Chapter Twenty-One #2
As Trevel hauls me to my feet and holds a blade to my throat, and thunder rumbles outside, my soul rages in tandem with the storm. Engaged then slaughtered for revenge.
Seems fitting.
Just like my reason for being here, on this island… inevitably, it would all come crashing down.
God, this is insufferable.
Let… me… out!
Yanking and fighting against the restraints on my wrists is starting to hurt, and getting real old. Not to mention the belt around my neck is threatening to choke me to death…
Boy, if that wouldn’t be the irony of a lifetime.
Regardless, there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve been here for way too long, without the slightest clue what’s going on outside of this room.
Not long after Byron and Trevel burst into my engagement night, tied me up and stole my fiancé, there was some loud crash. Honestly, loud and crash aren’t even adequate descriptors. It shook the ground and rattled the walls. We felt it even up here on the second floor.
I’m not sure if it was a bomb or some kind of explosion… I don’t know what the hell it was, but it scared the shit out of me, mainly because Lemuel is out there somewhere. And I just hope he’s alright.
Trevel took him. If I were to guess, I’d say he was bringing him to the prison, though it’s unclear why.
The reason is irrelevant. Regardless of Trevel Fenwick’s motivation or reasoning, he has my fiancé.
He’s taken him hostage, brought him out into a storm so dangerous, things are literally falling apart out there.
Byron stayed behind with me, but after the crash, he left to go see what was going on. I can’t say for certain how long ago that was. It feels like it was hours ago, but it was probably only forty-five minutes. Part of me had foolishly assumed Byron would be back to let me know what was happening.
Yea, pretty na?ve. Even if he found answers, the last thing he’s probably concerned with is updating me. He hates my guts…
I can’t say I don’t get it. I killed his friend. And he thinks I’m… stealing his other friends from him. Which is crazy.
Me? Felix Darcey… stealing someone’s friends??
Right.
I don’t even have friends. I think I’m lucky enough to consider Luthor and Ren acquaintances turned very new friends.
And I love that, because they’re super cool and I adore spending time with them.
But they’re not mine… Byron’s known them for years.
They’re his family. How could he think I would steal them?
Although there’s been obvious tension between the three of them for a while now. And truth be told… I think it’s all my fault.
I started all of this when I killed O’Malley and set Dash free. And no, I don’t regret it, and yes, I would totally do it again, but that’s not the point. I feel bad for stirring up the shit pot for everyone else.
Trevel hates Lem for leaving him behind, then helping The Ivory get him here. Byron hates me for killing his friend and making his other friends like me…
God, what a mess.
I understand why they’re upset. And because I’m a psychopathic monster myself, I have to give them props for attacking us the way they have. I don’t blame them one bit.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I can’t stand being strapped to this bed, tied up here like a helpless wimp when the love of my damn life is out there, possibly hurt or in trouble. I know Lem can handle himself, but still.
It’s been too quiet in this mansion, despite the occasional voices from outside, rushing around and shouting.
Where is everyone…?
What’s going on?
How the hell can I break through these stupid ropes??
I keep wiggling my wrists, fighting against the burn because I know these ropes are silk and if I keep moving, eventually I’ll slip free. But it’s taking too long, goddammit!
“Fuck, Lemuel…” I whine, my eyelids growing heavy. “Where are you, baby?”
I yawn. “Please be… alright.”
I yawn again.
Oh, crap.
I think I’m losing oxygen to my brain. The belt is cutting off my airflow.
If I pass out, then I’ll really be useless.
Working my wrists over and over, I feel my movements slowing. It’s happening…
So… sleepy…
I think I hear footsteps in the distance. Inside the mansion, maybe even on this floor.
The sound is so quiet, I could be imagining it. I can’t tell if I’m awake or dreaming, but someone is… coming closer.
I’m drifting off as the door to the bedroom opens, a shadowy figure peering inside.
And now I’m certain I’m hallucinating. Because it looks like an angel is coming to save me.
“Tell Want… I love him…” My vision blurs as the ethereal being appears at my bedside.
“You’re gonna tell him yourself,” a melodious male voice whispers, unbuckling the belt from around my neck.
Slumping over, I suck in air, blinking again and again. I’m still uncertain that this person untying me is real. He certainly looks like someone you’d dream up…
Gorgeous, with shiny, shoulder-length hair the color of creamy coffee, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Like a high-fashion model, though he looks wet, and a bit disheveled, as if he’d been out in the storm. He smells good, though…
Not to mention he’s wearing a negligee. Black silk and lace, it really shows off the definition in his body.
Though it suddenly occurs to me that I’m assuming pronouns, which isn’t cool.
I blink up at the person who’s ripping the ropes off me, sitting beside me on the bed. Sparkling green gaze set on my face.
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay,” they say, firm yet kind. Head cocking. “Are you alright?”
I nod, lashes fluttering. “Are you real?”
The stranger smiles. It’s… illuminating.
They lean down to whisper, “Maybe.” Then wink.
And I’m just… gawking.
Real people aren’t this beautiful. It’s highly unlikely.
Although, on this island? I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s like Alabaster Isle has a permanent filter on it. Everyone here is too beautiful to be real.
Maybe I’ve imagined them all…
Nope. No no no. Not going there.
When it becomes clear I’m frozen in a trance of bewildered confusion, the person’s brows furrow and they chuckle. “Kidding. Sorry…” They flip their shiny hair over to one side, shoulders slumping as they look around. “I’ve never been in here. Is this your boyfriend’s bedroom?”
I swallow, watching studiously. Who is this person?? Where did they come from?
I’ve never seen them before, but they’re making it seem like they’re familiar with the mansion…
“Fiancé,” I correct, like a reflex. It just comes out, because I’m excited.
Or I was… until everything got all crazy.
The beautiful human’s eyes widen and sparkle a bit, lips quirking at the corner. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I grin, then shake it off and clear my throat. “I’m sorry… Um, thank you very much for saving me. I appreciate it… so damn much. But who are you?”
They chuckle again. “Right. Sorry again. My name is Angel.” They extend a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
I take their hand, shaking tentatively. “Felix. Pleased to… meet you too.”
“I have a confession.” They lean in, still gripping my hand, sort of pulling me in closer to whisper, “I know who you are.”
“You do…?” My blinking feels… rapid.
They nod animatedly. “I’ve kinda sorta… been dying to meet you.”
They flutter a breathy sound, cheeks flushing subtly. Almost like they’re… fan-they/them-ing.
“Why?” My tone is rife with disbelief.
Their grin goes wide. “I’m a big fan.” They frown and shake their head. “Not in a creepy way or anything. I’m not a killer… Not yet, anyway.” A wicked twinkle accompanies the devious twist of their full lips. “I just followed your story for a while. True crime fanboy right here.” They laugh softly.
The sound is so harmonious, it almost distracts from the batshit lunacy he’s spouting.
He called himself a boy. So… he. Got it.
Verified without having to ask. Nice.
I’m still kinda just gaping at the stranger, trying to process everything he said, and how he’s squirming and blushing and watching me intently.
Fanboy… Followed my… story?
Oh, right. I forgot I was The Carver for a second.
“Always nice to meet a… fan?” I croak, and he laughs again.
“I’m making you feel awkward, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I was just pretty excited to find out you were here, and not, ya know… dead.”
I nod. “That’s nice of you to say.” A small grin slips through my previous unease.
He seems really sweet. Plus, he’s funny, and he saved me, and he’s… just mesmerizing to look at.
Did I just make another new friend?! Eep.
“Where did you come from?” I ask, scooting closer on the bed, watching Angel while his face slants around to take in the room some more. “Are you… a prisoner?”
“In a way…” he murmurs, clamming up a bit. “I wasn’t supposed to be, but then I was… It’s a long story.”
“I’m sorry.” I frown. “I don’t want to take up your time. If you have to go…”
“I really shouldn’t stay,” he sighs. “Neither should you. Chances are whoever put you here will be coming back soon. You’ll wanna get gone before they show up.”
I swallow hard, remembering all the chaos from before he showed up and distracted me.
Kang. Trevel.
Lemuel is in trouble…
That crash.
“Do you know what that sound was?” I ask, unable to stop my eyes from sliding over his outfit when he stands up.
He’s about my height, close to six feet, similar build, taut slopes of muscle really highlighted by the skimpy ladies’ lingerie he’s wearing.
He turns his vibrant green gaze on me, catching me ogling.
I clear my throat, heat rushing up my neck. “Um, the explosion?”
“It wasn’t an explosion,” he says, concern etching his face. “The guard tower fell on the prison.”
What?!?!
My eyes spring wide in distress. “Fell??”
He nods. “Struck by lightning or something to do with the storm, probably. The whole East Wing and most of solitary is… restos.”
He makes a motion with his hand and a sound that means… it’s gone.
Rubble.
My eyebrow cocks. Is he Latinx?
How does he know so much about the prison??