19. Poison
NINETEEN
POISON
HAVEN
The next morning, I wake up with a plan.
I’d been dwelling on it for most of yesterday, my resolve only hardening after Connor kissed me again, left with the foxglove, and returned an hour later to make sure that I had eaten my breakfast. He could obviously tell that he’d rattled me.
From the threat of the poison to the insult of comparing me to it, plus how he pushed me to kiss him…
I withdrew more than I had in days, curling up on the couch, back in the old Harmony Heights High Lacrosse Team t-shirt of his that Connor gave me to wear since—in his cheerful words—he couldn’t trust me not to leave if I was fully dressed in my own clothes.
I’m back to hiding in Connor’s wider, long tees, the collar falling off my shoulder, while I’m padding around in bare feet so I don’t dart out into the woods given the chance.
He came back with lunch next. He clucked his tongue, absently tossing his pocketknife up and down, up and down while waiting for me to eat the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich he made me; a childhood favorite of mine that I thought no one but my former nanny knew I liked…
but this is Connor Heyward, and of course he fucking knows.
My worry and a bit of shame had begun to transform to belly-curdling fury by that point.
I didn’t care whether he meant the knife as a threat or not.
I refused to eat, and I made it clear he’d have to actually stick me with it to get me to choke down the sandwich.
He doesn’t. I don’t know why I’m not surprised by that. Frowning, concern flashing across his face, he simply said he’d leave it, and hope that I might feel more comfortable eating it if he was gone.
I got a couple of hours away from him then, but if I thought he’d stay away for my supper meal, I was wrong. He brought down the steak he promised, and one look at the set to his determined features told me there was no getting out of eating that.
Together, we sat at the small table, the farce of a couple sharing a meal together.
The steak was perfectly seasoned and cooked way better than I could’ve ever done myself.
Before I woke up in his house, I would’ve thought Connor Heyward existed on take-out and restaurant meals.
I had no idea he could cook, and it irks me because not only can he clearly do so, but it’s proof that I…
I don’t know anything about this man at all, do I?
Meanwhile, he seems to know everything about me.
He wants me to believe that he loves me. That he’s always loved me. Worse, he seems to think that by being the world’s most attentive captor, I might someday fall into the trap of Stockholm Syndrome and love him back.
That’s what he wants. That’s what he expects.
And that’s when I decide that the fleeting murderous thought that passed through my mind becomes my only way out of this madness.
So maybe it isn’t a good plan. It’s reckless, and I doubt I can pull it off, but the idea of just letting Connor bulldoze right over me, making it so that my life—my existence—is all about what he wants… I can’t.
I can’t do it.
Until the moment that I believed it was the end for me, that I’d lost my battle against Winter and his goons, I struggled and I fought as much as I could.
It took some time to get my strength back, and to accept that the only true danger that Connor represents is to my freedom and not my life.
Now that I have? I… I don’t think I’m scared of him.
If anything, he should be scared of me.
That’s his mistake. He thinks that all he has to do is turn the lock, feed me, repeat that he loves me, and that’s it. We’re on our way to a happy ending. Me? I need him to understand that I’m not ready to concede defeat just yet.
That realization is clear as I sit at the breakfast table with him and watch steam curl from his coffee mug the next morning.
Fives minutes ago, Connor disappeared upstairs after getting a phone call. That was long enough for me to make a decision. Long enough for me to slip out of my seat and hope that he’s not watching the cameras, wherever he is.
I’ve tested the window a handful of times. I know it’s useless for a point of escape, but with a quick shove with my palms, it opens out enough that I’m able to sneak my fingers through and grab one of the smaller sprigs of foxglove.
The whole damn plant is poisonous. The stems, the leaves…
I hate that I’m touching it, but I have no choice.
I yank, scraping my knuckles as I feed my hand back through the small gap in the window.
It closes, and with my heart racing, I crush the flower in my hand, trying to hide it as I tiptoe back over to the table.
If I do this, I could kill Connor. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get him to ingest any part of the plant—he would need to eat enough of it for it to be fatally toxic—but the part of my broken brain that prizes survival just keeps saying: it’s him or me.
I can’t be his captive forever. I don’t want to be his prisoner.
To be fair, I don’t actually want to murder him, either, but what else can I do? He has the key on him. If he dies, I’ll be free. If he doesn’t, maybe he’ll put me out of my misery for trying.
Because that’s the biggest issue I have.
For six weeks, I was basically tortured.
My only experience with captivity broke me.
Connor might be nice now. He might be trying to take care of me.
Winter’s goons were nice enough at first until they weren’t, and even if they abided by his one fucking rule, they hurt me in ways I’ll never be able to verbalize.
Connor stole another kiss. He’s made it clear that he thinks of me as his wife, and that he wasn’t teasing when he said so.
I convinced myself that he was, that his attempt to cut out my birth control implant was just another way that Connor Heyward was fucking with me.
But now? After he thwarted my escape so easily, then finally dropped the teasing act, revealed the truth behind his ‘H’, and told me I was his?
He’ll hurt me. That’s what men do. They want and they take, and Connor is no different. He already took me, didn’t he? I can’t let him decide that, what’s best for me next, is to be his wife in all ways.
If he made me touch him the same way that Mickey and Cam and Noah did? I think I would have preferred to die in that old warehouse. But he pulled me out of there, and he brought me here, and I absolutely refuse to watch Connor Heyward become another one of my monsters.
I’d see him die first.
Will this actually kill him? I don’t know.
I’m basing this on a book I read, and Connor’s comment that it’s poison.
I don't know how much it takes to make someone sick enough to die. And, yet, once I retake my seat at the table, I’m staring at the liquid in his coffee mug, squeezing the foxglove tightly.
I listen for the turn of the lock, for the sound of feet on the stairs.
Nothing. No sound of Connor’s voice, either, as he finishes his call.
If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now.
I whimper, then swallow the sound. Firming my resolve, I hurriedly reach over the table and dunk the foxglove into his mug.
My hand is shaking. A bit of coffee splashes onto the table as I swirl the flower in his drink before yanking it out again.
Okay, Haven. Time to hide the evidence—
The basement door opens. Shit. He’s coming back.
On the plus side, if he was already heading for the basement when I was dunking the foxglove, then he probably wasn’t checking his cameras.
On the other, he takes the stairs so quickly, so easily, whistling cheerily to himself as he descends, that I’m still staring like a deer caught in headlights as he appears at the bottom.
I’m halfway out of my seat. He catches my eye, giving me a curious look. I clench my jaw, plopping down again as I hide the damp flower between my thighs.
Connor shrugs, then starts for the table.
“Sorry about that, lovemuffin. Order shit, and when Adrian calls because the King’s giving him trouble, I gotta get on the line so he doesn’t—” He pauses.
“Never mind. You don’t have to worry about that.
Right now? It’s just you and me, sugarplum.
I’m taking care of you. You’re getting better. The Order can wait.”
Okay. Maybe I’m not feeling too bad about my murder attempt. He kind of deserves to die for calling me ‘lovemuffin’ and ‘sugarplum’ alone…
He grabs the back of his chair, ready to pull it out so that he can return to the coffee he had only just poured out when his phone rang. I swallow the nervous lump lodged in my throat. My fingernails dig into the meat of my thighs, hoping like hell that my face isn’t giving me away.
Connor’s brow furrows. Releasing the chair, he leans over it, using his pointer finger to swipe through the spilt coffee on the tabletop.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no…
His lips quirk. That? That’s a smile. As he glances over at the window well with the foxglove growing inside of it, then looks at me, his smile only gets bigger.
"Well." The single word sends unease skittering down my spine. “Well, well, well… what have you been up to, my sweet wife?”
Wife? Not that shit again.
I shake my head. Not your wife.
“No,” he agrees reluctantly, stalking around to my side of the table.
“Not yet. There’s so much that has to be done.
Picking the venue. Finding the perfect wedding ring.
A dress… it’ll have to be white, of course, and I’m thinking something simple like the ones they made you wear to the Claiming ceremonies because you always looks so gorgeous…
a guest list, too.” How about a proposal?
“But, for now, it’s probably for the best when it comes to your recovery that you get used to the idea that I’ll be with you every step of the way. ”
No. He won’t.
“I love you, Haven,” he says again, as though by repeating it, I might actually believe it.
“When you scowl at me. When you ignore me. When you lock me out, and I have to sleep on the couch to be close to you… I love you. There isn’t a single thing you can do to make me stop.
I need you to understand that. I’m too far gone, baby. ”
That’s what he thinks. I’m pretty sure, if he discovers what I did to his coffee, he might change his mind…
And that’s when, before I can expect it, he tugs on my chair, pulling me away from the table. His hand dips between my thighs, and it doesn’t even occur to me to be scared that he’s suddenly groping me. Nope. I’m trembling because that’s not what he’s doing. Not really.
Instead of stroking my thigh, he finds the limp sprig of foxglove, pulling it out so we can both see it.
“Did you just try to poison me, Haven?” He laughs as he twirls it. Crazy bastard actually laughs. “God, I fucking love it when you’re murderous.”
Um. Never mind. I thought he’d be furious that I tried to kill him. But Connor… he seems pleased.
No. More than that.
He seems proud.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out, though I do mouth a single word: How?
I circle with my finger all around me, referencing the hidden cameras that are in here somewhere.
He shakes his head. “Nothing as obvious as that. I knew you’d pull something like this the moment you realized my property had foxglove growing on it. I was waiting because only someone who has strong feelings for me would try to kill me.”
I stare at him.
“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But it’s true.
I want your love. I’ll take your hate. It’s your indifference that’s fucked me up all these years…
you acting like I didn’t exist when you’ve been my whole fucking world.
Now I’m your world, and I have all the time I need to convince you to love me. And you know how that starts?”
I have no fucking clue.
“By showing you that you’re safe here. When I say there isn’t anything you can do that’ll make me stop loving you, I mean it.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but before I can glare at him, hoping for an explanation, he surprises me by trading the foxglove for his quickly cooling—and possibly poisoned—mug of coffee.
“Bottom’s up,” he says, tilting the mug back and swallowing it in big gulps.
I watch, horrified, as his Adam’s apple bobs. That’s not just a tiny sip to catch my attention. Fuck, no. As if he needs to prove something, he downs the mug in five big swallows.
Connor sets the empty cup on the table, and when he sees my expression, his gentles.
"Whatever happens now? I promise you, Haven… to have you here with me? Where you belong? Fucking worth it."
He moves toward me, wiping his hands on his pants before reaching down again, taking one of my hands in his.
“I can’t let you go. Understand? Now that I have you, I’ll die without you.
You’re the only thing keeping me alive.” He strokes my cheek with the other hand, deranged affection twisting his features, promise in his deep blue eyes.
“And if you want to try to kill me, go ahead. Because I won’t let you leave me so long as I’m still alive. ”
He’s serious, too. It isn’t often that Connor Heyward doffs his teasing mask, showing the dark, dangerous side to him… but it’s here now, and all I can do is nod.
Because he means it. The only way I’ll be free of him is to truly kill him, and if the foxglove doesn’t do the job, I’ll have to come up with another plan. Not more poison. He’ll be expecting that now. But something else…
If I want to be free of him.
But considering the way my heart leapt into my throat to see Connor drink the coffee like that? I’m suddenly not so sure that I do.