Chapter 23
Denver
ONE MONTH LATER
Atear slips out of my eye and into my hair as I stare out the bedroom window. Clear blue skies beyond tell me it’ll be another beautiful day—not that I’ll be able to enjoy it. The sun won’t touch my skin. The wind won’t move my hair. Fresh air won’t fill my lungs.
Not if I don’t behave.
The bedroom door opens, and I close my eyes again. I steady my breathing and try to picture I’m somewhere else.
“Breakfast in ten, Robin.”
I swallow and nod. “Okay.”
He lingers, longer than I want any man but Colt to linger, but he leaves. Once the bedroom door is closed, I scream into the pillow.
I scream because it’s the only thing I can do.
Eventually, I shower. The first week I was here, I had to be dragged into the bathroom to clean myself. I’d kick and fight and thrash, but I soon learned that it only made things worse. When I stopped fighting, they stopped hurting me.
When I was well behaved, he didn’t hose me down in the garage.
When I was polite, he didn’t starve me.
When I smiled, he let me walk around the house, even if it was never alone.
Dressed in a pencil skirt and silk blouse, I slip into heels too high for breakfast. I long for jeans, for T-shirts, for sneakers and comfortable pajamas, but he won’t give me any of that. I dress for him, not for me.
I open my bedroom door. Kitrick is leaning against the opposite wall, his figure striking even now.
He’s my personal bodyguard, apparently, but we both know he’s more like a leash with a heartbeat.
He’s tall, bulky, all muscle and scars that have tales I’ll never hear.
As usual, his handsome face is expressionless, blue eyes darting down my outfit to make sure I’m dressed appropriately.
If not, he’d only need to lower his brows and I’d turn around, go back, and change.
He lifts his chin in a sharp motion, signaling that what I’m wearing will do.
We head down the hallway.
The large property is a fortress. I’ve never seen a door that opens to the outside, and every window is sealed shut with an almost invisible covering, meaning no one from the outside can see in.
On the outside are metal shutters, ones that close when the sun sets and rise again the next morning.
The inside is enormous, a maze of hallways, most leading to rooms I’ll never go in.
It’s ancient, cold, but its size means I can sometimes avoid most people for hours.
It’s a small freedom I’m afforded while living through hell.
I make my way to the foyer. The stairs widen at the end, the curved banister smooth under my palm.
Low, rumbling laughter comes from my left. The dining room.
I walk to the double doors that are thrown open. The dining table can seat at least twenty, but only two places are set—the head, and the place beside it.
The chairs are high backed, the dark wood in keeping with the rest of the room.
Mahogany floors, heavy dark drapes allowing only a sliver of light from the large window to warm the far side of the table.
To my right are numerous polished silver containers set on an ironed tablecloth, the rich smell of breakfast food filling the room overpowered only by the smell of coffee.
A waste, because it’s only ever the two of us who eat.
My steps are less sure as I approach the table and take my seat.
Beside Eli Eddards.
He’s forty but passes for my age, with a thick head of brown hair, and wrinkles set into a strikingly beautiful face. Cool blue eyes cut to me as I take my seat, and he runs a hand over his freshly shaved jaw before reaching for the pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat.
“You’re late.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Two minutes late.
Not acceptable.
But I needed to make sure I hid how hard I’d cried in the shower, and even though he’s supplied me with every makeup brand known to man, I still needed the puffiness to go down.
Eli watches me. “What were you doing to be late?”
I keep my eyes on my plate. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”
Still, he doesn’t shift his eyes from me. Sweat gathers between my shoulder blades, and I close my fingers into my palms.
“Make sure it doesn’t, Robin.”
I wait until I hear him resume eating before I even dare to lift my eyes.
Part of me wants to pick up the silverware and ram it into his throat. I’d take pleasure watching his bagel spritzed in red, and I’d cut him to pieces before I walked out the door.
But I rest my hand on my belly.
And I don’t even dare.
The silver coffee pot gleams, and I eye it greedily.
He tuts and swallows his mouthful of breakfast. “One cup.”
I snatch at it, pouring the dark, steaming liquid into my mug, not even bothering to add milk or sugar before taking a sip. He only allows me one a week, if that.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
I roll my lips. “Fine.” Not fine. Not even close. But it’s what he wants to hear. His gaze remains on me, waiting. “How are you?”
He smiles as if he hasn’t had to prompt the question out of me.
“I’m good. I missed you last night, though. One night apart is far too much. You’re getting used to it, aren’t you?”
Letting him sleep beside me. Allowing him in my bed.
The moment I met Eli, I knew there was something fundamentally wrong with him. He’s Spider’s nephew, after all, and even if he wasn’t, what person who sells other people could ever be normal?
But he hasn’t touched me.
I was gifted to him by Spider, but Eli seemingly finds pregnant women detestable. Anytime I’ve found his eyes lingering a little longer than I’d like, I make sure to bring up some kind of pregnancy symptom, and he recoils in horror.
But he’s growing fond of me in his own disturbed way. Insisting we spend time together. Asking me about the baby, about names, about whether I think it’s a boy or a girl. And last week, he said he’d sleep in my bed so if I got sick in the night, he could comfort me.
I’ve barely slept since. It was a relief when he had to work away last night, meaning I at least got a few hours of rest.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Eli chuckles, and I want to stab him. “Fine? You’re hurting my feelings, Robin.”
God, I hate that he calls me that. My middle name was always my favorite thing about me, and he’s tainted it.
“Eat up. The baby needs it.” He pats my hand, and it takes everything in me not to slap him.
I do eat, though. I’m starving. At first, I wouldn’t touch a thing, until Eli lost his patience and took a mouthful of the food on my plate to prove it wasn’t drugged. Of course, he didn’t need to drug me to hurt me.
Now, I eat like I would any other time. For strength. For the baby. So if there’s ever an opportunity, an open door or window, I can run.
And I will fucking run.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I slow my chewing, staring at him. He smiles excitedly, snapping his fingers. The housekeeper scurries over to take his empty plate and leaves without meeting my eye. All these weeks and I’ve never heard her speak.
“Would you like to know what it is?”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
His smile freezes. “Yes?”
“Yes, please,” I add quickly.
The correction seems to satisfy him. “I’ve booked a scan for the baby. You’ll be able to see them today.”
Despite myself, a kernel of hope ignites in my chest. Not just to see the baby—but to be outside. “Really?”
“I knew that would cheer you up.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. I fight a shudder at the unexpected contact. “Are you excited?”
“Yes,” I breathe, relaxing for the first time in too long. This is my chance. “When?”
“This afternoon. Can you be patient until then?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes.”
“And you’ll be good?”
“Yes, I promise.”
His smile widens, his light eyes sparkling. I return the smile and start planning.
I could ask the doctor doing the scan for help, but they’re probably on Spider’s payroll. I’ll need to escape before. At a traffic light, or in the parking lot. If I scream, people will notice. They won’t forget a woman screaming in broad daylight.
I barely notice Eli standing until he’s kissing my head and says, “We get to see our baby.”
The words are like a bolt under my skin.
What the fuck did he just say?
My head snaps up. “It’s Colt’s baby, not yours.” His smile vanishes, and it’s like I’m doused with the coldest water. I stand quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”
He slaps me so hard that I hit the table, my plate sliding onto the floor and breaking. I pant, my hands braced either side of me, my cheek stinging.
“Whose baby is it, Robin?”
I curl my fingers into my hands. Anger heats my blood.
Fuck this guy to hell and back.
“It’s Colt’s.” I snatch up my knife and spin, lunging. Eli jerks back, narrowly missing the weapon, and I back away from the table. “Not yours, you fucking creep.”
He wastes no time striding toward me, and I thrust the knife out, catching his palm before he seizes my wrist and yanks my chest to his. I cry out as he twists, pain ribboning up my arm, my fingers twitching until I drop the knife. It clatters to the ground, the sound loud in the quiet room.
“I won’t go down as easily as Vince Capelli,” he says, and my heart stutters to a halt. “Kitrick!”
Kitrick enters, looking between us with total calm. “Sir?”
“Three days in the room.”
My eyes widen as fear blasts through my blood. “No, Eli, please—”
He shoves me in Kitrick’s direction. I try to back away, but Kitrick is already striding over and taking my wrist.
“Eli, please! I’m sorry!” I scream as I’m dragged away.
“Four days.”
“Please—”
“Five.”
I let out a strangled sob, trying to fight Kitrick’s hold, hot tears streaking my cheeks as I war between fighting and giving in.
I swore I’d never go back to that room. The last time I was in there for eight days, eight agonizing days. I can’t do it again.
I yank free of Kitrick’s grip and drop to my knees, pressing my palms together as I stare up at Eli. “I’m begging you, don’t do this, don’t send me there. I’m so sorry, I won’t misbehave again, I promise.”
His cold gaze chills the heated panic of my blood, setting me trembling as I debase myself for freedom.
But that place … it’s hardly a room. It’s closer to a windowless cubical, with barely enough space to have my elbows touch either wall, the leather padded walls scratched from the nails of other occupants. The cement floor is bitterly cold, too cold to sit on, but painful to have your bare feet on.
And the quiet. The unbearable pressure of the silence is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. My first stint was two days and I’d come out covered in my own filth, screaming that if Eli ever put me in there again, I’d kill him.
He did. For three more days.
The next time, I’d tried to escape, and I spent eight days in there, one meal every two days. I’d come out broken. Grateful for the shower. The clean clothes.
So yes, I’ll beg. I’ll beg not to go back.
Eli walks toward me, his dress shoes echoing on the wooden floor. He observes me before crouching and touching my cheek. His expression softens, his brows pulling together gently as he takes in my features.
“Ten days.”
I scream. I scream and sob as Kitrick lifts me off my feet and carries me away, the hallways echoing with pleas, begs, and threats, until I’m thrown into the room, and the door is locked, and I’m alone.