Chapter Forty-One
It’s hard to be upset about being held captive when your captivity is so… luxurious.
Ridiculous, I know. I was knocked out and kidnapped. I should be screaming and breaking things. Or better yet, searching for a way out.
There has to be one. If I’ve learned anything about this mansion over the last few months, it’s that there’s much more here than meets the eye.
But I’m not looking. And it’s as confusing as it is just so frustrating.
I can’t even think about how much my plan has been derailed at this point. I’ve officially driven this thing off the tracks and flipped it four times. Now it’s on fire and I need the jaws of life to rescue me from the wreckage that once was my revenge fantasy.
The amount of opportunities I’ve had to finish this are piling up, and despite anything else, mostly I just feel stupid.
I could have killed him in Manhattan. I could have killed him any one of the dozens of nights I spent in his home without him knowing.
I could have killed him during the storm, probably more than once, and I most definitely could have killed him the other day, when he was inside my cell for an extended period… with his guard way down.
I could have could have could have fucking could have ugh! It’s driving me insane.
Because more than any of the rampant regret, confusion and anger I’ve been cultivating for almost twenty goddamn years, I feel something even stronger right now, just as insistent and impossible to ignore…
I think I… fucking miss him.
Dios, strike me down right the hell now.
I deserve to fry.
It’s pathetic, honestly… Wondering where he is, and why he hasn’t come back yet like he said he would. Being… concerned for him.
Maybe not totally for him. It’s partially for me. Because—God, I hate myself so much for thinking this—I was looking forward to seeing him again. Getting more of that feeling that comes from just being near him and touching him like I think I always kind of wanted to…
Pathetic isn’t a strong enough word. I’m just pitiful, worthless THOT.
Literally. That hoe over there in the fucking corner, locked in a cage with dick on the brain.
Evil dick, mind you! The evil dick that killed my parents, which I’m now obsessing over like a dumb hoe.
But, I mean… Isn’t the best dick always evil? For real, the dick that fucks you so stupid you forget your own name is always attached to some six-foot-four emotional dumpster fire with a hard body and perfect lips and a voice that you can hear whispering sexy things every time you close your eyes…
“Tell me it feels good, baby… My tongue on your clit. Tell Daddy how you want your pussy licked.”
Honestly. Did I ever even stand a chance??
He’s the serpent, slithering around his garden, offering me a sweet, juicy mouthful.
El Diablo and his masterful temptation.
At this point, I’m just trying to exist without hating myself.
Doing everything in my power to ignore the restlessness in me, from being locked up in a cage while also craving another hit of that fuckface like the sick goddamn junkie I am.
No matter how nice it is in here, it doesn’t negate the fact that I’m confined and alone with nothing but my horrendous thoughts to keep me company.
Outside of that—and my cage—something is definitely going on around here… Alabaster Isle may be in the midst of an insurrection.
I’m sure that’s what has The Ivory preoccupied. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself while soaking for well over an hour in the giant, luxurious tub in my hidden en suite.
It’s next-level indulgent in here. There’s a fireplace—no, I’m not kidding. Milk and honey and rose hips in the water, fragrant and invading my senses. Sprawling vines all over, and nothing to be heard other than the crackle of the fire and the occasional chirp of birds.
And the gunfire, of course.
Slipping under the water, I stay submerged until my lungs burn. And even then, I give it a few extra seconds before finally breaking the surface, gasping for oxygen.
Wiping water and flower petals from my eyes, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
Look at you… Bathing in here like some captive prince. Awaiting the vicious king’s return, to claim his hidden treasure.
I shake my head at myself. Avianna would be ashamed.
Hell, Ari is ashamed.
Swooping my wet hair over to one side, I sit, with the water covering me from the chest down, just staring into the mirror.
“After everything I did to get us here,” Ari says. “Everything I had to do… And you just get on your knees for him?”
I bite my lip. “You know why…” She tilts her head, and I frown. “Don’t give me that look.”
With a scowl aimed at my much sassier self, I stand quick, stepping out of the tub and immediately slipping into one of the unbelievably soft robes.
I brush my hair, and play with some more products, serums and lotions and creams. All high-quality stuff, clearly very expensive. Imported from Paris and Milan…
That’s how you know it’s the best of the best, when you don’t recognize any of the names on the labels. They probably don’t even sell this stuff to regular people. I bet it’s custom made.
Guess that explains why he has such perfect skin…
I’d never focused on it until I was up close to him the other day.
The white hair really throws you off. It gives the illusion that he’s older, though he’s only forty-five, and not counting the hair, he barely looks a day over maybe thirty-eight.
It has me wondering, briefly, if he ever considered dyeing it.
But that thought makes me frown. No, no. He wouldn’t look right with any other color hair.
Something about that powder white just works for him. It cements him as the contemptible creature he is. Of course, just a man; a power-hungry prideful egotist like so many others, who will ultimately stop breathing and shuffle off this mortal coil with the rest.
Whether it’ll happen in twenty years, or forty years—or tonight—remains to be seen. That’ll depend on just how determined he is to fight the will of the universe.
Karma.
Either way, it’s good to remember that he’s no maleficent being, despite how well he plays the part. The Ivory is just a man. And he’s susceptible to the same impulses as the rest of us.
Everyone has a weakness…
Wandering out into the cell, I listen for sounds, but get nothing. The gunfire comes and goes, but it’s always far enough away that I’m not worried. Not yet, anyway.
The sun has already set, I can see it through the skylights. The moon is coming up to its peak, which gives an ambience to this ever illustrious place. The torch lights lining the walkway flicker on, birthing dull orange.
Peering through the bars, I watch one of the sparrows fluttering back and forth from one branch to another. She seems to stay up later than the others, though they’re all still out and about after sundown right now, I’m guessing because of their migratory instincts.
I’ve been in here for five days, and so far, other than that first day when he showed up, and the thrice daily meal deliveries from Kent, my only company have been the birds here in the aviary.
The sparrows are my favorites. There’s just something about them I like.
They’re pretty, and their little noises aren’t annoying. In fact, I rather enjoy their chatter.
“Look who’s going out for a night on the town,” I hum, watching this one sparrow in particular whom I’ve become fond of.
I call her Avia. Because she reminds me of my sister. Or maybe because I want to think of my sister that way…
Even when she’s trapped, she’s still free.
In truth, these birds are very well cared for. Freer than I am…
Picking up the piece of bread I saved from lunch, I stick my arm through the bars, holding it out for her. “Avia, you’ll need to put something in your stomach,” I tell her softly, grinning. “If you plan on partying hard tonight.”
She’s fluttering closer and closer, though she’s skeptical. I know she wants me to just toss the bread for her, but no. This time, she’ll have to take it from me.
“Do you remember Mami’s Sunday morning pancakes?” I ask her, keeping my voice smooth and light.
I’ve found she’s more trusting of me when I’m doing my Ari voice. I’m not sure if it’s because she distrusts men, or if she just prefers a gentler tone. Either way, it makes me feel even more like she’s my only link to my sister.
“Frambuesas…” I hum, watching her flit closer, until she’s on the nearest branch. “Y crema…”
My chest is warm with the memory of raspberry pancakes and whipped cream. It was so long ago, it’s fuzzy; playing like a worn old home movie that’s distorted over time. But that part still stands out.
Me and my twin sister, together. Eating pancakes.
It’s one of the last real memories of them I have left.
Avia the sparrow swoops down, taking the piece of bread, brushing my finger as she does. It fills me with so much sudden emotion, I could crumple to the ground.
“I just… wanted so badly to get you back,” I whimper, defeated.
But then she comes back. She flies over with her bread and lands right on the edge of the fountain, just on the other side of the bars. My sadness fades a bit, and I smile.
“You always did look out for me,” I sniff.
Footsteps stride down this way, in our direction. Of course, Avia flies away.
I don’t blame her. I would too if I could.
At least, I hope I would…
Kent comes to deliver my dinner, via an opening just big enough to fit a tray. Like in the prison.
Still, I can’t possibly compare this place to that dank hole where I thought I was going to die. Sure, I’m locked away in here too, but this feels more like I’m a writer refusing to leave the fancy hotel suite until I finish my novel.
Kent slides a tray inside for me. The food smells incredible. Roast lemon-herb chicken and vegetables.
I’m drooling.
“Enjoy… Ari,” Kent says, and my face springs.
He’s giving me a peculiar look, as if he’s partially teasing, while calling me out. It’s odd.