good; he sounds good. Hell, he even feels good. That knowledge makes me cry harder, as his rocking footsteps do nothing to soothe my pain or twisted insides.
It feels like an age, one fucked up, morbid age before I am placed on a soft surface. I reluctantly lift my face to glance around my surroundings. A bedroom. A large, beautiful bedroom with a killer view from another floor to ceiling window. Before the window is a small rug and a large comfy chair. Like whoever put this room together really thought about the view and the layout. The sound of water tears me from my observations and pulls me into the present. I’m on a bed. A bed . A moment of panic spears through me, and despite all my aches and pains, I throw myself off it.
His room? Terror has me crawling around the bed to put some space between me and the sound of that running water and his hidden form. He brought me to his room? I cast another weary glance around. The sheets of the bed are soft cream, the pillows a mountain of luxury at the head. Everything in the room is very neutral, warm and inviting. There is no way this is his room. It doesn’t match. Although this theory lacks logic, it brings me a sense of relief.
“A guest room.” His voice is a blade, cutting through my thoughts.
He’s standing in the doorway, perfectly visible from the light from outside, a crystal blue gaze staring back lazily. A monstrous hand gestures behind him, my eyes locking onto the claws at the tips.
“Quick,” he snaps his teeth to emphasize the word. “Before I change my mind.”
Using the bed for support, I pull myself to my feet and edge toward the ensuite, not taking my eyes from that body, wrapped in its dark jeans and black hoodie. The closer I get, the more anxious I feel. My feet pause as I find my courage and voice.
“May I have a moment of privacy?” A mocking smile transforms his face, unsettling me as his lips pull over those sharp canines.
“Oh trust me princess, I would rather stick needles in my eyes than look upon you naked.” He moves from the doorway into the room. “There is a fresh shirt hanging over the tub. Put your clothes into the trash bag and I’ll destroy them later.”
“Why?” I turn to look at him as he circles the chair.
“Evidence,” he says it so nonchalantly, and fear tugs at my gut.
Oh yeah, I’m unlikely to survive this meeting, and my clothes will probably find their way into an incinerator. I feel empty as I step into the room, already filling with steam. In any other circumstance I might have marvelled at the immaculate and luxurious state of the space, so different from the communal showers I’m used to, but impending doom has taken root in my heart and my teeth clack together incessantly. My foot nudges the door closed and despite my aching limbs, I peel my clothes off. He’s right, I smell terrible, but I’d like to see how he’d fare after being kidnapped and tied to a chair.
With shaking knees and chattering teeth, I stumble into the shower, steam coating my skin. I sit hard on the tiles right beneath the hot spray. I’ve been making a lot of unfamiliar noises since he took me, sounds that border on animalistic. The one that erupts as the hot water works into my abused muscles is of pure pleasure. Time stands still as the spray works its way deep and washes the cold sweat of terror that seems to have been a permanent friend. Bliss! Unadulterated bliss. The world could crumble beyond this room and I would just be here, waiting for it to swallow me whole.
“When you finish moaning and groaning in here, you might try using that body wash and shampoo.” Reality is a bitch.
My head snaps up. The glass is all misty from the heat, but I can still see his mammoth outline filling the doorway. He can see nothing, I pray.
“You better leave before I make you put needles in your eyes,” I snap back.
The door slams loudly in answer, the sound making the corners of my mouth pull into a grim smile. With a huff, I peel myself off the ground. It’s the longest shower I have ever taken, and when I finally shut off the faucets, my skin is pink and my hair drips. The towel matches everything else in this room, luxurious, and I rub myself briskly, unable to enjoy it for fear of him barging in to tell me I’ve taken too long. My stomach drops as I unfold the shirt and hold it up. Oh, hell no. It’s his, the smell that wafts out and the sheer size of it tells me so. The knowledge makes me grit my teeth as I pull it over my head. The hem reaches to mid-thigh and the sleeves to my elbows. Clearly, my captors were unprepared, or the monster is sick in his head—I’m leaning towards the latter.
When I finally leave the bathroom, he’s slouched in the chair, his body barely contained, and I can’t help but marvel at the sheer power encapsulated in his form. He looks up at me and I wish he hadn’t. I can see as well as feel those eyes trace down my frame. It makes me feel raw and exposed, especially as those eyes narrow in what appears to be disgust. It rankles me and I glower back.
“Let’s go.” He stands abruptly and storms toward the door.
So soon? For a moment I hesitate, all sense of anger at his response lost as I watch him leave the room.
“Hurry,” he snaps from the hall.
I don’t move. Does anyone really rush to their death? Bile burns up the back of my throat. My bare feet do a little shuffle against the tile as my fingers pluck at the shirt, the material feeling heavy. Through my panic, I hear that telltale click as the devil fills the doorway. His eyes bore into me, the twisted brow raised sardonically in question.
“I… I don’t want to die.” My eyes fill with tears as I stammer over the words.
“Well then, you will do as you are told, won’t you?”
Who made you like this? Panic fills my body, and the question gets stuck in my throat like a stone. Who unleashed this monster into the world and made him so cold and terrible? So inhumane.
“Are you going to move, or do I have to carry you?”
“I hate you.” It’s barely a whisper. My tongue finds courage in my renewed anger as we glare at each other.
“You really are your father’s daughter,” he sneers. “Good. That will make this easier.” He gestures to the hallway. “Now move your ass before I do it for you.”
My anger is my strength. I don’t move because he tells me to. I move because I need to, because my body is a live wire of hatred and unspent energy. Keeping a good distance between his hulking mass and myself, I follow. There is no need to look around. I won’t be returning here, so I lock my eyes on his paws, mesmerized and disgusted at the same time. Is he leaning forward? I hadn’t noticed his gait isn’t entirely human. Each step is sleek and powerful. They abruptly stop and I exhale, grateful for my quick reflexes that I don’t crash into him.
He swipes a card against a black panel. There’s a low beep and a flash of green light and we wait in tense silence. I look anywhere but at him, waiting for something to happen, anxiety eating away at my insides.
Ding.
Jumping at the violent sound in the silence, I see the metal doors across from us part. The elevator is large enough for a few people to fit and I breathe out gratefully. I watch as he steps over the gap, his horns barely miss the top of it by an inch. When he faces me, he glares expectantly and I balk, frozen with the knowledge of the end so near. Run. He will kill me anyway.
“Don’t even think about it,” he snarls as my feet move of their own accord in a backward step.
I choke and freeze.
“Get. In.” Each word he utters is punctuated with the promise of violence.
I swallow the bile making itself known again and step just over the gap. Refusing to give him my back, I edge in, trying to move around him, but clearly he’s learned not to give anyone his back either, so he turns with me. An expanse of black cotton fills my gaze less than two hand’s width apart. The doors slide, and I am trapped as we descend into whatever fresh hell hole he is taking me to.
Ding.
I lurch sideways, unsteady, as the elevator shudders to an abrupt stop. Lightning quick, two claw tipped hands reach out and grasp my arms, steadying me. Shocked and disturbed by the feel of warm velvet against my skin, my eyes snap up. Blue fire rains down on me from between narrowed eyes. The doors part and his hands snap back to his sides, and without a word he steps off the elevator into a darkened hall.
“Come.” The snapped word reaches through the haze in my head.
The warmth on my bare arms doesn’t dissipate as I step off and join him in the hall. Instead, the warm patches build a burning sense of awareness and I can’t even take in my surroundings in the aftershock.
“Beyond these doors is a private meeting room,” he begins as I train my gaze onto his chest. “I want to remind you, it is in your best interest to do what you are told.”
This is not the family reunion I wanted. When I was younger, I envied the other students who had siblings attending the school. Then my father died and the threat of my sibling became the axe hanging over my head. Losing my father stripped away any romantic notions of family. I offer a jerk of my head in acknowledgement before numbly following my captor, with knots in my stomach and burns on my arms. Doors open, light spills into the hall, and I follow him into a room.
“Fucking hell.” The growl that greets me sends me reeling.
My eyes lock onto the thing behind the table, and this time my knees do give out. They meet the deep red carpet as I stare helplessly up at another monster, this one surrounded by men. I grasp my head in my hands, confusion making it pound as I try to make sense of such a horrible scene.
“Olivia Dolmino,” it snarls.
I nod dumbly as if confirming, as my eyes try to make sense of him. Unlike the monster at my back, his fur is darker, longer as it frames a severe expression. The curve of its horns, the size, it’s all the same. The eyes throw me, vibrant blue and human beneath the heavy brow, so similar to the eyes that have been haunting my nightmares.
“Riccardo?” I choke out, my gaze roving manically over the surrounding faces. “Where are you?”
There is a dark bark of laughter from behind me that makes me jump.
“We were hoping you could tell us, princess,” my tormentor says as he steps up beside me.
Confusion wars with terror as I look at the table of men and monsters. All eyes focus on me. Under their weight, I turn my gaze to the thing beside me.
“Gentleman, I present to you Olivia Dolmino. She has spent the last fifteen years in a high security boarding school along with the children of oil barons, political figures and royalty. Her father undoubtedly hid her there to shield her from us.” There is a shuffling of paper on the table that tugs on my attention. “The file in front of you gives more detail. I came across her by chance.”
I gasp in surprise.
“Her brother led me to her when he returned from beneath the Outfit’s protection.”
Nothing he is saying makes sense. I stare dumbfounded. The terrible truth unravelling before my eyes as he lays my past bare before these strangers.
“Riccardo didn’t send you?” I whisper as realization strikes me.
He finally stops talking. The silence rings in my ears as he abruptly looks at me,those blue eyes dangerously narrowed.
“What did you just say?” The venom in those words raises the goosebumps along my spine.
All I can do is gasp at the enormity of my situation, tears streaming down my cheeks, and I know either way I will die when they realize their mistake. I can be of no use to them. My brother would probably send them a thank-you card for finally getting his inheritance in full.