Chapter Thirty
Chapter 30
SIENNA
I’VE BEEN IN THIS ROOM too many days, refusing to leave and forcing Anthony or the guards to bring me food. Thankfully, he’s stopped demanding I have dinner with him, and he’s backed off a little.
I’m relieved; I need time to myself to think.
Could I really kill him?
I haven’t even gotten to the part where I try to figure out how—How would I do it? When? Is there a way to stop Victor from coming after me?—because I’m stuck on the beginning question: Can I?
Meaning, do I have it in me to take a life?
As Margaret, I would’ve never gone that far. Sienna is supposed to be better than her, yet now I’m considering…?
I can’t even figure out a quote to help me figure things out; there’s nothing.
I need a break from this room, a break from my thoughts. I should go to the kitchen for a snack and give myself a few minutes to walk through the house, to dull the hard edges, to numb the constant ache.
I open my bedroom door. As expected, there’s a guard sitting in the hallway, staring at his phone. His bored eyes lift when I appear.
“I want to go to the kitchen,” I say, my voice as still as a poisoned pond that no animals dare approach. Being flat and emotionless is the only way to survive in this stupid house.
He nods, pocketing his phone and escorting me down the hallway. When I turn toward the living room, the normal route to the stairs leading up to the kitchen, he touches my elbow.
“Business meeting,” he says gruffly, guiding me through a detour. Outside, there’s a tiny patio with a staircase that connects to the third-story terrace. From there, an outside door connects to the kitchen.
I don’t know why this house is such a maze; I wonder if Anthony actually designed it himself. If so, I’m sure he had some strategy in mind for enemies. Secret rooms and hidden hallways or whatever.
Sounds like him.
No doubt, he’s sitting around in the living room right now with his ‘associates,’ talking about drug smuggling or human trafficking or whatever he’s up to nowadays. I do my best not to think about it.
As we step outside and climb the stairs to the terrace, I breathe in the fresh air, letting it fill my lungs. Letting the afternoon sun warm my skin. Getting out of the room is making me feel better, and it is a beautiful day.
We reach the top step, and the day suddenly becomes dark. Every cell in my body ceases functioning.
He’s here.
Near the railing.
Victor.
Anthony’s boss. I’ve only seen him a few times in my life, but he’s a man who sparks an instant terror, even if you know nothing about him. It’s the cut of his cheekbones, or the cut of his shoulders, or just the overpowering energy he emits. It must be the fear a rabbit feels when it sees the glowing, hungry eyes of a predator.
He’s standing at the edge of the terrace in a white suit, his gaze distant, his face carved from stone. He’s not a big man; he’s actually just a few inches taller than me. But he doesn’t need to be tall and bulky—he has the aura of a viper always poised to strike. I’ve seen men who were well above six feet cower before this man.
When he hears footsteps, he angles his head slightly. Our eyes meet, a glimmer of recognition passing between us as my legs wobble. I wonder if he’s killed a man simply by staring him down with those soulless eyes.
He says one word to me that cuts like glass: “You.”
I scurry back down the stairs, the guard following. I don’t need to eat; I’d rather get back to my room and lock myself in forever.
The guard stays in the hallway as I enter my bedroom and slam the door, locking it and checking a few times to make sure it’s secure. It’s a false sense of safety, but it’s all I have and it’s what I need.
You.
My spine suddenly feels fragile under the weight of the panic gripping me; I might snap at any moment. It sounded like he wasn’t expecting to see me. He knows everything I did—knows I’m a snitch—so I have been wondering why he let Anthony bring me here.
Unless he didn’t know.
I collapse on the edge of my bed, running sweaty palms along my black leggings as the cold realization hits.
Anthony is hiding me from Victor.
Or was.
It all makes sense now. Anthony probably didn’t come after me as soon as he got out of prison because he had to wait for the right time. He’s clearly been moving up in the world, gaining wealth, status, connections. He had to wait until he thought he could sneak me past Victor, or until he thought he could handle Victor’s wrath about the situation.
Now the secret is out, and I don’t know what that means.
Sucking on my bottom lip, I finger my locket. Victor isn’t forgiving. I imagine he’d want to punish me, sell me to some person who will lock me in a room and use me as a sex doll.
The thought is sickening.
My only comfort is knowing that Anthony would wage war before letting me get sold to the highest bidder. Literally.
He’s a sick, twisted bastard who gets rough sometimes, but he’s never assaulted me. After testing his boundaries, I’m confident he’d never kill me or want me dead. He would fight Victor to keep me safe.
So, if I somehow find the courage to kill Anthony now…I’m even more fucked.
I wilt onto the bed, falling deeper into a bottomless hole. Is there no escape?
Turning onto my side, I pull a small journal from my nightstand and run my hand over the cool surface. I’m doing my best to fight, but every day feels like I’m closer and closer to getting crushed by the darkness thickening around me.
Now I have to rely on Anthony for protection? When he’s the one holding me captive…
What a fucked up life.
I might be getting punished by the Universe for my crimes. I thought that sending Anthony to jail and having the authorities say, “You’re good to go. Here’s a new identity,” was me facing justice and redemption.
I forgot about karma. It’s a much bigger bitch than I imagined.
First, I get a taste of a good life in San Fran, only for it to be ripped away without warning. Then I meet the man of my dreams—caring, patient, devoted—only for us to be doomed to be apart. Now I’m forced to rely on my enemy because there’s a much bigger threat.
I’m just so tired.
I slip a folded paper from my journal and open it. For the first time in days, I’m able to smile, a tiny light still flickering in my chest.
The paper is a sketch I drew of Declan, a copy of the selfie he sent me the day I left Hawaii. I knew I couldn’t bring that phone with me, so I saved the image to the cloud. I also knew Anthony wouldn’t let me access the Internet for a very long time, so I simply drew a copy of the selfie as quickly as I could, capturing as many details as possible.
A graphite version of Declan smiles at me from the slip of paper, his eyes crinkling at the edges, hair messy after a night of fucking. Guilt eats at me every time I look at this sketch, but I tell it to just please let me have this . I only need a few minutes to feel the warmth that man gave me, to think of how peaceful I felt in his arms.
It’s helping me survive until I figure a way out.
So many pictures of this beautiful man now fill my sketchbook. Him sitting on the couch, laying on a bed, stepping out of the shower with his hair all sexy and wet, his muscles flexing as he hits a punching bag…I’ve been capturing every memory of him I can. And I’ve hidden some of the drawings around the room in case Anthony ever looks at my sketchbook and throws a fit.
My greatest comfort, though, is knowing that there’s still the actual picture of Declan waiting for me in the cloud. I may have broken his heart and ruined any chance of him ever speaking to me again, but I still have that one perfect picture. Someday, I’ll be able to see it again. Something worth fighting for.
I press the drawing to my chest, apologizing for the thousandth time about what I said. After crying into my pillow, I take a nap, images of Declan’s pained, broken gaze filling my nightmares.
I WAKE WITH A JOLT from the sound of glass shattering outside. Rubbing sleep from my eyes and trying to get my heart out of my throat, I hurry to the window. I hear familiar voices floating down from the terrace.
“You’re refusing?” Victor says in that cold, collected way of his. Even so, there’s a slow, simmering anger behind every word.
I hear glass shards scraping against something, like someone is kicking them out of the way. “She won’t be a problem,” Anthony bites back. “It’s handled.”
“I cleaned up your mess once , but you clearly didn’t learn your lesson. That woman cannot be trusted, so take care of her.” There’s a pause, then a stifled groan. Did Victor grab Anthony? “If you don’t,” Victor spits, “then whatever happens to you isn’t my problem. Dig your own grave if you like, but I won’t be rescuing you again.”
I press fingers to my lips, unable to even gasp. So…if I did something to Anthony, does that mean Victor would leave me alone? As long as I don’t do anything against Victor, maybe—
There’s a loud smack, skin hitting skin, then the sliding door opens, presumably Victor leaving.
Anthony cusses then someone else, probably one of his men, says, “What are we doing, boss? I can take care of her right now.”
My heart leaps higher in my throat.
“Margaret stays,” Anthony yells, and it sounds like he smacks his hand against the railing. “Do not fucking touch her. No one touches her! End of discussion.”
“Okay, boss. Okay.”
Anthony sighs heavily. “Are those fucking documents finished? And the PR release?”
“Uh…which documents, boss?”
“The fucking reports Emerson was making.” There’s a pause, like his guy might be looking confused. “About Tiffany Conte? Toxicology?”
“Oh, right. Thought you wanted something about the actress.”
Anthony sighs again and more glass is kicked around. “No, that woman is a future problem and not entirely mine to deal with. Right now, I want the rich bastard who touched my woman to get fucked by every news outlet in America.”
“They should be ready by the end of the week.”
“Good. Fuck, I need a drink.” Glass crunches. “And clean this shit up.” The sliding door opens and closes.
I stumble away from my window, knocking my easel and paints over. They scatter on the floor, but I just kick them aside.
What is Anthony doing to Declan?
I hurry to my bedroom door and unlock it. “I need Anthony,” I tell the guard sitting outside.
He doesn’t look up from his phone. “There’s a meeting right—”
“I need to see him. You want me to scream and piss off Victor?”
The guard rolls his neck, looking like he’s not having a good day. After typing out a message on his phone, he says, “There.”
I pace in the hallway until Anthony appears a few minutes later. He’s scowling, but there’s a hint of concern.
“What?” he asks when he’s close, scanning me to see if I have an injury.
My eyes fixate on the redness of his right cheek and the slight purple along the bone.
Victor struck him.
“What?” Anthony asks again, harder this time.
“Uh…” I move into the bedroom, shutting the door after he follows. I’m simply too exhausted from this entire day that I don’t have the energy to approach this carefully. Maybe I should try to soften him up, get him in a relaxed mood, but my anxiety is making me irrational.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt Declan,” I blurt out.
His eyes narrow and then dart to the open window. He runs a hand through his dark hair, looking too weathered and old for a 29-year-old. Dark grooves cut the skin around his eyes and his gaze is sunken. “So, you’re being a nosey bitch?”
“You said if I came with you, that you wouldn’t hurt Declan.”
“People change.”
“You’ve never broken your word.”
He huffs out a laugh, then steps closer. His eyes close and he sighs. “Baby, I said he’d live . I didn’t say anything about making him deal with consequences. He touched something that belongs to me, so I’m going to ruin his life. But he’ll live. That was my only agreement.”
My voice wavers when I ask, “How? What are you doing?”
He smirks like he’s feeling satisfied with himself, like he’s so genius for whatever he’s planning. “You thought that man didn’t have his own secrets? He’s a criminal, like the rest of us.”
I shake my head; it doesn’t matter if I know what he’s planning. I just need to stop him. “What do you want? To leave Declan alone, what do you want?”
He scans my body, taking in the curves he can see from my tight leggings and sleeveless top. “I’ve already got you, so I can’t say there’s anything else I need.” He steps close enough for me to smell the cigar smoke on his breath. His smirk fades in an instant, replaced by heavy brows that are like cuts on his face. He grabs my arm and I yelp. “If you’re going to offer to fuck me to save that man, don’t. Sex isn’t a currency.” His brows soften just a few centimeters and his long lashes flutter. A vulnerability. But it’s quickly smothered by sharpness. “The day I fuck you is the day you give yourself willingly and remember how good we are together.”
Our perception of ‘good’ must be worlds apart.
Bile rises in my throat because I think I know what will convince Anthony to leave Declan alone—the one thing Anthony has always sought.
God, I don’t want to say this, but…it’s for Declan. All I want is for Declan to be safe, no matter what happens to me. I force the words out. “I’ll…I’ll marry you. I’ll become your wife, and you’ll have all of me forever.”
He releases my arm and his mouth falls open. “Today?”
I swallow a protest. “Today. Bring me the papers and I’ll sign them. We can have a ceremony later if you want.”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
My words must’ve flipped a switch because his demeanor is completely different—shining eyes, straight spine. A boyish grin. He grabs my waist and rolls his growing hardness against me to show how much the idea excites him. He opens his mouth to say something, but then kisses me instead.
I inhale sharply through my nose, my lips sealed shut. Then I think of why I need to do this, for the man I really love, and I force my mouth open, letting Anthony deepen the kiss with tongue. He tastes like cigars and whiskey and…a past I really want to leave behind.
My death.
Or his.
Maybe marrying him can serve two purposes.
He pulls away, pressing his forehead to mine and cradling my face. “Fuck, baby. I don’t think I have time to get the papers today, but I will before I head out of town next week. We’ll sign the paperwork, but let’s put the ceremony off for a few months. Once you’re ready for the wedding night, we’ll start planning, okay? I want you to have the time you need to feel comfortable.”
His voice has softened so much I feel like Margaret again, listening to her boyfriend say caring things. I don’t like the contrast. Sometimes, I wish people were only black and white, especially someone as twisted as Anthony.
But he’s not pure evil, no one is. We all have grays that exist between right and wrong. Right now, Anthony is reminding me of the charming, lovesick boy he was when we first met, not the ruthless killer who hunted me down and took away my life.
I suppose he’s both.
I suppose I’m half Margaret, half Sienna. Half needy and half strong.
Am I half a killer too?
“Okay,” I say, lowering my gaze.
“Damn, waiting this long…it’ll be like popping your cherry all over again on our wedding night. You remember our first time?”
I try not to. I need to get him focused on the main issue, so I say, “If I marry you, will you promise to stop whatever you’re planning?”
The shining parts of him immediately dim, a frown making him gloomy. “No, baby, I can’t do that. But I promise not to hurt him physically.”
“Please,” I whisper, touching his chest and willing my body to move closer to his. “I’m yours. I’ll be your wife soon. Isn’t that what matters? He didn’t know I was yours. I never told him, so it’s not his fault. You should be mad at me. Please.” I touch his red cheek carefully with a shaky hand, forcing out more words I don’t want to say. “You’re my”—I swallow bile and clear my throat—"husband. He’s…just in the past and not important."
Anthony groans and cups my hand, pressing it against his bruise; I know it must hurt. “Damn, stop begging. You’re turning me on too much.” His jaw flexes and then he relents with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go easier on him, but he’s getting some consequences.”
I nod, knowing this small victory is all I’m getting right now. I’ll work on softening him more later. Hopefully, I’ll get him to let go of his revenge scheme completely.
Declan has been through enough.
I want Anthony to leave, but there’s one more thing on my mind. “Is Victor going to…will he…”
Without hesitation, Anthony cradles my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “No, baby. I promise. I brought you here. I’ll keep you safe.” He kisses my forehead. “I love you. You know that. I’d die before I let him hurt you.”
I exhale, hating that I have to rely on him, at least for now. He’s obsessive and cruel and manipulative…but his feelings for me have always been absolute, even though he doesn’t understand real love. His parents are probably to blame for that; either way, his affection comes from a place of possession and power games, not genuine care.
Doesn’t matter. Right now, I only need him to keep me safe from a bigger monster and to leave Declan and my friends alone.
And when the timing is right, I’ll…
I’ll…
Walk him to his deathbed? Do I have that in me?
He wipes a tear from my cheek. “Shh, baby, it’s okay.”
Why am I crying? I hate this man. I hate how he fucked up my life, stalked me, made everything a nightmare.
And yet…I’ve never been cut out for his world. I’ve played along, but I’ve never fit. I don’t know if I can really kill him. Taking a life is such a heavy burden, even if it’s the only way I can save myself.
If only I’d never met him.
He kisses my forehead again. “Take it easy the rest of the day. I’ll send more art supplies, baby. If I’m here in the morning, have breakfast with me.”
It’s not a question, but I nod.
He leaves the room.
I return to my bed to clutch a drawing of Declan.
Please let Anthony keep his word.