Chapter Twenty
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Henri
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WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?
Code?
Commiseration?
Peter couldn’t hide his rebellion even while wearing bandages, and Ily...
Fuck.
Blackness poured over my mind as I glanced at her jog-tripping beside me.
What was she trying to do? Get herself killed?
Her arm was so slight and cool in my pinching fingers.
Her body exquisitely beautiful beneath the beige jumper she’d slipped into.
The same jumper where the Diamond Kiss chit had waited.
The hem kissed her upper thighs as I pulled her faster, the flash of a white G-string visible as I hauled her over the grass.
The minute she’d spoken back after a month of pandering to me.
The second she told me to fuck myself, my entire body roared to life.
The desperation to throw her on the table again and repeat what’d happened the night of the treasure hunt splintered my bones.
It’d been too long. Far, far too long since I’d been inside her.
Despite the misery of the new jewels and the horror that I couldn’t do a damn thing to save them, all I could think about was kissing her. The moment our eyes met, and all her fire tangled with mine—the second her slur burned my blood...all my self-control sizzled into rusty dust.
Only her.
Just her.
No one else had the power to invoke such heat inside me. Such an uncontrollable combustion that seared around my despair, set alight all my blackness, and gave me a reprieve...just for a moment.
And that tear?
Are you fucking kidding me?
I went past blazing and straight to conflagration.
I didn’t stop jogging until we reached the castle’s east corner.
Ily slowed beside me as I eyed up the large portico with potted manicured trees flanking yet another door.
Unlike the modern sliding doors leading from the ballroom and dining hall, this one looked ancient.
The heavy wood pockmarked and chipped as if some long-ago invader tried to hack at it with an axe.
I had no idea where it led, but I wanted privacy.
I needed Ily alone.
Now.
She didn’t say a word as I yanked open the door, and we stumbled into a room.
Vaulted ceilings, swept-back bronze curtains, metallic threaded tapestries, and a giant amethyst geode all glittered in the soft glow of two huge chandeliers.
And the best part...it was empty.
Pulling Ily deeper into the room, the outside door banged shut, wrapping us up in the silence of stone, plush tan leather couches, a huge fireplace with stone foxes, and rugs thick enough to sleep on.
Guiding her to one of the couches, I pushed her down and sat close enough for our knees to touch.
I went to speak, but she tipped up her chin, and her eyes flashed with gold. “Do you know this is the first time you’ve sat me on a chair like a normal person instead of making me sit by your feet like a dog?”
I frowned, ready to argue.
I needed to argue.
Arguing could be the lifeline to pull myself out of the swamp I’d fallen into.
I choked on all the things I wanted to say, but the shackles of shadow slowly came back, trickling through my mind, gifting me yet more memories that I’d blocked out.
I’d accepted her kneeling by my feet—not because Victor expected his jewels to assume such a subservient position but because...I’d been raised that way.
I’d watched my father snap his fingers and witnessed how our mothers would crawl for him. I’d often filled up a dog bowl at his command, cutting up pieces of decadent food that they had to eat face first and ass up.
I groaned and rubbed my eyes.
How could I tell her that those memories were no longer forgotten thanks to trauma-amnesia protecting me? That they were now brightly lit and centre stage in my head? How could I confess that the longer I stayed here, the more my past knitted with my present and made all this so normal for me?
So fucking normal, which only made my grief so much worse.
Because I didn’t want this normal.
I didn’t want Ily on the floor.
I didn’t want her jumping at my every command.
I might want to rule her, but I wanted her to rule me right back. I wanted her to leash the despicable darkness inside me by being stubborn and brave and wonderfully unafraid.
And then I’d do my best to make her cry—
Ah, Jesus Christ.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I rested my elbows on my knees and looked away.
Had the cufflinks managed to alert my brother yet?
Was he coming, or did I need to throw them farther than just over the wall?
Maybe I should retrieve them and find a way to strap them to the leg of one of the pigeons that roosted on the carved gargoyles outside our bedroom. They could fly above the net of no internet and send an SOS because I couldn’t exist this way much longer.
And I couldn’t die until Ily was safe.
If you’re coming, brother, you need to hurry.
Squeezing my skull, I shook as the urge to crack open my brain and systematically slice out all the pieces of my past became overwhelming.
“Henri...” Ily’s fragile hand landed on my thigh. “Are you...do you have a headache? I can get you something—”
“You’re asking me if I’m unwell?” I dropped my hands and caught her worried stare.
Biting her lip, she pulled her hand back. “Yes, well, you look like death warmed over.”
I flinched at that word.
Was it normal for someone to crave such a thing? To long for death like one longed for a good night’s sleep or a holiday? The peace that would come from being free of this body, this mind, this soul. I just wanted to dissolve into the darkness and be done with it.
A slithery, sinning part of me wrapped around my voice box. I sounded flippant and cruel when every damn molecule begged for help. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
God, what would I give to just talk to her. To blurt it all out there. Probably sob like a pussy as I recounted why I was the way I was and that there was no cure.
I’d hoped she was my cure.
That the moment I understood what the scratchy, searing mess in my heart meant that I’d be miraculously freed from this black-tinged disease.
But no.
I still wanted to hurt her despite my despair.
I still wanted her blood on my tongue regardless of my nightmares from my father doing the same damn thing to countless screaming, sobbing women.
I wasn’t just fucked up.
There wasn’t a word for what I was.
I needed to be exterminated before it was too late.
Reclining against the settee, I sucked in air. I still tasted the toxic terror from the new jewels. Fresh marks glowing on previously un-scarred skin—faces that couldn’t quite believe what’d happened, quickly shutting down to become empty shells.
An image of Ily breaking that way haunted me.
None of the other jewels made eye contact with me. Not even Rachel or Mollie.
Peter dared look at me, but his stare reeked of judgement and something I couldn’t quite decipher.
“You did come for us. You’re going to free us. I know it—”
Fuck!
Pushing that awful echo out of my mind, I leapt to my feet and paced in front of the fireplace.
Ily stayed on the couch, watching.
The tension between us dragged out until it twanged like a screeching violin string.
“Why did you bring me in here, Henri?” she finally asked.
I stopped dead and balled my hands.
My eyes zeroed in on her dry cheek. “You cried.”
Her shoulders swooped back. “And you figured you’d what? Bring me here and see if you could make me cry harder?”
I groaned at the thought. I hardened at the image.
I’d made the choice to bring her to this hellhole.
I wore the crime of my past.
Yet I couldn’t stop the idiotic boy inside me getting on his knees and pleading with her to fix me. To give me her tears so I might find salvation in this storm. To cry for me and scream at me. To kneel for me and curse me.
Fucking hell.
My stomach clenched.
Familiar sourness tainted my tongue.
Was a bathroom close by because the beer turned rancid in my gut.
I hated that the Masters were back.
I despised that Victor had returned, and instead of feeling fear, I actually felt a smidgen of relief.
While he lurked around every corner, I had to keep my wits.
Had to remember how to act. Had to actually speak instead of giving every word to my useless manuscript.
But the real reason was...while he groomed me and pushed me, I could give myself grace because I wasn’t the worst one in the room anymore.
He was.
The internal double doors leading to yet another dayroom suddenly sprang wide and in he walked, summoned by my thoughts.
“Ah!” Victor opened his arms, a black and silver bag dangling from his left hand and a familiar leather leash in his right.
Rachel trailed docilely behind him, her collar clipped to her beaming, well-rested Master.
“There you are! Why did you run off, my dear Henri? Was it something I said? You’re missing the canapés and entertainment. ”
I flicked a look at Ily.
Her face turned unreadable; eyes narrowed.
I searched her gaze for that spark of fire that always singed me. I wished I could rewind time and actually give her an answer when she asked me to play along with her. I wished I could make her feel anything but hate.
I didn’t want Victor in the same room as her, but I was tired. So motherfucking tired of swimming against this black undertow and it took every effort. All my self-control to swallow down the misery and mayhem and step back into my expected role.
“Vic. Sorry, I...I needed to reprimand Il—”
I cut myself off.
I hadn’t said her name since she’d told me what it meant.
I still couldn’t say it.
Had Victor watched the camera feed while he’d been away? Would he watch them now like some bad daytime soap opera? I wasn’t stupid enough to think he wouldn’t check on me. A month with no chaperone? He’d be curious, and I already knew he’d find me lacking.
“Come. Sit, sit.” He moved to the second settee facing the one Ily sat on.