Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Winona Bishop
Mind Games — Sickick
I stare at the clock on the wall for what feels like an eternity, frozen like a shattered porcelain doll. The midday sunlight streams through the glass, warming the cold air in this room.
I actually slept well, and that’s a first; yet I blame my exhaustion, and possibly the drugs in my system.
Despite the sudden serenity, my chest feels heavy.
There are no morning kisses or barks demanding my attention.
I walk around the mansion to the backyard. An ice cream cone in my hand—vanilla and strawberry flavor. The tall shadow behind bumps straight into me as I stop in place. Giggling, I spin around and smear the ice cream on my bodyguard’s nose.
“Baby pink suits you,” I bark out a laugh, loving every second of my shenanigans while he stands there like a tree.
He glares at me before the corners of his mouth slowly stretch and widen into an adorable grin. He laughs softly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he tastes it.
“Brat,” he says, walking to the garage. “I’ve got a present for you.”
“What?” The enthusiasm in my voice makes me want to slap my motherfucking face when he isn’t looking, but I scrunch up my face instead.
Get a fucking grip!
He turned you down.
“Is it body parts?” I flash my wicked smirk.
A smile slowly spreads across his mouth, blending with his five o’clock shadow, and I bite the last pieces of the ice cream cone at the sight.
I love pushing him out of his comfort zone whenever I get the chance.
“I’m not that twisted. At least not yet.” He cracks the door open. “It’s a bodyguard.”
And just like that, he kills my buzz in seconds. “Like I don’t have enough of those.”
“You’ve never had one like him.”
Him?
My eyes narrow.
He smirks and makes a signal with his hand.
A gorgeous black Cane Corso sprints into the backyard, joyfully lapping it up and flapping his ears in happiness and satisfaction before he runs to sniff at my legs.
“No way. I think my heart just leaped out of my chest from excitement.” I squeal.
He’s big and muscular, with a strong and intimidating stance, but he has the goofiest face I’ve ever seen. He’s so adorable. His curiosity shines in his big brown eyes.
I crouch down, and he swipes his tongue across my cheek.
Another animal that marks me as his.
I look up and catch my bodyguard’s stolen glance before he looks away.
“Aww, you are so cute.” I rub the dog’s fur and scratch behind his ears. “What is your name?”
“Titan. He is fully trained. But we’ll work with him together,” he says, amused as ever. He must be so proud of himself. “I saw an opportunity, so I took it,” he adds.
I giggle as Titan trots in the other direction, disappearing around the corner.
I guess it’s time to explore.
Shaking my head, I laugh to myself. The man just found a loophole to be present, whether he stays or not. “You will do anything to make guys run the other way when they see me.”
“I will do anything to protect you,” he corrects, raking me with his eyes as I straighten up.
“Promise?” I advance in his direction.
He nods, gazing down at me. The tension he harbors in those blue eyes is unparalleled.
How can such a simple act mesmerize me?
“I have a present for you, too,” I say with a grin as I grab his hand—the one with the scar on his palm—and pull him into the house. Anxious but eager to show him the moth I sketched for him. With his birthday coming up, I want to do something special, like getting matching shirts with my design.
We share a weird, mutual fondness for moths. I like drawing them, and he’s drawn to them—even his phone’s screensaver features a large moth.
He leans against the doorframe with all his might. Glorious as usual.
“Come here,” I urge, walking to my desk before I turn to face him.
He sighs and slowly, step by step, closes the gap between us until he towers over me. His eyes sweep across my desk, pausing on Grandma’s lighter, the one with a moth—I knew he liked them.
“Where did you get this from?” he asks, furrowing his brows.
“Grandma.”
He examines it a bit longer before turning his attention to me. “What did you want to show me?”
I pick up my sketchbook, open it roughly in the middle, and hand it to him.
With his intense eyes still fixed on me, he takes it and slowly drops his gaze to the design I made for him.
Something in his expression shifts — a mix of calmness and wonder.
His features soften and brighten as he offers a beautiful smile.
“Do you like it?” I ask sheepishly. “I was thinking of making a T-shirt with this design for your birthday. If you want.”
He nods. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
I exhale a breath of relief. “What color T-shirt do you want?”
“Either black or white is fine.”
A wide grin captures my entire face. “Okay.”
He keeps looking at me, and I wonder what’s going through his mind. What images thread through his thoughts? I wonder if I can make him feel... more, maybe even happy, if only for a moment. I’ll take it.
“Why do you like moths so much?” I ask.
He contemplates for a moment. “They felt like a calming symbol in all the chaos that was my life.”
I close one eye and twitch my mouth to the side. “Don’t want to elaborate?”
“Not really.”
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Which one?” he asks, putting my sketchbook back on the desk.
“Spirited Away.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Is that the one you’ve been nagging me about for weeks?”
“Yeah…”
“Okay.” He shrugs, making his way to my bed.
“Brace yourself,” I declare, pulling my laptop out of my backpack. “This is going to be an epic experience for you. I wish I could see it for the first time, too.”
He stares at me, expressionless, but that fleeting glint beneath the surface is what I crave in every conversation; in every moment we share—that moment, his true self reflects and reveals itself to me.
He lowers himself onto my bed and leans against the headboard. His hands glide over the fluffy sheets. A small grin appears when he spots my pumpkin plushie there. He tucks it to his chest, and I set the laptop between us before taking the empty spot beside him.
The movie loads, and I lean back against the headboard when it starts. My shoulders relax, and my thoughts settle down. But only when I’m around him. He has that calming energy about him that puts me in a time-out.
After the first quarter of the movie, his hand finds mine under the blanket I pulled over my legs, and we intertwine our fingers as we continue watching quietly.
Our warmth burns in the best way, and knots tighten in my core, pulling the strings that lace around my center.
I steal a quick glance while he remains focused on the screen.
Why does he have to be so breathtaking? It’s not fair.
He holds my hand the entire time, and when the movie ends, he turns his head to me and asks, “Can we watch it again?”
I see him, and he feels every fervent heartbeat calling his name.
It was forbidden from the start, and our late-night talks and morning banter only added to the pile. Grandma must have known this would happen. Our lives had already started fusing the moment we were forced under the same roof.
I grin, my heart swells in my chest. “Sure.”
Still in my pajamas, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Jason hasn’t said a word yet. I assume he’s still asleep, probably knocked out cold.
I grab my sketchbook and a pen from my bag.
Inspiration strikes me like lightning. My hand guides the pen with ease as I draw a bleeding shadow with sharp teeth and smoke around it on the balcony of a tall tower.
I frame it and draw another frame next to it.
Inside, I depict Jason just as he appeared to me last night: lethal, masked, bleeding, smoking a cigarette.
I accentuate his tormented eyes and his dark energy.
I lose myself in the details for a while.
For some reason, Jason reminds me of No-Face and Haku from my favorite movie, Spirited Away, a subtle mix between the two.
I used to nag my husband about that movie and make him watch it with me a hundred times until we quoted the characters word for word.
I blink, and a tear rolls down my chin, dampening the paper.
What is wrong with me?
Why am I crying over a stranger?
I want to forget my past, and he’s just a reminder of what I’ve lost.
The rifle strap across my shoulders shifts with every movement.
I scan the tower’s garden for any suspicious rabbit holes, hidden doors, or perhaps a sign that reads, “Prison entrance.” Not that I expect to find one.
I follow every path and examine most of the area for at least three hours, yet I uncover nothing.
I ruffle my bangs in frustration and wiggle my body from side to side, easing the tension in my bones.
“What are you up to?” Jason’s rough voice blares from the radio clipped to my thigh bag.
I turn my head toward his balcony to see him watching over me. Shirtless, he still wears the mask. The radio sits on the top rail as he aims a sniper rifle at the trees surrounding me.
I bring my radio to my mouth. “I’m searching for something. You should rest.” I scan the ground again and follow a trail of rocks leading to the cliff’s edge. I raise an eyebrow when I notice they are perfectly aligned. Too perfect. Flipping each one, I check underneath and work my way up.
“I’m fine.” The lack of emotion in his voice suggests otherwise. “Not my first.” He already mentioned that yesterday.
“How’s the wound?” I flip the sixth rock. A note is tucked underneath it. Even in the middle of nowhere, someone finds a way to mess with my head.
Your death weighs more than my sins. But don’t be mistaken when you hear the echo of a gun. There’s a bear out here and a killer on the run.