Chapter Six
In which we learn that right when you don’t think things can get any worse, they usually do.
Luna…
“Wake up, little fox…”
Sitting up so fast that my head swims, I glare at my captor, who is seated on the bed and watching me with amusement.
“Careful, you almost fell off.”
The bed’s pushed up against the wall, so there’s nowhere to retreat from him. He’s enormous, and he’s looming over me. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” I mumble. Of course, he has an opinion.
“You’re exhausted from dragging around your friend last night. Ya dinna have any sense of self-preservation, do you? You’re too protective of weaker folk.” He doesn’t say it like he thinks that is a positive attribute. This also reminds me of Marla. Oh, shit . Is she still hiding in the boat house? Did they find her?
“You Lords of Chaos said that anyone who could get to the dock was home free, right? That you let them go?”
He smiles unpleasantly. “No one ever has.”
“My friend - not those bitches who set me up - but my real friend got away,” I persist. “What happens to her?”
“You’re talking about that sweet little thing from Wales?”
Am I making this worse for her? “Yes. And she did get to the dock. You have to let her go.”
Checking his watch, he shrugs. “I suspect she’s still crouched in the boathouse, hoping you’ll come save her again. However, yes. She’ll be getting off the island in one piece.”
Part of me is calling bullshit. Are they really going to let her go now that she knows about this hellscape? He’s studying me again.
“You haven’t asked about yourself, little fox.”
Awkwardly climbing over the footboard to get some distance, I stretch with a groan. “Okay. What happens to me, monster?”
“Hmmm… monster. I like it.”
“If the claws fit…”
“You’re coming back to the main house with me. You will not speak unless I speak to you or give you permission. You will not eat or drink anything unless I give it to you. You will not talk about what happened last night if you want to live long enough to get off this island.”
Any illusion of humor or softness left in his expression is crushed by the polar chill now radiating from him.
“Do you understand, little fox? The only person here who would be punished for Deacon’s death is you.” His enormous hands clench into fists, and I wonder if he’s picturing snapping my neck like a glow stick. Suddenly, I’m hot and cold and there’s sweat making my sports bra stick to my skin.
“I can keep my mouth shut,” I say, proud that my voice isn’t shaking. “But when are you going to let me go?”
“The correct question is if I’ll let you go,” he says, apparently enjoying the sight of my wide eyes and pale face. “Be a good girl, and you’ll improve your odds. The others - the Lords and the hangers-on - will fuck with you. They’ll pretend to be your friend and offer to help. They love the moment when all hope dies in their victim’s eyes.” His hand curls around the back of my neck and pulls me closer. “I’m the only one interested in keeping you safe.”
“Why isn’t that even remotely comforting?” I ask.
“I’m not here to soothe your fears, lass. Do what I say, and you’ll live.”
He doesn’t bother to put on a shirt, nor does he give me one for the walk back to the mansion. The moist morning air wraps around my bare arms, giving me goosebumps, while he strolls along as if he doesn’t feel such plebeian things as heat or cold. I notice that he’s not favoring his wounded leg at all. Either he heals abnormally quickly, or he doesn’t want the rest of the Lords to know he got hurt.
Smart man. An evil son of a bitch, but smart.
When the mansion looms into view, my steps slow. I can’t go back in there. The flat, feral shine in Brittany and Canary’s eyes, those sick fucks with their weapons and masks, it’s too much. I’m torn between wanting to set fire to this pretentious shit pile or run screaming from it.
“Move it,” he says impatiently, taking my arm and pulling me along.
“Wait.” I dig in my heels. “What’s your name? I have to call you something.”
Spinning his baseball bat with one hand, he glances at the house, then at me. “Call me Sir.”
Asshole.
Tightening his grip on my arm, he pulls me through the backyard, where several workers are trying to clean up the debris from last night. There’s a collection of bras floating in the pool, a couple of puddles of vomit, broken bottles, and four people snoring away on the lawn furniture in various states of undress.
When we step through the French doors, three of ‘Sir’s’ fellow psychopaths are there, lounging by the bar, day drinking.
“Another one bites the dust!” One of them cheers, offering ‘Sir’ the bottle of ouzo he’d been drinking from.
“No thanks, Enzo.” He pushes it back. “I’ve seen where your mouth has been.”
This Enzo creep doesn’t seem offended, sucking down a fourth of the bottle in one huge gulp. My throat burns just from watching it. “You caught one of the lost lambs,” he says, nodding in my direction. He’s got a heavy Italian accent and seems just as allergic to clothing as ‘Sir’ is, since he’s wearing nothing but a loose pair of basketball shorts, unless you count his tattoos.
“I’m keeping her around for a while,” ‘Sir’ says vaguely, heading for the hallway.
“She that good of a fuck?” Another one of the monsters tilts his head, looking me over. “Let’s see how well she sucks my dick while you’re banging her from behind.”
‘Sir’s’ grip on me tightens in warning. “You know I don’t share. What happened with the two assholes who wanted to join the Lords?”
“Brennan’s getting his broken arm set,” Enzo says gloatingly, as if damaging a fellow human being is a magical thing. “He made it through, though. He’s worthy.”
“We only allow seven Lords,” another one of them says, sucking on a cigar as long as his arm. “The last vacancy was filled by you, Wallace.”
Wallace. My captor’s name is Wallace. First or last?
“He looks like the type who’s willing to wait it out,” he says indifferently. “I’m heading up to bed. None of you fuckheads wake me up.”
Laughter and an array of filthy comments trail after us as he pulls me down the hall. The cleaning people hurry out of his way, keeping their heads down. The woman I’d pulled out of the pool last night glances up and looks stricken to see me. I shoot her a small smile as I’m dragged past. Maybe she’d be willing to help me, I can tell she knows exactly why I’m here.
Although… why am I here? Wallace/Sir didn’t try to rape me, he didn’t even hurt me.
The suite he pushes me into is elaborately decorated in blues and golds, the massive antique furniture is beautifully carved. It’s also remarkably clean, given the state of the rest of the mansion, though the little gardener’s cottage he’d seemed to claim was spotless, too. Maybe he’s a clean freak as well as a heartless psychopath.
When he shuts the door, I shudder in relief. “Your friends are bastards. Offense intended.”
“You really didn’t listen to me when I told you I’d keep you safe if you followed my rules, did you?” He’s scrolling through something on an iPad on the desk. These hedonistic pricks do something other than get drunk and indulge in hurting people?
“Sorry. We’re alone here, so I thought it would be okay.” The apology is stiff, but I force it out. I’m still alive, and unfortunately, he’s the reason why.
“I have work to do,” he says, still not looking up from his iPad. “There’s a mini-fridge by the bar, and they stock it with food every day. Get something to eat and stay quiet.”
He’s killing me. I’ve never been the “Sit still and be quiet” type, even as a kid. But since I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, I pull a sandwich and a bag of mini carrots out of the little fridge. I take a huge, happy bite and pause, chewing.
Chewing some more.
And more. The indigestible mass in my mouth tastes like how roadkill under a hot summer sun smells. Quietly spitting the mouthful into a napkin, I look up to find Wallace looking at me with a slight curve of amusement gracing his lips.
“You don’t like it?”
“What is that?” I ask, gulping half a bottle of water.
“Kale, beets, and protein paste.” He’s already going over his documents again.
“You eat this crap regularly?” I’m appalled. The monster is jacked, each muscle perfectly sculpted, and now I see why. He eats like an apex predator turned vegan.
“Every day,” he agrees absently.
“Maybe if you ate delicious and flavorful things, it would fulfill you and you wouldn’t need to chase innocent people through the forest.” I smile sweetly. I’m pushing it. I know I am. But the more time I spend in his company, the less I believe that he’s going to kill me.
There’s no small, amused smile this time. “You’ll stop talking now,” he says coldly. When I open my mouth, he holds up one threatening finger without even looking at me.
Seating myself by one of the windows, I free a slice of bread from the horrible sandwich and eat that, along with my mini-carrots. The suite looks out on the little harbor and the empty dock. I’m straining to see inside the darkened boathouse window, I don’t know if Marla’s still there. He said she was allowed to go; however, it’s not like there’s a firm foundation of trust between us after the horrors of last night. I have to find a way to talk to her.
I lose my chance when a large boat pulls up to the dock, collecting several of the unknowing or unwilling guests from last night. Everyone looks pretty rough, clearly recovering from the world’s worst hangover.
Squinting, I spot a redhead, and she looks back at the house briefly before getting on the boat. My heart leaps as I realize it’s Marla. I pound on the window as she boards the cabin cruiser, but she doesn’t look back again.
Spinning around, I see that Wallace is finally deigning to look at me.
“Tell me the truth,” I say, putting my shaking hands behind my back. “They’re taking those people home, right? You’re not sending them somewhere equally as horrible?”
I can faintly hear the engine start on the boat, and I turn back to watch, nose pressed to the window, as it heads out into the main channel and disappears.
“I canna tell you anything other than they’ll be fine where they’re going,” he says.
“That’s not an answer!”
“That’s all you’ll be getting,” he shrugs, going back to his work.
The cloudy skies clear enough for the weak afternoon sun to shine on the water as another boat pulls into the harbor. It’s enormous, but it’s probably just a starter yacht for assholes like these.
Four men disembark, all looking like accountants, aside from the one in the middle who looks like he eats children for breakfast and shoots kittens to relax. He’s silver-haired, with an expensive suit and a vicious slash for a mouth. As he’s climbing the steps with his entourage, he looks up and I step back from the curtain. I don’t know who he is, but I know I want nothing to do with him.
My mother, who was a huge Stephen King fan, always swore I had “the shine” when I was little because I’d successfully predicted a thing or two. She used to joke that it was a shame they couldn’t take me to Atlantic City and make a million at Blackjack. Even then, I knew people like us never “got lucky.” Not like that, anyway.
Still, I don’t have to be psychic to know that man radiates malice, and the gut-twisting, throat-clenching feeling I have is telling me to keep the hell away from him. Wallace comes up behind me, looking over my shoulder, and he’s frowning, too.
“Who is that?”
“The father of two of the Lords,” he says, stone-faced.
A terrible thought hits me. “He wouldn’t happen to be Red Leather Mask’s dad?”
“He is.”
“Does this mean they already know about him being…” I’m floundering. Can I say the words? “Is this suite bugged?”
I get a half smile from him. “No. I’ve found surveillance devices in the past. After I taught them a lesson, they’ve never tried again.” He holds up something that looks like a TV remote. “I still run a sweep every time I enter the suite.”
“Does this mean they already know that Red Leather- for fuck’s sake, what’s his name? Does this mean they know?”
I don’t realize that I’ve been pacing and waving my hands until he grabs them, pressing my palms together.
“Take a breath, aye?” he orders, and I do, holding it for a moment. “They dinna know yet. They’d notify the rest of us first if Deacon was found.”
“Oh, good.” I wheeze gratefully.
“Though as soon as they realize he’s missing, they’ll raise the alarm,” he continues, destroying my sliver of calm. “It won’t take them long to find him.”
“And his father being here, that’s going to make everything extra bad, isn’t it?” I don’t know why I’m whispering, he said the room’s not bugged. It seems too scary to say it out loud, like it solidifies that what happened is real. I’d almost managed to forget Red Leath- Deacon’s blank stare and his head twisted at that unnatural angle.
“Grayson is worse than his sons, which is one hell of an accomplishment,” he says grimly. “You’re going to stay out of sight while he’s here.”
“For once, I am in complete agreement,” I say fervently.