Chapter One #2
Upstairs, they led him through hallways he remembered too well, past doors that sometimes opened onto rooms and sometimes opened onto nothing at all, until they reached the carved oak that marked Whichello’s office.
Isaac’s mouth went dry, and his palms started sweating. Then they were inside the belly of the beast, and his usual sass evaporated.
Did they seriously think they needed two people to escort him unwillingly to Whichello’s office? What was with the overkill? Whichello had serious trust issues.
Dimitri handed him off to Marcus before heading back downstairs.
Marcus knocked while curling his hand around Isaac’s arm, like Isaac would take off at any second. Had your chance and blew it.
“Enter.”
That voice. Smooth as aged cognac, with an undertone of cold iron. Isaac’s panda scrabbled inside of him, desperate to run, but there was nowhere to go.
Whichello stood behind his desk, backlit by floor-to-ceiling windows that showed the city lights sparkling in the distance. Six feet eight inches of lethal grace wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit. His black hair fell past his shoulders, a glossy ink in the lamplight.
When he turned, eyes the color of gravestones locked onto Isaac the weight of centuries behind them.
“Little panda.” That smile was poison wearing manners. “Welcome home.”
Whichello being friendly meant someone was about to bleed. Usually whoever he was being friendly to. Isaac fought the urge to back away, to run, to shift and hide under the nearest furniture.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”
Don’t you dare sass him, no matter how badly you want to. Isaac pressed his lips together, praying he could keep his mouth shut long enough to not die.
Whichello looked at him like they’d already shared something intimate, which they hadn’t, which was the biggest reason Isaac had taken off.
“That’s quite a sabbatical you took without permission.”
A bark of dry laughter escaped. “That’s rich coming from someone who purchased me from an auction block. You wouldn’t happen to have a shovel lying around, would you? I could use some batting practice, prick.”
So much for trying to police himself. Another self-destructive trait he possessed. Sass.
Whichello’s left eye twitched, just barely, but Isaac caught it. Years of reading his own father’s micro-expressions had taught him that particular tell meant someone was about to have a very bad time. That would be me.
“You snuck away in the night like a thief.”
“Thieves take things. I just took myself. Unless you’re filing a claim for property theft.” Terror was riding shotgun, but Isaac refuse to bow down to the asshole, even if it meant taking blows.
It was bad enough growing up with a father who thought his fists were hands-on learning and the only course correction his son would need.
Isaac thought a well-dug hole deep in the woods was a hands-on reply.
Still, he really did need to learn when to shut his mouth. Like right now, or maybe ten minutes ago, before he’d stuck his foot into it and possibly sentenced himself to something horrific.
But he’d never learned to duck. He’d learned to swing.
The temperature in the room dropped. Frost bloomed across the window behind Whichello, delicate patterns that looked like screaming faces if you stared too long.
The demon’s expression never changed, that pleasant smile still in place, but his eyes went flat as a shark’s.
“I’m looking forward to breaking you, little panda. ”
Don’t say it. Do not open your damn mouth.
“Marcus.” Whichello didn’t look away from Isaac. “Take him to the blue room. Make sure he’s comfortable.”
Isaac knew that tone all too well. Calm on the surface while underneath something boiled and writhed and wanted to tear the world apart just to hear it scream.
“Wait—” Isaac started, but Marcus’s hand was already on his shoulder, turning him toward the door.
Isaac’s sass died in his throat at the look in Whichello’s eyes. It wasn’t anger, which would’ve been better. This was calculation, the look of someone deciding exactly how much pain would produce the desired result.
“We’ll talk later.” Whichello said like it was a coffee date, like Isaac wasn’t about to be unmade in stages. The demon was already moving back to the window like Isaac had ceased to exist. “Once you’ve had time to remember who you belong to.”
Everything in Isaac pulled tight.
“Fuck you.” His mouth was firing before survival could catch up. He snarled at Whichello as Marcus yanked him toward the door. “I hope you choke on your smug satisfaction, dickhead.”
He scowled when Whichello simply winked at him, wearing that exact smug expression Isaac wanted to shove down the demon’s throat. “Far worse has been wished upon me, little panda.”
For a second, Isaac could’ve sworn he’d seen apology and regret in Whichello’s eyes. This place had to be messing with Isaac’s brain. Men like Whichello didn’t do regret, and they damn sure didn’t apologize. They demanded and took what they wanted, uncaring whose lives they destroyed.
And that was what hurt the most.
The blue room turned out to be exactly that.
Blue walls, blue carpet, blue furniture.
It looked like someone had murdered a Smurf village and used it for interior decorating.
A bed, a chair, a small bathroom. No windows.
One door that locked from the outside with a definitive click.
That sound was judge, jury, and jailor, sentencing Isaac to life without possibility of ever being free again.