22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Lili
There is someone standing outside my door, and they seem to be having an animated discussion over the phone because I can’t hear the second person. I put my ear to the door and try to make out what they are saying, but it’s pretty muffled. The soundproofing in these rooms is impressive.
I hear the beep of the lock, and I jump back, expecting Victor or Grace.
Instead, I’m greeted by a tall woman with long, dark hair. She’s wearing a dress clearly tailored to her exact measurements, and heels that make her even taller.
“Hello, Lili, I’m Zara.”
“Luke’s wife,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “I want to ask how you know that, but I won’t.”
I smile. “Victor took me into an office the other night and Luke, Owen, and Matteo were all there. Your name came up, and Luke got this sappy look on his face that made me want to vomit.”
Zara grins. “He is madly in love with me. It’s a little disgusting, but I wouldn’t want it any other way since I’m equally smitten with him. When a man who looks that good in a suit is willing to put on a flannel shirt to make you happy, you don’t question it.”
“What are you doing here? Let me guess. Grace was unable to get enough out of me, so they brought you in?”
Zara smiles. “I hope that’s not what you think of Grace. She thinks a lot of you and feels terribly about your situation. I’m here to take you to lunch.”
I frown. “You mean they’re letting me out?”
“Not far, I’m afraid. Just into the main dungeon for a sandwich from the shop.”
“They’re good sandwiches. But I would kill for a proper meal.”
Zara opens the door wider. “There are guards outside all the entrances, so I wouldn’t waste your energy trying to escape.”
The thought had briefly crossed my mind, but I’ve pretty much given up on that desire. It’s not ideal, but I’m safer here. Not to mention, I have no desire to be shot by an overzealous guard.
A table with food is waiting for us in the main dungeon, and I’m so glad to be out of that room. There is no telling what Zara wants with me, but the little bit of freedom is already doing wonders for my brain.
“I picked up a selection of smaller sandwiches because I wasn’t sure what you liked. Help yourself.”
Before sitting, I fill a plate and take the first bite. Aside from the bagel Grace brought me, I’ve been living off of sandwiches since I’ve been here. But today, I don’t mind because I’m not stuck in that goddamn room.
Zara makes her own plate while I sit and observe. I don’t say as much, but she looks familiar, and I can’t figure out why. Hopefully, it will come to me as we talk.
“Where’s Grace today?”
“She’s not working until later. Victor asked me to talk with you and see how you’re doing.”
“Bullshit. Victor asked you to pump me for information.”
Zara smiles. “Perhaps you’re right about Victor. I’m the one who wanted to see how you’re doing. While I understand why Victor did what he did, I don’t agree with it. There were better ways than taking you hostage.”
It’s easy to agree with Zara there. Still, I’m skeptical of her kindness. Much like Grace, I suspect we might be friends if we’d met under different circumstances. I am fascinated by this group of people Matteo has gathered here—It’s clear Matteo is the glue that holds this operation together.
“Tell me about your husband,” Zara says, getting straight to the point.
“What would you like me to tell you?”
“He hires a lot of sex workers. Do you know anything about that?”
I shake my head. “It’s something I suspected for a while, but I don’t have details, and I prefer it that way. I can tell you his assistant does the hiring, and I’m ninety percent certain they probably go through one of the brothels outside city limits. While prostitution is frowned on in more conservative circles—I’m sorry it’s supposed to be sex work now I think—the conservatives still run most of the brothels and will keep their friends’ names out of it if reporters come sniffing.
Zara smiles. “I’m well aware of how the brothels around here work. I’m in the industry and avoided working for one while I was doing full-service work. Now I just create adult content for the internet.”
“And your husband is OK with that?”
Zara laughs. “OK? That might be too strong a word for it. But he deals with it, and we have some agreements in place that make it easier on him.”
“That’s nice that you’ve worked that out.”
“It is. I love him and I give him control over a lot of other areas of my life, but my career was a deal-breaker, and I had to find a way to make it work on my own terms. It could never have been something he dictated to me.”
“So, you’re his submissive?”
“Only sometimes. We have agreements about that too. Those lines are a little blurrier though, and our power exchange bleeds into all areas of our lives.”
I smile. “That sounds really nice. Have I given you anything helpful?”
“Yes. Looking into your husband’s assistant and the brothels he might frequent is a good place to start. What else can you tell me about him?”
“He’s sadistic in bed with me.”
“And are you a willing masochist?”
I bite my lip, and she puts her hand over mine. “That was too personal. I apologize.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s fine. He doesn’t give me a choice, so I would not say I’m willing.”
Zara nods. “Understandable. Even our darker desires should only be explored with the full consent of everyone involved. I’m sorry that you have suffered abuse. No one should have to go through that.”
“You look like someone,” I say after we sit eating in silence for a few minutes. It’s not coming to me, and she’s made me comfortable enough to give in to my urge to say something.
“Oh? Who is that?”
“I’m having trouble placing it. But you definitely feel familiar.”
“I grew up in Las Vegas but left as soon as I could.”
“Can’t say I blame you. Not that there aren’t things to love about Las Vegas, of course. I went away for college but was quickly ushered back when my father informed me it was time to start dating Phineas and marry him.”
“How awful. Tell me what you like to do for fun.”
“I don’t have a lot of fun. But I enjoy my charity work. When I’m able to escape Finn’s side, I volunteer for a local homeless charity, and I work with victims of domestic violence.”
“Both worthy causes that I wish weren’t necessary,” Zara murmurs.
“I agree completely.”
It hits me then. “I know who you remind me of. There’s a homeless woman I befriended a couple of years ago. You could be her sister. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in a while. I should reach out to some of my contacts and check on her.”
Zara’s face scrunches for a moment as if she might cry, but she recovers quickly enough that I convince myself I imagined it. “Checking on her would be a good thing. If I can help with that, I will,” she says in the same polished but kind tone she’s been using throughout our conversation. I don’t miss the hint of sadness, though.
I don’t recall the homeless woman ever mentioning family, but that doesn’t mean anything. A lot of homeless people pretend they don’t have a family out of shame. They don’t want their family seeing them at their lowest.
Could she be Zara’s sister or cousin? I hate not having a way to reach out and find out about her. Guilt settles in my stomach for not having checked sooner. If I ever get out of here, I’ll pull up my journals and see if I can figure out when I last saw her.
Zara lifts her long hair off her neck and picks up her phone. Watching her, I’m again struck by the similarities between my lunch companion and the homeless woman.
It’s going to bug me until I figure out if they’re somehow connected.