Chapter 11
Eleven
“It looks like a gift, feels like a curse, and wraps around my wrist like a noose strung with gold.” – Aria Boschett.
The bracelet glitters under the soft glow of the bedroom lights, an unholy mix of beauty and imprisonment.
A delicate circle of intertwined gold and precious stones, engraved with intricate Celtic markings.
Each gem catches the light, throwing tiny spectra of color in every direction.
It’s exquisite. A masterpiece and I hate it.
As he releases my wrist, I pull my hand to my chest as if I could somehow crush the weight of his claim.
This isn’t a gift. It’s a one-sided handcuff, his brand.
“I don’t want this, Mr. MacBrady.” Cyan’s response is non-verbal.
His thumb grazes my lips again, an unexpected tenderness, as he traces the swollen curve.
A slow, deliberate stroke. My lips tingle under the barest pressure.
Heat flickers through me, and I despise myself for feeling it.
His touch drifts, a brush along my cheekbone.
A slow exploration down my jaw. His fingers memorize me, as if etching my face into his mind.
His eyes hold something unreadable. Damn him.
I try to push him away and break his spell over my traitorous body.
“I thought we just discussed this.” His fingers move away, leaving a phantom sensation.
“How I treat my property is also not up for discussion.” He stands up from the bed, and my temper snaps.
“Excuse me? Screw you!” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I wasn’t aware I had a For Cyan Only sign stamped across my damn forehead.
” His lips twitch, almost into that infuriating expression, the one that makes my insides twist into knots of conflict and something dangerously close to attraction.
Why? Why, after everything that’s happened tonight, do I still feel this pull?
I force the thought away, shoulders squared.
“You know what?” I lift my chin, letting my frustration bleed through my words.
“I’m thinking you have a hearing problem.
Again, I’m not some object to be claimed.
” My eyes drop to his crotch and land directly on the impressive bulge straining against his tailored slacks.
Shit. My stomach flips, my pulse stutters.
I look back up to his face just in time to see his slow, knowing half-smile curve his lips. Heat scorches my cheeks.
Cyan moves to the TV, removes whatever he had connected to the HDMI port, then heads for the door.
Without looking back, he says, “Don’t take the bracelet off; there will be consequences if you do.
Enjoy the rest of the long weekend with your aunt, Dove.
Meet me on Tuesday at Mel’s for lunch.” He doesn’t wait for my response; he leaves.
The moment I hear the click of the front door closing, I move, bolting from the bed and rushing to the entrance, where I throw the deadbolt into place with shaking hands.
I press my forehead against the door, trying to steady my breathing.
The silence rushes in. He’s gone, but his presence lingers.
I drag my feet back to my room, each step feeling heavier than the last. Crawling onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling, the weight of gold and ownership still circling my wrist. Screw him, I tried and failed to remove the bracelet; the clasp wouldn’t budge.
This must be how a mouse feels the moment the trap snaps shut.
I stare at the bracelet wrapped around my wrist. Beautiful, intricate, deceptive.
Celtic knots of gold and gemstones. A collar disguised as jewelry.
Sitting up again, I lean back against the headboard, trying to regulate my breathing.
I was having a great time tonight. For the first time in months, I’d felt normal. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Then Cyan shows up after months, and then I find out Ethan is all lies.
Then... the lesson, the sound of the boot connecting with Ethan’s ribs replays in my mind.
Over and over. Ethan deserved it. The thought slithers through me, dark and uninvited.
“No,” I rock my head, rejecting the voice creeping in.
I won’t let Cyan’s madness infect me. But I can’t shake the facts.
Ethan lied to me. He wasn’t just some well-meaning guy, eager to get to know me.
He saw an opportunity, he planned for it, and he took it.
I let out a hollow laugh, the irony sinking in; I should have known better.
I convinced myself I was nothing to Cyan, one of many who owed him a favor, that my name was just a line in his ledger.
Forcing myself to move, my limbs stiff, my body feels heavy. I grab my robe, yanking it around my body and cinching the waist with sharp, jerking motions.
He’s been watching me. He mentioned my obsession with matching bras and panties.
I glance around the room, acutely paranoid.
Are there cameras here too? The house was locked; the doors were bolted, and yet he still got in.
My skin crawls. For the first time, I fully understand my reality.
I can’t go to the cops; Cyan probably owns half of them, maybe more.
He sat with the mayor of Boston tonight, like it was nothing.
I have no way out. I’m trapped. A violent shudder runs through me, as my mind races for solutions.
But I have none. I can’t leave the Boston area.
If my grandmother qualifies for the upcoming drug trial, she needs to be here.
Tasha has worked her entire life for her career; if I involve her, she risks losing everything.
I rush into the bathroom, leaving the lights off in case there are cameras, turn on the shower, and adjust the water temperature.
It isn’t helping. My world is breaking, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Breathe, Aria. Breathe. I focus on the steady drum of water against the shower tiles as I step inside.
The hot spray pours over me, and I brace my hands against the wall, letting it burn into my skin.
There’s only one way to survive this. I have to meet Cyan, play along, until I figure a way out of this.
Maybe if I stay quiet, if I stay boring, maybe, just maybe, he’ll lose interest. A bitter laugh slips past my lips.
It’s a fragile hope, but it’s all I have for now.
Later… the darkness in the bedroom presses in around me.
The shadows feel heavy. Suffocating. I normally sleep naked.
Not tonight, that is sure as shit aint happening anymore.
Toweling off, pull on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of panties, and crawl into bed.
I curl beneath the sheets, I toss and turn as sleep refuses to take me under.
The bracelet glints in the dim light. I want to take a pair of bolt cutters to it, rip it off and throw it across the room.
But the word consequences echoes in my head.
The meeting at Mel’s Diner in Crescent Bay is another problem.
It’s public. Which means Cyan probably wants to make it official, wants the whole damn town to see us together.
If he thinks I’ll just play along because he fastened a piece of jewelry on my wrist, he’s out of his mind.
Turning on my belly, I tuck my arms under the pillow.
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under in my dreams; the bracelet becomes a necklace. It tightens… and tightens—until I can’t breathe and, in the darkness, his voice slips against my ear: mine.