Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EVERLY
I wanted to gift Maverick his freedom this evening.
Unfortunately, it seems The Universe decided to step in and fuck it all up for me.
Wrapped up like a burrito after being wrestled into a straitjacket by two patients that seem to be at Braum’s beck and call, I’m tossed into a padded room.
Literally . The two assholes who did this to me laugh as I let out a grunt when my butt hits the floor.
I bounce once, then end up hitting my back against the wall.
The white squares aren’t nearly as soft as they look.
Maverick, who was dragged in first, is semi-conscious. He lies on his side, wrapped in a straitjacket too, his breathing slow but body tense.
I roll to the side and scramble to my knees. It’s hard to do without the use of my arms. When I manage to get there, it’s just in time to watch a literal god walk into the room.
His hair is so blond it’s nearly white, which is in stark contrast to the healthy golden glow of his skin.
It’s styled back out of his classically handsome face, looking freshly cut.
He’s got a pointed chin, full lips, and a heavy brow.
His chiseled features are scarily perfect.
There is a fluidity in the way he moves and an air of importance that follows each step.
Strangely enough, he looks vaguely familiar.
I blink rapidly, trying to dispel the notion I’ve seen him before because clearly I haven’t. Yet when he suddenly stops before me and crouches down so we’re eye to eye, that feeling strengthens.
“Hello, Everly,” he greets pleasantly as if he hadn’t just orchestrated my capture. A perfect smile slides into place as I meet his deep, navy blue eyes.
My body locks up in surprise. “You… know my name?”
“I do now, thanks to Vick over there,” he nudges his head toward Maverick, who’s beginning to stir. “I was under the impression it was Anastasia.”
I swallow hard. The god’s gaze drops to my throat to track the motion. When he looks back up at me, there’s something sharp and dangerous in those deep, endless blue eyes. I should be terrified. He’s clearly in charge right now, and the reason I’m in here. Instead of scared, I feel… intrigued.
This is the second time in the same day someone has looked directly at me without skepticism, boredom, or clearly seeing dollar signs.
I prefer to be looked through rather than be deemed lackluster or unimportant.
The latter is how I’ve lived most of my life, anyway.
But the way this god is staring, as if I am the only person worthy of his attention? It’s perversely exhilarating.
“This isn’t usually how I treat exquisite items, so please forgive me in advance.
” To my surprise, he reaches out and cups my cheek tenderly.
I don’t realize how cold I am until the warmth of his palm seeps into my face.
Thankfully, my sense of self-preservation reminds me I’m in a dangerous situation, and I jerk away from his touch before I can accidentally do something stupid—like leaning into his touch.
He sighs. “This is just temporary, I promise. You belong with other beautiful things, Everly. Not in the dark or forgotten, like Vick here.”
As if hearing his nickname is a trigger, Maverick’s head jerks up. “I’m going to kill you, Rowan.”
Rowan? I frown. That name… where have I heard it before?
“That’s not very nice of you to say,” Rowan replies, tearing his gaze from me to look over at him. “Especially since tonight is all about you. You’ll be thanking us before it’s over.”
Maverick bares his teeth. The sound that rumbles through his chest, up his throat, and out his mouth is terrifying.
He sounds like a cornered, feral animal.
The way he glares through the mass of dark hair that’s fallen into his face, his pupils blown wide and eyes red around the edges, only emphasizes it.
“I don’t want anything from you,” he manages to growl out as he begins to breathe heavily.
Rowan smirks. “We’ll see about that soon enough, won’t we?”
As he moves to stand, it clicks where I’ve seen Rowan before. I gasp in surprise.
“Wait, are you Rowan Underhill? As in, the model who went crazy and?—”
“I did not go crazy,” he snaps loudly, shooting me with a look so twisted with rage I find myself cringing into the padding behind me. His face flares red and his body stiffens.
Vick snickers. “Naw, this asshole’s always been crazy. He didn’t just snap, did you?”
Rowan doesn’t spare Vick another look. Instead, he takes an exaggerated deep breath—his chest expanding wide before he slowly lets it out through flared nostrils. By the time he’s done exhaling, the rage has trickled out of his face.
“I go to great lengths to achieve perfection. If I don’t have it, I find a way I can,” he says, as if that explains everything. “That building was built on a slant. Everything was off by ten degrees. It was unacceptable.”
I blink, waiting for a logical explanation to follow, like maybe a lit candle which slid off a table or something. When he doesn’t elaborate, I realize he thinks the slight slant of everything was reason enough to set an entire building on fire.
That doesn’t sound reasonable. Then again, I’m in a psychiatric facility—if the patients here knew what reasonable meant, they probably wouldn’t be here in the first place.
Rowan steps back, turning toward the door. At his impending departure, fear claws at me and I call out, desperate to avoid this fate.
“Please,” I beg, choking down tears as frustration builds. “Don’t do this.”
Rowan pauses, looking back at me, his face now void of any emotion. “Like I said, you won’t be here long.”
With that, he steps out and the door shuts behind him.
There’s no sound of retreating footsteps, no voices that drift through the padded door, not even the hum of electricity coming from the single light way overhead.
It’s almost completely silent. The only noise in the room is Maverick’s heavy breathing.
I ignore him for a moment, too shocked to peel my gaze from the door.
This can’t be happening. I’m definitely not trapped in a padded room in a fancy insane asylum.
Because that… that would be bad. Really fucking bad.
I mean, it could be worse , I suppose. At least Father doesn’t know where I am.
If he did, he’d probably come here and skin me alive.
That might sound like an exaggeration, but after the humiliation I’ve put him through, I know that threat might actually be a literal one.
But just because I know it could be worse, it doesn’t make this any better.
Licking my dry lips, I redirect my panicked thoughts to the more immediate situation.
How long do Braum and Rowan plan to keep us in here?
And why would they put us in here together?
Isn’t the point of isolation to, well… isolate someone?
This feels counterproductive. Then again, maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.
Or they might not have thought it through at all—logic probably wouldn’t be a strong suit of psych patients, now would it?
With a heavy sigh, my head drops and my chin hits my chest.
Okay, well, not all is lost. There’s still a chance of getting out of here.
Rowan and Braum can’t hold us in this room forever.
I just have to wait for an opportunity for us to make a break for it.
I’ve waited a year for my own freedom, six months of that waiting to break Maverick out of here. I can wait a little bit longer.
On the bright side, my backpack—full of supplies—is still in the torture device thing Maverick threw me into.
No one thought to look too hard into the darkness when Braum pulled me out.
If I can get Maverick and I out of this situation, I can hurry back and grab it before we take off.
The car will be fine. Sitting there a day or two won’t hurt it.
As long as no one stumbles upon it and gets it towed, the getaway vehicle will be waiting for us.
“This is your fault.”
I flinch at the venom in Maverick’s voice. Stealing a deep breath, I force myself to be in the moment.
“If you hadn’t come here tonight, I’d be asleep in my bed. Now I’m stuck in the middle of one of Rowan and Braum’s games, and I’m trapped in solitary, again ,” he continues, his gravelly voice deepening. “This night couldn’t get worse.”
What does he mean by again? How often does he find himself in solitary confinement? My stomach knots at the thought of him sitting in this room on his own, in the silence.
I shift until I'm on my butt then lean back against the padded wall. It kind of smells in here. Like poor hygiene and musk, as if they half-assed cleaning the room between stints. I try not to let it bother me while I consider how long I might have to deal with it.
“I guess pointing out that we’d be halfway to the car by now if we hadn’t taken a detour to that church would be pointless,” I mutter dryly.
My gaze drops to my feet. Why did they have to go and take my shoes?
The grippy socks that were shoved onto my feet aren’t all that comfortable, and they don’t keep my toes warm.
I tuck them beneath me while I try to use my shoulder to brush away the few strands of my hair sticking to my cheek.
It doesn’t work. They just fall right back, tickling my cheek once more.
“There’s no car,” he grumbles. “There never was. This was some elaborate?—”
“Really? After all this, you still think that?” I interrupt softly, frowning slightly.
Maverick snorts. “Yes, more now than I did before. Why else aren’t you freaking out? You’re trapped in a padded room, and you’re not even a patient here. You probably have someone who’s about to fling open that door and get you out of here, don’t you?”
Laughter, cold and short-lived, tumbles past my lips.
“There’s no one out there to save me, Mavie,” I promise grimly as it subsides.
“Sure there isn’t. God, you’re a pathetic liar.”