Chapter 7
Grace
My heart is racing, but I’m not sure whether it’s agitated by fear or by excitement.
As ominous and threatening as this man comes across, I still have the feeling that there’s more to him than that. I could be wrong, of course. Very wrong.
He casts me one last smile, before he gets up from the bed and walks over to the tray he left on the floor next to the door.
“Are you leaving?” I ask, lifting my head as much as I can to see him.
He doesn’t respond, but goes down on his knees to pick up the tray. When he’s balancing it on one hand and makes a move to reach for the doorknob, I’m overrun with another surge of panic.
I don’t want him to leave.
“My brothers won’t pay a ransom, you know,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “They never would. They’ll come for you instead. They’ll kill you!”
He freezes mid-motion, his hand still resting on the knob when he turns around with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Your brothers?” he asks, visibly confused.
Shit. Why did I have to mention them? Didn’t I just convince myself that it was better to keep any information about my family to myself?
He lets go of the doorknob and walks back to the bed, carrying the tray with him—and the teapot that is still warm enough to hurt me.
“Who said anything about a ransom?” He wants to know. “And who are your brothers?”
“No one,” I hurry to reply.
“Why would you mention them?” he probes.
Because it’s the only explanation I have for all of this. My brothers pissed off another gang of mobsters and you decide to take advantage of their alleged weakness—their helpless, little sister.
I was born to be a victim, they always told me that. All except Tyler, who is only three years older than me and the youngest of them. He’s always been the only one who viewed me as a person and not just a burden.
“No reason,” I utter helplessly. “I just thought...”
He raises his eyebrows at me when I pause. I don’t know how to get out of this. It’s too late. He’s either very good at feigning ignorance or he really has nothing to do with my brother’s business and I just gave him a useful piece of information, which he could use against me.
“How many brothers do you have?” he implores, as he sits back down on the mattress.
I bite my lips, unwilling to speak, even as he reaches for the handle of the teapot.
“Don’t feel like speaking again?” He wants to know, menace lacing his words.
“Four,” I hiss. “I have four older brothers.”
“I’m sure they’re very protective of their little nestling,” he ponders.
I throw him an irked look. “Yes, they are.”
“Understandable.”
His voice is softer now, almost melancholic, and he loosens the grip on the handle. A rush of triumph rushes down my spine. Just now it feels like he’s the one who gave away more than he wanted to. For the moment, there’s no vibe of a beautiful monster, but just that of someone who can emphasize with the alleged duties of being an older brother—because he is one himself.
“You have a younger sister, too, don’t you?” I dare to ask.
“No, I don’t,” he answers, a little too fast to be believable.
“I don’t-”
“It’s none of your business, Grace,” he cuts me off. Fury is flickering in his gaze when he looks at me now, a silent warning for me to shut up.
“How do you know my name?” I ask, if only to change the subject.
Of course, he doesn’t like the question, and he makes sure to let me know by rolling his eyes.
“I think we’ve had enough questions for today,” he announces and gets up from the bed.
“What’s your name?” I blurt out. “You know mine. Don’t you think it’s only fair for me to know yours?”
“You don’t need to know my name,” he retorts. “I already told you how to address me.”
“But-”
“No but!” He silences me. “Try to get some rest.”
And with that, he turns on the spot and marches toward the door. He opens it just wide enough for himself to slip through before quickly closing it shut. A loud click lets me know that I’m locked in. He must really worry that I could get out of here, if he’s taking all these ridiculous precautions.
Get some rest. He must be fucking kidding. How am I supposed to rest like this, with all fours stretched out, my naked body on display and unprotected against whatever he may want to do to me. Besides, I’m not tired at all.
I take a deep breath and lift my head to survey the windowless room. The ceilings are rather low and the air is chilly and slightly damp. A basement, most probably, if not certainly. Other than that, the white walls, white ceiling and white door don’t tell me anything.
No, that’s not true. The paneled wooden door comes with a shiny knob made of forged brass. Georgian style, I would say. You often see these knobs in old colonial mansions all over the New England area. This doesn’t tell me much about where exactly I could be, but it appears that we’re not that far away from the ward, most likely. Maybe we’re even still in Massachusetts.
I need to get out of this room. He said I’d be able to free myself of these restraints if I choose to behave. I can do that—or at least act as if I can. If I had been a little more quick-witted earlier, I might not even be here anymore. Why did I shy away when he asked me about my scars, instead of coming up with a lie?
Because you’re a terrible liar, Grace .
So what? I can learn. I can learn to lie.
And under these circumstances, I might have to.