Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Lizette
M y head pounds and every piece of me is tied tight into balls of misery.
Inside, I hurt.
Everything’s beyond fuzzy and for a moment, I can’t remember anything. Apart from feeling good at one point, like better than I’ve ever felt before. Orgasmic, and the way he moved his fingers in and out of me?—
“Oh. Oh my god!”
The man, he…he… Shame burns hot in my cheeks. My body ticks into throbbing life for him, even as he repulsed me.
What was his name? John? James? Jake.
I shudder at the thought.
I didn’t want him, but my physiological urges went crazy. And then a beautiful godling with caramel curls and dimples and too much sex appeal saved me.
Jake didn’t penetrate me. The golden-haired godling did, with his fingers. And he showed me a taste of divinity.
You threw yourself on him. Begged him…
Now my body throbs hard with remembered pleasure. There’s a sore spot that aches oh, so good, on my throat, and I touch it. Waves of muted desire spread.
“Where…did I—” I frown, looking around. I’m on a feathery soft bed, the kind of thing I want to burrow into, deep. The room is neutral, calming, low light, and…no windows.
A knell booms in my blood, making my heart lurch. “Why are there no windows?” I whisper.
I drag myself up, ignoring the pain wrapping around me, and make my way to the door, looking around. There’s another door, just one, that’s open and my reflection passes in a mirror in that room as I do. An ensuite?
When I reach the door, I try the handle, but it’s locked.
Using all my strength as panic batters me, I shake it. Then I start banging my fist.
“Hey, hey, let me out! Is anyone there?”
A key scrapes in the lock, and I fist my hands, wishing I’d grabbed something as a weapon, and ready myself for a full charge.
The door hits me, knocking me backwards.
A gorgeous, edgy blonde amazon stands there. “It opens inward. Be a good little omega and get back on the bed.”
She holds a tray laden with bowls and some juice in her hands, and I take a step forward.
Her narrow-eyed look stops me in my tracks. “Kid, you can rush me, but there’s no way out. You’d have to get through three alphas who are mean as shit, and yes, that includes the one who marked you. If you manage to do the impossible, you’ll still have to get through Julien, my man.”
She steps in, uses her ass to slam the door shut, and nods at the bed.
There’s also a bag slung over her shoulder, and I dart my gaze around, looking for mine.
“Where’s my bag? My father’s hat?” The other things I hid are important but the hat…it’s priceless to me .
“Chill.” She nods to the bed again when I step forward. “Julien? Giant man who let you in? You’re small, no way you’d even get a step past him, so sit the fuck down.”
I do, resentment heating my skin.
She sets the tray down. Then the bag. She reaches in and throws me a hot water bottle. I hug it.
“I hear there’s a lot of pain associated with heat.”
I frown. “You’re not an omega? Are you an alpha?” To me, she’s the epitome of an alpha female, but she laughs.
“Gamma.”
“Oh.” I swallow.
Dad really never took me through the ins and outs of all of the hierarchy breakdown. I just know I’m an omega and that’s why we had to stay off grid.
“Oh, Jesus. Your face. You’re a fucking little babe in the woods.”
She pulls a small bottle of pills out. And she shakes out two. “We don’t have any O-blocker, but these’ll knock you out in about twenty minutes. So eat, get comfy and lie down.”
“Am I a prisoner?” I push the words through stiff lips.
She shrugs. “Kid, I don’t make the rules for the Unholy Trinity. That’s going to be Dante, Reaper, and your boy Knight.”
With that, she turns and starts for the door.
“I’m Lizette.” I don't know why I blurt it out, but when her sharp eyes pierce through me, I instantly regret the choice.
“We’re not bonding, okay? There are extra blankets in the closet.”
“I’m in Pandora’s Box?”
“You’re in the beating heart of the Unholy Trinity. Take your pills or not, I don’t care.”
“The Unholy Trinity?”
The blonde goddess rolls her eyes. “You’re not so innocent, really?”
A savage heat rushes my veins and I clutch the hot water bottle with one hand and smooth my dress on my thigh with the other. “Of course I’ve heard of them.”
The woman folds her arms. I have vague flashes of her. Blurry photographs in my mind at the bar waiting tables. Touching my cheek, brushing my hair from my throat. And questions I know I answered but the words from both her and me are lost in a swirl.
She can be soft when she wants to.
Right now, she’s annoyed she’s here with me. And that makes two of us.
“Everyone’s heard of them,” I say. “They’re outlaws. They live outside of society.”
As I speak, my tone is slightly snotty. I’m aware of the idiocy of my words.
Worse, I’m aware of the hypocrisy.
Dad and I, we didn’t commit crimes, not in the way the Unholy Trinity does—with their gambling and illegal goods running, bars and clubs open past city and state law decrees.
Hell, I’ve heard it all. Murder, prostitution, shake downs, loan sharking.
And living in a way that’s uncomfortable, when you look at it, like we do—did…outside Council reach.
“I’m guessing your life,” the woman says, “is in some ways similar to ours.” Then she sighs. “I’m not your enemy, but I’m not your friend.”
“So why did you kidnap me?”
She points at her chest in the tight top. It’s not low cut, but it’s tight, like leather that’s been painted on her skin. And if anyone has the body for the second skin look, it’s this woman.
“Me?” the blonde says, “I didn’t do anything.”
“Then—”
“For the record, no one kidnapped you. Dante deemed it wise not to let you out to get yourself mated and marked by some low life. Which you were very much on your way to doing when Knight stepped in. ”
I grimace.
“Girl, you’re in heat. The beginning stage before the main event, but you’re gonna have to ride it out here. At least until the worst is over. Unless you want us to turn you out right now.”
The blonde comes in close and puts her hands on her thighs, leaning in. She’s all sleek muscle, lithe, like a huntress, and I almost draw back.
Except she isn’t trying to attack me.
“And judging by the way you look, the way you’re shaking and clutching that bottle, I don’t think you’re gonna make it far. So take your pills, eat, drink, get extra blankets if you need them. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
“So, I can leave if I want?”
“Now, that’s not very civic minded of us, is it?”
And with the final word, she leaves. The click of the deadbolt lock tells me my answer instead.
“Which means,” I say to no one, “I’m a damn prisoner.”
I try to think of what Dad would do. But the thing is, Dad was the wily one. He wouldn’t get into this situation. He wouldn’t have panicked.
I have vague memories of the places we’ve lived when we were on the run. Sometimes we’d leave in the middle of the night, and since I was so little, I only have bright images that fade, but I always remember that it was important I stay quiet. Do what he said. And act like all was normal when things were in freefall.
Dad didn’t panic, and he told me he picked Starlight City because it’s big. Here, we blended.
Until he died and left me.
Then everything fell apart.
I hug the water bottle tighter, trying to draw the heat into me.
For a few moments, I give in to the self-pity that wants to crush me into a puddle and I squeeze my eyes tight .
“Get it together,” I mutter. “You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out.”
Steeling myself, I push up to my feet and drop the water bottle. As I clench my jaw, I look around, opening drawers. I find a remote control and, even though I heard the key turn both times in the low-tech door, I press a button.
Sound blares and I whirl. A screen has come to life, a TV, one made to take on the same image as the wall’s paint when off, making it almost invisible.
“Shit.”
I turn it off, and press the other buttons, but now I don’t switch the TV on, nothing else happens. So, I drop the remote control on the bed. I continue my search. There aren’t any windows, no secret doors or Narnia or the outside world.
But I’m not ready to concede defeat. Ignoring the agony that’s a dull whine in me, I go into the bathroom, feeling the walls either side of the door for the light. I hit it.
There’s a vent, but no windows in here, either.
Defeated, I try one last thing.
The door. Just in case.
But the door’s very much locked.
A wave hits and I stagger as misery and pain crash over me. The itch for relief, something that ebbs and flows, never leaves me.
Instead, I go to the bed and sit, taking small sips from the bowl of soup that smells of chicken and noodles and the kind of medicine that helps a little.
Then I take a bite of the sandwich. Egg and lettuce. It’s on thick whole grain and I whimper.
Because this is the kind of meal Dad made for me the second time I went into heat. And I know he’d want me to eat, to gather strength, calm, before I decide to do anything.
But the pills?
I stare at them and then I sweep them up and throw them, something I’m sure is a mistake. But no, I’m not taking them. I’m not letting these people, this Unholy Trinity, keep me out of it.
When it comes down to face to face, I want—no, I need—to be alert.
A wave of pain hits me, and my stomach tries to eat itself at the same time, like I don’t know which way’s up.
But I eat, and I drink, and when I start to feel a little woozy, like the edge has been taken off, I switch on the TV, turn the sound low.
Then I climb into the bed, dragging the hot water bottle with me, and close my eyes.
Blackness claims me.
I don’t know how long I was out, but I come awake fast.
My senses are tangled, and I can smell rain in the air, and earthy something. It’s hot, salty, and it makes me think of sex.
This time there’s pain, but desire flares up, taking me hard.
The TV is still off and I realize the scent isn’t something my sleep or drug addled mind made up—I think the food was drugged—because I’m not alone.
Someone’s in the room with me. Dark and dangerous and so compellingly male, so overwhelmingly familiar.
I know who it is before I look.
It’s the man from the car, when the cops ripped my life apart. When he ripped it apart by turning me in.
The tall devil in black.
I throb deep inside.
Not from pain.
But the kind of desire I’ve never felt or imagined. The only thing close is the other one, Knight, but my desire for him was different. This feels…
This feels like crushing domination .
Worse, I want to be crushed, dominated. Made his.
I want this man to rut in me.
I turn. Look at him.
It’s a mistake.
He’s even worse up close.
Because like this, I’m his willing sacrifice, and what I thought was desire was nothing at all.
He’s pure combustion.
The man—I’m positive he’s the one the woman called Dante. He’s an alpha, yes, but it’s DNA, bone, and soul deep in him. The man leans against the wall, arms folded, eyes half mast, and one leg resting on the wall behind him.
He’s in black. Head to foot.
The devil.
My destruction.
The most potent man I think I’ve ever seen.
I breathe in, and I’m consumed by him.
And even though I’m in bed, my legs shake as I sit up.
“Oh, good,” he says in a dark and sonorous voice edged in sex, “you’re awake.”