Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter 26
SIENNA
A SOFT brEEZE CARESSES MY face as I paint near the open window. I close my eyes, and I can almost imagine myself on that patio in Hawaii, gazing out at the ocean while Declan reads a book in the living room behind me. His expression would be intense, like usual, but maybe the faintest smile would soften his face. When he’d get bored with reading, he’d come over and rest his large, warm hands on my shoulders. His woodsy scent would wrap around me, and we’d slip into some perfect, never-ending moment. Just us. Just his arms wrapped around me.
“Sienna,” he’d whisper. “Princess. What is it you want? I’ll give it to you.”
“I just want…” I’d start, not finishing my words, because I’d turn around and kiss him.
I want you.
Forever.
A car alarm goes off somewhere in the distance, and my eyes snap open, pulling me from that fragile dream into reality. I won’t let my imagination go further than a kiss; it’s wrong to imagine his hands on me, considering every disgusting thing I said to him.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I catch it with my fingers. Then I examine my damp fingertips, rubbing them together until the tear dissolves. I’ll give that man every single one of my tears for the rest of my life, like they’re somehow penance.
What’s a good quote for this situation?
Something that I saw on social media a long time ago pops into my mind. Something like: “You love harder when you’re broken—once you’ve been in the dark, you appreciate everything that shines.”
I like that. It’s not a quote about doing anything or having a certain mindset. It’s simply a fact.
I appreciate everything I shared with Declan because he does shine. Even though I tarnished what we shared in the end, when we were together, he made me shine too.
Another tear falls, but I let this one dry in the breeze. Then I glance down at my wrist where I’ve been covering my Phoenix tattoo with a sharpie. It’s only a black square now.
I have yet to figure out any ‘next steps’ for this situation. I’ve just been going through the motions, crying over Declan, painting to distract myself, and grieving my lost life in San Fran.
I think part of me broke. Or, I’ve reverted back to Margaret.
Weak, pathetic Margaret.
My eyes return to the open window, and I dip my brush in some blue. I lose myself in each stroke, adding color to the feathers on a little bird in my painting. The bedroom around me contrasts with the vibrant colors blossoming on my canvas. This room has sleek lines and minimalist decor, shades of gray and white that are oppressing.
But outside, there’s saturation.
There’s a park in the distance, a splash of green tucked into the urban landscape. Trees sway in the gentle wind, their leaves dancing with light and shadow. I focus on the beauty beyond this prison, working more blue into my little bird.
It’s ironic—now that I’m living my worst nightmare, I can only stand to paint cheerful things. I need flowers and birds and the peaceful, upscale neighborhood I see beyond my window. I’ve painted dark, moody macabre scenes for years, yet now I’ve lost the desire.
I’ll admit, I was snooty before about whimsical, pastel art. I would frown at a still life and wonder what possessed someone to spend hours painting some bland little flowers or landscape. Now, I get it. Pretty paintings and happy scenes are their own form of escape. When your life is filled with so many unspeakable horrors, happy, cute images can keep you from breaking.
So, that’s what I paint now—cheerful, cute things so I don’t completely snap.
Anthony has kept me trapped in this bedroom for almost a month. No phone or access to the outside world. Just a TV, some books, and paint supplies. There’s a 24/7 guard outside my door and under the window. And if I want to walk around the house to get a snack or change of scenery, a guard must escort me and only for a maximum of ten minutes.
It sucks, but I understand. Considering how I backstabbed Anthony in the past—eavesdropping on his ‘business’ meetings and gathering sensitive information to give to the authorities—he’s being extra careful. If anyone comes over to talk ‘business,’ the guards keep me far away from all discussions.
There are loopholes, though. My bedroom is next to the third story terrace, so I can hear conversations when people are out there. So far, it’s only been guards bitching about their work.
I set my brush down, my wrist aching from painting the entire morning. I sigh at my little blue bird. Even if I hear a juicy conversation on that terrace, I don’t think it’ll help me get out of here.
A major difference between Sienna and Margaret is that Margaret didn’t have anyone to worry about. She was alone in the world. She took a risk and exposed Anthony because the only consequence was her own life, which she didn’t particularly care about.
Sienna has people Anthony will hurt.
Besides, Anthony is only one piece of a larger puzzle. Above him is Victor, a much bigger threat. The authorities were supposed to take him down along with Anthony, but Victor weaseled his way out of it. I think the only reason Victor didn’t have me killed is Anthony. Anthony likely stopped him.
If I manage some miraculous escape again…I just don’t know. Victor is a wildcard.
The facts glaring me in the face are part of the reason I haven’t yet attempted to figure out a plan. What if there is no escape this time?
There’s a knock on the door and I tense. I know it’s not Anthony because he enters without knocking. Must be a guard.
“Yes?” I respond, gazing out the window and wondering if I should just jump. I’d break some bones, but if I can keep at least one leg functional, I could hobble away. I’ll wait until the guard under the window is distracted and…
And then Anthony will kill Declan and Jada.
I press a palm to my chest, trying to steady myself as the guard opens the door. I don’t turn around, but I hear him walk to my bed. Something that sounds like a plastic bag rustles.
“You’re eating dinner with the boss tonight,” is all the guard says.
He leaves and I finally look over my raised shoulder. There’s a dress bag on my bed and it makes me scoff. The asshole wants me to dress up and eat dinner with him?
Well, fine.
I hope he hates what I’m going to do to that dress.
ANTHONY MAKES ME WAIT FOR half an hour at the mahogany dinner table before he appears. His guards have been standing nearby the entire time; otherwise, I would’ve left.
I don’t stand to greet Anthony and he thankfully doesn’t come closer. He just sits across the table with that amused yet venomous look of his. When he doesn’t comment on my dress, I stand up to show him.
“Thanks,” I say, twirling around. “It’s lovely.”
His eyes finally scan what I’m wearing.
Honestly, it was a beautiful dress—deep emerald, diamonds sparkling along a low-cut V, and it hugged my hips perfectly before fanning out and cascading to the floor. It was an elegant, expensive dress.
I decided to smear it with various colors of paint. I don’t have any scissors in my room, but I managed to snap one of my paintbrushes in half to create a sharp point. Then I used it to help me pluck out all the diamonds and shred parts of the dress.
Unfortunately, Anthony doesn’t flinch. His amused smirk only widens, and he says, “Truly, a work of art. I’m so proud of my girl for being so creative.”
Making fists, I drop back into my chair.
He smiles to himself like he’s pleased and then picks up his knife and fork. When he cuts into his steak, it oozes blood.
I glance down at my plate—fish and veggies—but I don’t have an appetite.
Anthony says, “Tell me about your day, Magpie,” as he eats and sips wine like whether or not I have dinner doesn’t matter.
I scoff. “You know about my day.”
“I’ll tell you about mine,” he says, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “I had some business to take care of downtown, but I spent the entire day thinking of you. I ordered that dress last week, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing you in it.” He grins, red wine staining his teeth. “You look beautiful. Thank you for joining me for dinner.”
He’s fucking insane.
I’m irritated at his indifferent attitude, so I grab my wine and swirl it, really tempted to stand up and throw it in his face. “How sweet of you,” I say blandly. “I spent the day thinking about how Declan stripped me naked and fu—”
He backhands his wine glass, and it flies off the table, staining the wall red as it shatters.
I really try not to react—I try to wear an unflinching mask the way he does—but I scream. Then my heart races as I try to drink water with a shaky hand.
“Careful,” Anthony bites out. He jabs his fork at my plate. “Eat your fucking food.”
On instinct, I grab my fork and cram a piece of fish into my mouth. It’s savory, but it feels like a boulder going down my throat when I force a swallow.
I know I should be careful, but I’ve been doing that for an entire month. Being back in Anthony’s presence, I think I slipped into Margaret’s disposition too much.
Tonight, Sienna feels more in control. Maybe it was from the act of ruining the dress, I don’t know, but I want to test the boundaries—I need to know what they are.
My pulse is still racing, but I say, “You’re a man of your word. You said if I did what you wanted, you wouldn’t hurt Declan. So you won’t. I’m free to talk about him all I want.”
Anthony takes one more bite of steak, pushes his plate away, and then dabs his mouth with the napkin. His eyes are empty when they look at me, like two black marbles with only a thin border of bloodless white. “You’ve changed,” he says. “You’re rougher. Way more feisty. But I like it. When you finally settle into this life with me, when you surrender, it’ll be so fucking satisfying.”
He didn’t give me the answer I needed, so I dig my fingers into my thighs and push where I know it’ll hurt. “I already surrendered completely to him. I let him do whatever he wanted, and we fucked so much that I—”
His reaction isn’t violent this time, but he stands. He glides to where I’m sitting, looking completely in control, like I’m a mouse caught in a trap and he’s a cat ready to play. Leaning over me, he runs a finger under my jaw and grins.
“You’ve changed,” he says again. “What makes you think I haven’t? Keep talking and I just might kill that man. Then I’ll shut you up.” He reaches down to grab his crotch. I can’t understand why, but he’s half hard.
“Maybe you’re into that now,” he adds. “Taking it rough.”
Without thinking, I spit in his face.
The gob lands on his cheek and he laughs, fucking laughs, before yanking me from the chair. The world spins and then my back hits the wall.
Anthony presses his body into mine, his breath smelling like steak sauce and making me grimace. “Your crazy is so fucking hot,” he says. He fists my hair and kisses me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to think about anything except what’s happening. I won’t open my mouth, so the asshole bites my lip until I gasp. Before his tongue can force its way in, I manage to turn my head and break the kiss.
He only laughs more and grabs my waist.
My voice is shaky when I say, “You have changed. Looks like you’re a rapist now.”
That gets his attention. He inhales sharply and his entire body stills. Finally, there’s a crack in his annoyingly calm, collected mask. He looks pissed , with nostrils flaring and eyes blazing.
I challenge him, lowering my arms, letting my body soften, opening myself up. What I’m about to do is a huge gamble because he’s right—I don’t know the man he is now, seven years later. This defiance could end very badly for me, but if I can figure a way out of this situation, I have to know exactly what parts of Anthony are different.
He’s always been a little rough, but the Anthony of the past would’ve never taken me against my will or caused serious physical harm—really, the only good quality about him.
He smacks one of his palms against the wall near my head, making me flinch. “Is that what you fucking think?”
“Aren’t you going to shut me up?” I snap. “Go ahead. Rape me.”
His eye twitches, and I hold my breath as he stares daggers into my skull. His grip on my waist tightens uncomfortably, and I prepare myself for the worst.
He relaxes and grabs my chin, his face sliding into the illusion of control again. “Where’s the fun in that? One day, you’ll give yourself willingly.” Shoving away from me with a groan, he turns to leave.
I clutch my chest, feeling the tears prick my eyes from that intense confrontation. As shaken as I am, this is a small win. I now have a boundary I can work with.
There’s just one more thing I need to know. “How did you find me?” I ask, unable to keep my voice from wavering. “I was in WITSEC.”
The few seconds it took for him to reach the dining room doorway was enough for his demeanor to completely recover. He always was good at that.
With a smugness that makes his lips curl wickedly and his eyes glint, he says, “Baby, you think the cops care about you? All it took was a few calls and one bribe to get your ‘confidential’ records from WITSEC. Another bribe took you out of the system. I tracked you down in Utah as soon as I got out.”
I gasp. “Utah? But…”
My stomach tightens. He was the stalker.
He laughs. “You thought I’d be in prison longer than a year? Victor got me out. See? I care about you, baby. I’ve been out this entire time, but I let you enjoy your new life. Let you enjoy art school, your job at the record store, and all those other shitty places you worked. I was even rooting for you to get that art program started. Just wanted to see my girl happy.”
He leaves; leaves me in a world that’s suddenly spinning.