Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ADA
H ow long is he planning on keeping me locked up in this room?
It’s fucking freezing. My nipples are so hard that they could cut glass. This thin blanket that was left in here is doing nothing to keep me warm. I pace back and forth for lack of anything better to do.
Whatever meager calories I managed to ingest earlier have been more than burned having sex and now all this walking is starting to make me a little dizzy.
I can’t stop. Every time I try to sit back down, the rage inside of me boils up from the constant simmer and threatens to boil over entirely.
After an hour or two, the walls start to feel like they are closing in around me.
The front door beeps. I practically sprint to the door and press my ear against it, searching for any sound that might indicate what’s happening.
He better be coming right the fuck back in here to explain himself. If the first words out of his lying, traitor’s mouth aren’t an apology then I don’t think I’m going to be able to take this. I can’t do this with a man like him. He better tell me that he reconsidered and that Jeremy is just fine.
No matter what he says, he best be ready for me to unleash my wrath upon him like the fires of hell itself.
Heavy footsteps move at an irregular pace down the hallway. I hear something crashing in the hallway and then another door bangs open.
It sounds like Kieran’s bulky frame hits the wall for a moment, and then he shambles the rest of the way to this door. Only it doesn’t open. Not at first. I’m just about to start kicking it with everything that I have left inside of me when it finally beeps open.
Fury boils inside of me, aimed like an arrow at the man in the doorway - but the sight of him is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.
I don’t think that I’ve ever seen that much blood on a single person before.
My stomach churns, but mercifully I don’t have to run for my bucket.
Kieran staggers in, blood dripping on the floor as it slides down his arm. Something is wrong with his shoulder. His shirt has holes and tears in it, but the worst of his injuries seems to be focused mainly on his left leg, where he’s oozing blood from two different places.
My stomach drops as he moves heavily to the only chair in the room and practically collapses onto it. He leaves the door to the room open.
This is my chance to run. I could leave him in here and slam the fucking door shut on him just like he did to me. That would be poetic. But, something about the look on his face doesn’t sit right with me.
He’s in pain. He’s suffering. I wouldn’t want anyone to sit there suffering, but something about this feels… worse.
Despite my best efforts, my anger falters.
Is Jeremy still alive? Did he do this to him? He couldn’t have… right? Jeremy wouldn’t have picked up a gun… so something went wrong. My hands feel numb as I watch him tear what’s left of his shirt off of his chest with his good hand.
He grimaces as he pulls open the bottle of vodka from his pocket, and I regain sensation just moments before he’s about to pour the vodka on the wounds.
“Are those… gunshots?”
“No, fairy kisses,” he replies in a flat voice. I hate how condescending it sounds, but I did ask a dumb question.
“You really look like shit.”
“You should see the other guy.” he mutters. I can tell from how softly he’s speaking that he must be in a great deal of pain.
“If you weren’t bleeding, I would hit you right now.”
“Oh? How considerate you’ve become. I should get shot more often,” Kieran whispers again. Blood trickles down over the side of his face from a gash on his forehead above his eyebrow. I never thought that I would miss the confident demeanor that bordered on arrogance. I don’t like this. He can’t help himself. How is he supposed to get those bullets out?
Frowning, I hold my hand out for the bottle of vodka, snapping my fingers impatiently.
Kieran raises an eyebrow at me.
“Do you want my help or not?!” I grouse. He holds out the bottle to me finally, but even that simple movement seems difficult.
He must be a lot worse off than he’s letting on to be struggling so openly like this. He grabs a cloth and holds it out to me. He’s being surprisingly still, even as I pour the vodka into the open wound.
“You have to get the bullet out.” He mutters. “Forceps, in the bathroom on top of the medicine cabinet.”
I can keep helping him, or I can take the chance to run. If he wasn’t actively bleeding, I would. Maybe the pain will make him pass out while I patch him up and then I can leave. I don’t have to stay after that. Yet, I’m already grabbing the forceps and coming back into the room.
“I don’t know what to do…” I confess. I’m sure that Cristiano would know how to do something like this. Hell, any of his men would likely know how to do this sort of thing easily.
“You have to get the bullet out. Get in there, and just grab it. Use your finger if you have to.”
Appalling. Utterly terrifying. I’m not going to stick my fingers inside of his bullet holes! Or any other holes! I glance down at the tool in my hand that resembles very large, long tweezers. Even that seems impossible.
“You can do it.” Kieran assures me, his voice gentle.
I pour the vodka on the two misses in his arm, and he hisses but doesn’t move. The other, the bullet that’s still actually in his shoulder I can see him clench his jaw. His other hand balls into a fist. I wish that I could get any sort of karmic satisfaction out of this, but I can’t seem to force myself to enjoy his being hurt. I dump the vodka on it, and on the forceps in hopes that they will be somewhat clean.
“You should go to the hospital,” I try. I know that he’s not going to see reason. Cristiano would never allow a hospital either. No matter how badly he is hurt.
“Just do it.” He urges.
I do. It takes a lot longer than it should. Everything is so wet and slippery and I can’t get a grasp on the bullet. I’m fishing around with sharp metal inside of Kieran’s shoulder, and he’s taking it like a champ. His breathing starts to become more labored as I try once again to get a better hold on the bullet.
Finally, I have it. I pull it out and drop it onto the concrete floor and then start to apply pressure to the wound. Kieran nods to the small first aid kit he has on the table and I start to wrap things the best that I can.
It’s slow going, but he must be starting to feel better now that it’s over with. I squat down beside him and help him out of his pants to see the wounds on his legs. The one in his thigh is the worst, the other is just a scratch. Thankfully. I don’t think I could do two more bullets. I can barely do this one.
This time, he starts to speak while I work.
“It seems that my time with my boss is over. I guess you could say that I’ve been fired.” Kieran takes the bottle of vodka from the counter and drinks half of what’s left in the bottle and makes a face. “Your friend is not out of danger, but I won’t be the one to do it. My uncle intends to have me be his scapegoat against your brother.”
The irritation bleeding into his tone is unmistakable.
Whatever plans he had made, the whole reason that he kidnapped me in the first place – seem to have been all for nothing.
“So, what does that mean?” I ask him nervously.
“Well, you can’t think that your brother would make such an alliance easily. It’s going to require my head on a pike. Likely on Cristiano’s front lawn.”
Kieran’s voice is strained, each word carrying the weight of his pain and anger.
“I have to change my plan, and quickly. The only way to survive this, is to get to Cristiano first for an alliance. A real shit storm is headed my way.”
Kieran tightens his fist in rage, so hard that I can hear his knuckles pop. I sit back on my heels after I put the last bandage on his leg, and he leans forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees to keep his face closer to mine.
“Are you going to send me back home?” I try not to sound too optimistic but I likely fail in that goal. “For the sake of the alliance, of course. Are you setting me free?”
“Do you truly think that you are free with your brother, Ada?”
All hope that I might have been feeling is quickly dashed by his cold and calculating response. It’s not something that I have ever thought of before. Or rather, it is something I have never wanted to think about.
With Cristiano, my every move has been monitored since high school. It’s the reason I moved out of the house after he got married to Maeve.
I used to think that the only reason that I was allowed to leave in the first place was because of Maeve. Now that he spent so much time with her, he didn’t watch me as closely.
But, it’s not like Alberto, my body guard, doesn’t report my every move back to him.
My face burns with humiliation. His question cuts deep. Was there really any difference between being imprisoned here or there? I had my own apartment to get away but it was just an interval between the times I had to report to Cristiano.
Ever since he had me put into that treatment facility, he’s never allowed me to live my life fully in the way that I wanted to. A gilded cage is still a cage.
I flounder, I don’t know what to say. I can’t deny it because it’s the truth. He can see it on my face.
Kieran’s eyes darken. “You seem to forget yourself, princess. My plan for your brother might have to change, but my plan for you does not. I suppose you need a reminder of where your place is?”
The dangerous edge to his words sends a shiver down my spine.
Kieran’s good hand jerks out and grabs my neck, pulling me closer to him. I can’t breathe and it has nothing to do with the pressure he’s putting on it.
Despite the anger and everything else, I can’t deny the pull between us. A magnetic force that I can’t understand. I should fight it more, but I don’t want to.
“Or, have you forgotten who you belong to, Ada?” Kieran’s grip on my throat tightens. Hearing him speak my name feels strange now. I’ve gotten used to the sweeter names that he’s taken to calling me. I almost expect them. I should push him off, slap him - tell him that I don’t belong to anybody but myself but that’s a lie. With the cold way he says my name, some irrational part of me wants to do anything just to have him call me his princess again. I want his voice dark with desire when he speaks to me - not this.
It might be a test, and I won’t fail.
I bite down on my bottom lip, frozen with indecision. He’s hurt - I shouldn’t push him any further. He could get seriously injured. I just fished bullets out of his body and now… and now…
I can’t picture a future that he’s not in. Perhaps that says something seriously twisted about me, but I can’t help it. I don’t want anything to happen to my brother, I don’t want anything to happen to him and I don’t have the words to say what I’m feeling. Instead, my hands move to the waist of his pants, undoing them quickly. If I can’t speak, then I’ll do my best to show him.
My chest feels tight, I can’t tell if I’m going to cry or not as I push his pants down around his thighs. It takes no time before he is hard for me. I stroke him with my hand a few times, just enough to have his hand shift from my throat to the crown of my head, fisting into my hair. This time he doesn’t guide me, and he doesn’t take over. The choice is mine. Where is my place? I know where he wants it to be. Fuck, it’s what I want, too. Isn’t it?
I run my tongue along the tip, swirling around the head and licking the precum off with a sweep of my tongue before taking him into my mouth. I try my best to accommodate his size but without him forcing my head down, I can’t get nearly enough. I try until my eyes water. I gag and sputter as he sits there, unmoving.
Finally, I look up at him, eyes blurry. I need him to accept me - we have to fix this.
He pauses, studying my expression. He waits, making sure that I’m certain.
He nods in the direction of the mattress. I pull my shirt off of my head in a fluid motion and head for the mattress. I crawl halfway up the uncomfortable, lumpy thing before Kieran grabs the back of my pants, pulling me back and my ass up into the air. He pulls hard enough the seam of the pajamas rips right in half. He moves without the same ease as before, likely because of the bandaging and the wounds - and he aligns himself behind me, not taking time to ready me before slamming into me so hard it hurts. It hurts enough that I cry out and attempt to crawl away from him, to have that relentless pace ease for a moment but all that he does is shift me. I’m on my side, one leg up and half over his shoulder. He laces his fingers together over my thigh and uses that as leverage to fuck me.
It feels like he’s going to split me in half. Fuck it shouldn’t feel this good. It’s like he’s taking out every aggression from the day, every bad thing that happened and the fear that he might lose me all out on my pussy. The discomfort fades and shifts into something else. The friction of the position is intoxicating. Kieran shifts one hand, still keeping me close with the other as he slaps my breast. He holds it firmly, pinching and pulling on my nipple with possessive firmness. Nothing that I can’t handle but the sharp bite in such sensitive skin is shocking.
Then he actually bites me, right on the inside of my leg and I cry out.
“Ow! Kieran!” I slap at him, pushing him to get off of me because it hurts. I don’t want it to hurt. There’s an animalistic ferocity in his eyes as he reaches between us and pinches my clit. My scream of protest turns to pleasure for a moment, distracting me for just a moment before I come to my senses. “No! Kieran!”
He pauses, his nose scrunching. “No?”
I push at him, and he captures my wrists, holding both of them in one large hand, pinning them up above my head as he shifts us. I try to kick him away but he manages to slip between my legs. He aligns himself and starts to fuck me again. Sharp, punctuated thrusts like he’s proving a point.
“No? You’re mine, Ada. If you need the reminder, that’s fine - but don’t ever try to leave me again.” Kieran insists.
I snap my head back, torn between biting whatever skin I can reach and the building pleasure in my core -- and then I see his face. There’s such open vulnerability there, something that I never thought that I would see from him. There’s still dried blood on so much of him. He looks like a horror show. He could have died today. I can see it all there, even as his hips start to still. He’s terrified.
Something in me thaws. His grip on my wrists loosens and I cup his face tenderly, shifting so that my legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer as he changes to a much softer tempo. He kisses me so softly I think he’s the one in danger of breaking. I smooth his hair away from his face as I kiss him, letting him take from me what he needs to feel whole again.
I don’t think that I could leave and go home, even if he unlocked those doors and told me to leave.