Chapter Twenty-Three #3
He blinks a few times, seemingly mortified. But then a laugh bubbles out of him, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever actually heard him laugh . Not one of his rumbly little chuckles, or a puff of mild amusement. An honest to God haughty chortle .
It may be the greatest sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life.
And how delicious does he look when he’s doing it… My God. Be still, my rotten little heart.
“You really are a freaking weirdo, you know that?” He sighs out his laughter, smile still resting comfortably on his pillowed lips.
“Why thank you,” I jeer, and he peeks at me, a bit more flirtatious this time.
“I like it,” he whispers, breeding butterflies in my stomach. “So you… what? Went to libraries and pulled out the Encyclopedia instead of just Googling things?”
He smirks, and now it’s my turn to give him a look. “I never said I didn’t have a smartphone. Of course I did. I used it for Tinder.” He laughs again. Fucking hell, I’m going to collapse. “And DoorDash.”
“Mmm… Too bad you lived in Atlanta,” he rasps. “If you were still in New York, I could have delivered you your Sunday Roast.”
“Ohhh, wow ,” I croon and chuckle, to which he beams with pride. “Look who knows what things are called in England.”
His grin widens. “I have been there before, after all. Two whole times.”
“Well, I’m glad one of us has happy memories of London…” I sigh, then balk at the way that just tumbled out.
I can feel him looking at me as he asks softly, “You don’t?”
Glancing at him, I take a moment to consider what to say. “No, I’m sure I do … It’s just that my home life wasn’t… the best.”
In fact, it was the absolute worst.
Byron looks enamored by the details I’m sharing, like measly scraps being tossed to a starving animal. I have to swallow down the guilt, and it tastes horrendous.
He wants more…
But he doesn’t press. Simply gives me a nod of empathy, which has me wondering if maybe he doesn’t care whether I open up to him or not.
He wants this to remain casual. And that’s what you should want too…
Anything deeper won’t work, for either of you.
Brushing off the festering doubt and insecurity, I ask, “What about you? Were your parents wankers?”
His mouth forms a line. “They weren’t that bad.
They just… didn’t care. They didn’t understand me, and they didn’t want to.
” He goes quiet for a moment, in thought.
“When I was younger, my father used to make me stand in the corner. If I was acting out, or if I’d gotten bad grades in school…
He would literally make me stand still in the corner of the room, completely silent.
I’d be watching them having dinner, watching TV…
chatting and laughing. They would just go about their lives with me standing there.
As if I didn’t even exist. I was invisible to them… It was so easy for them not to see me.”
I can’t believe how badly I’m aching for him, down to my bones.
“What could you have possibly done to warrant something like that?” I whisper.
“Probably the same thing you did to warrant whatever you got,” he sniffs, and I freeze. “Parents are bullshit.”
My head is spinning as I mumble, “They don’t deserve to know us…”
His despondence fades, lips twisting as if he likes that. “Agreed. But I would love to see the looks on their faces when I—” His voice cuts out abruptly, eyes dropping to his feet.
My brows lift. “When you what…?”
“Never mind.”
“Byron…”
“It’s nothing, okay? Forget it,” he grumbles. “I’m in here forever. I’m never going to see them, or anyone else outside of this place, ever again, so it doesn’t matter. Can we just let it go, please?”
There’s depression in his aura now. It’s palpable, seeping into his movements, in every line of his face.
I don’t want to push him… He’s already given me so much of his honesty. I should be grateful for that. And I am.
But now I’m wondering what else he’s holding on to, aside from secrets.
Feelings for the love he was ripped away from…?
I don’t believe Byron hates his parents, like I do. He only wants their love and acceptance.
But what about someone else… Someone who’s wronged him?
“This place gives me the creeps…” he says when we reach the East Wing. “They had O’Malley down here for weeks before he was killed. Doing God knows what to him…”
“The experiments, yea?” I ask, and he nods. “Poor lad…”
I suppose I’m lucky. Riverwoods was bad, but it was nothing like this.
“Yup. That’s the beauty of Alabaster Isle.” He sighs. “Miles outside of any jurisdiction that would put a stop to the blatant human rights violations. Not to mention, rich fucks like Governor Russo backing everything…”
He immediately has both rage and despair in his eyes. My thoughts circle back to his vengeance.
Would Byron Kang take a taste of revenge if it were offered to him?
Before I can consider it too much, he changes the subject. “So you’ve wandered around down here a lot?”
“Not a lot …”
“Have you… seen Ren by any chance?” he asks, brown eyes sliding up to mine. I stare at him for a moment until he looks away. “I know he’s a shithead and everything, but still… If he’s down here, strapped to some chair like a mental patient—”
“He’s not,” I cut off his obvious pain with a blatant lie. His brows knit. “I mean, I haven’t seen him down here. They must be keeping him… somewhere else.”
Byron looks relieved, accepting the utter horseshit I just fed him.
Sure, I could’ve told him the truth. But then what??
I have him now… Yes, it’s selfish, and manipulative—the exact things he was accusing Luthor and Ren of—but still. Unlike them, I would never take him for granted. I will not let him sacrifice his own happiness for people who wouldn’t do the same for him. Not anymore.
“Want to see something?” I grab him by the arm, tugging him along.
Away from the row of cells where his so-called friend is being held.
Bringing him back up another long corridor, I walk swiftly, threading my fingers through his. And he lets me. It’s purely titillating.
I’m certain he’s about to complain, but thankfully we reach our destination before he can.
“This is it?” He gives me a look. “A closed door… Ooh. Thrilling .”
I purse my lips at his sarcasm, and he smirks. “This is the room Felix Darcey lives in.”
Byron’s eyes widen. “What??” He gawks at the door. “Really??”
I nod. “This is his private bedroom… Not a cell. A bloody room . Where he gets to come and go as he pleases, like he owns the place.”
“You come and go as you please…” His lips quirk smugly.
I frown. “ No , I have to ask The Ivory’s permission to breathe. Meanwhile, The Carver has his own bloody chalet , stocked with goodies. A desk, a bookshelf… A comfy bed.”
“How do you know it’s comfy?” He shoots me another skeptical look.
I’m becoming annoyed that he isn’t sharing my frustrations here.
“Trust me, it is. Dr. Love wouldn’t sleep on one of our measly cots.”
“Dr. Love sleeps in there with him??”
“Of course he does,” I gripe. “They’re bloody inseparable.”
“Shit…” Byron mutters, growing shifty. “We should go. What if they hear us?”
“Who doesn’t love an unannounced visit?” I wink, then knock on the door.
“What are you doing??” He gasps nervously.
“You know, for someone who gets off on beating blokes bloody, you’re a bit of a wimp,” I sneer.
I may be intentionally pushing his buttons a wee bit… Only because it’s so bloody hot when he gives me the look he’s giving me right now.
Like he wants to smack me in the face with his dick.
“Don’t test me,” he growls, jaw visibly clenched.
“What’s wrong?” I keep poking the beast. “Are you afraid of The Carver?”
“Seriously?” he hisses. “That preppy fuck is the one who should be afraid.”
I grin wickedly at how easy it is to rile him up. And fun. “Then let’s go inside…”
I witness the mound in his throat dip. It’s obvious that his natural inclination would be to leave it alone, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. That’s the flame I want to throw petrol on.
The deviant desire to fuck shit up. To be bad and cause some mayhem.
More specifically, to cause mayhem for Felix fucking Darcey.
Leaning over his mouth, I whisper, “I know you want to.”
He shivers. Then he straightens, taking on a much more confident repose.
Twisting the doorknob, he smirks devilishly. “It’s open…”
My face lights up, a malevolent grin sloping my mouth. Byron bites his lip and slowly pushes the door open.
Part of me expects Felix and Dr. Love to be in there, doing something we couldn’t hear through the door, like reading side by side, or cuddling like sappy heart-shaped fruitcakes.
On the contrary, though. The room is empty.
Shoving Byron inside, I follow, closing the door behind us.
“This is… weird,” he hums, looking around. “Why aren’t they here? It’s late…”
“Maybe they’re in his office.” I shrug, wasting no time snooping.
Wandering the room, I touch everything that belongs to Felix Darcey. His books, his clothes, his toiletries.
Byron snorts in derision, and I turn to find him shaking his head at some clothes scattered on the floor. A pair of yellow boxer briefs with bees on them. And matching socks.
“Fuckin’ dork…” He scoffs.
I smile, returning to my snooping. I want to ransack his belongings, maybe steal an item or two, but I’m not sure how much time we have. Not only that, but there isn’t much here. Certainly nothing interesting to take.
The room is sort of barren. Sure, it has furniture, which is what transforms it from a broom closet to an actual bedroom .
There’s a bed that does appear light-years more comfortable than ours, a desk littered with pens, a notebook, an MP3 player with headphones.
More clothes stacked in a wash basket. But in terms of actual items , it’s pretty sparse.
I don’t need an MP3 player. Byron already has an iPod and he lets me use it whenever I want.
“The lad’s a bit of a slob…” My mouth twists. “Dr. Love must hate that.”