Chapter 15 #3
The music faded into the background with each step we took.
He didn’t remove the blindfold until he helped me into a seated position on a chair. I sucked in a breath, prepared for the worst, since the last time this had happened, it was in front of a bleeding Jett.
A sense of relief hit me that I was only staring at a maroon leather booth along a wall with a table in front of me. It was almost like a restaurant setup, with one person in a chair and the other on the opposite side.
My thoughts jumbled while Enzo tossed the blindfold on the table, then slid into the booth. I eyed the blindfold, catching faint traces of my mascara on it.
I craned my neck for a better look at the logo sewn into the blindfold’s inner lining, but Enzo snatched it off the table and shoved it into his pocket. I drew a slow breath in through my nose as he peeled off his gloves and jammed them into the other pocket.
There wasn’t much in the room. Stark cream walls with a Bluetooth speaker tucked into one corner.
Enzo snapped his fingers in my face. “Eyes on me, Blair.”
My gaze collided with his.
His eyes were broody, a wild storm brewing inside them. They were a rich, deep brown with dots of green. My gaze lowered to his lips at the same time he licked them.
He cleared his throat, snapping me out of my staring. “Stay here.” He squeezed out of the booth and stood. “You try to run, and plenty of people out there will make you pay for it. You’ll never see the light of day again.”
I pulled in another one of those deep breaths through my nose when he knelt and ran his cold finger across my cheek. My lips pressed together to stop me from running my mouth, and I tried to wrench my face free from his hold. His grip only tightened on my cheek as punishment.
“Good girl.” He caressed my cheek once before releasing me.
He left the room, shutting the door behind him, and I kept my back stiff against the chair while looking around the room again. I squinted, seeing faint etchings on the walls. While I wanted to stand up and inspect them better, I kept my ass glued to the chair.
To ease my anxiety, I tapped my foot.
Dragged my nails against the table.
When Enzo returned, he was holding two crystal glasses filled with amber liquor. He set them on the table, then slid back into the booth.
He pushed a glass toward me. “Drink.”
I shoved it away.
His voice turned a touch harder. “Drink.” He nudged the glass closer until it almost fell off the edge and into my lap.
“I don’t drink.” Though the longer this night went on, the more I contemplated changing that.
He dipped his finger into his glass and splashed liquid at me. “Are you lying to me, Blair?”
I shook my head, meeting his eyes to show the truth in them.
“Have you ever had a drink?”
“Twice. My freshman year of college.”
Growing up, I’d been taught by my father that anything other than water was toxic. Even juice and especially alcohol. As I got older and away from him, I realized that was complete bullshit. Nearly everything he’d spouted was.
I’d had my first drink when I went to college. I took it easy. The second time, I hadn’t and spent the rest of the night hugging the toilet.
“Looks like tonight will be your third,” he told me.
I still didn’t take a drink.
He leaned in closer. “Unless you want me to pour it down your throat?”
I curled my fingers around the glass and raised it to my lips. My front teeth slid over the glass as I took a slow drink. I gagged at the taste of burned sugar and firewood as a wave of revulsion hit me. My throat burned as the liquid rolled down.
A low chuckle rumbled from Enzo. “It seems bourbon isn’t your thing. I’ll get you something different.”
“Water?” I coughed, resting my hand on my chest. “Can I just have a water?”
He stood, finished his drink, took my glass, and left the room with both of them.
I tried to regulate my breathing while he was gone. To meditate. To manifest that I was anywhere but here.
He came back and dropped the glass in front of me again. Clear liquid splashed from the top.
Water? Or vodka? Or hell, poison?
“Your water,” he said, motioning toward the glass while taking his seat again. “Figured you’d want a drink for this, but if you don’t want liquor, that’s your call.”
His glass was full again with bourbon.
“A drink for what?” I asked.
His response to my question was to draw a knife from his pocket. I shrank back in my chair. He slammed it onto the table, and my gaze dropped to the handle, where something had been etched into it.
I blinked, seeing what resembled a broken halo.
His smirk was heartless while he ran the blade over the table. Tremors spilled through me. I’d never trust this man. Add a weapon, and he became ten times more dangerous.
This time, a pinch of ease settled inside me.
He said he couldn’t kill me without permission. Since I didn’t know how evil the men who gave that permission were, I’d never be perfectly relaxed with him.
“Why did you write I will atone for my sins in your notebook?” His question broke my train of thought.
My jaw dropped as I fumbled for words.
Any lie to blurt out.
Anxiety and dread crawled through my insides.
I was shocked I found words when I said, “It’s something I do when I’m bored.”
An unreadable expression crossed his face.
He caught my hand, turned it over, and skimmed his thick finger over my palm. My neck hunched forward when he flipped it back. Curiosity pawed at me like an animal as I tried to figure out what the hell he was doing.
A gasp ripped from my throat when he pinned my hand down with his while using the other to spin the knife between his fingers.
With careful precision, he parted my fingers. My head spun when the cold steel of the knife’s edge skimmed across my middle finger.
“Enzo,” I huffed out. I wished my breath sounded like a warning, but it sounded more like a plea.
He ignored me and jabbed the sharp point between two of my fingers. I attempted to yank my elbow back to free my hand, but he held me in place.
I twisted my elbow, barely missing my drink. “Stop it!”
His laughter was sinister when I glanced over my shoulder at the door.
“Oh, Blair, do you think anyone will come to your rescue here?” He stared me down in a way a predator did before devouring their prey and jabbed the space between two more fingers without looking.
“I could slit your throat in front of the entire student body and administration, and no one would bat an eye.” He stabbed the knife into the table, so close to a finger.
“They wouldn’t even provide a simple tissue to stop the bleeding. I’m your only protection here.”
“My protector or predator?” I gasped, my eyes fixed on the knife.
He shifted the knife to another gap between my fingers.
That started a rhythm for him as he slammed the knife’s tip between my fingers, gap by gap, before starting over.
He played this as a game, and he wasn’t gentle.
My eyes never left the knife. One wrong move, and he’d strike a finger. Blood rushed to my fingertips.
His hand moved faster as I gulped in breaths, waiting for him to slip.
My heart stammered in my chest when he looked up, focusing on my face and not his stabbing. His eyes didn’t even glance at the knife now.
“You’d better start talking,” he warned. “It’ll be hard to write sentences in the future if you’re short a finger.” His next strike between the spaces of my hand landed harder. “When I hit one, I’ll make you sit here and watch it bleed. No ride to the hospital for you.”
I winced at the force of the knife driving into the table.
For a moment, I visualized the pain of metal crunching into my bone.
“It was how my father punished me!” I blurted out because he needed to get that fucking knife away from me.
He paused mid-strike, the knife tip hovering over a finger. “What sins did you need to atone for?”
“None,” I whispered.
I was sure it sounded like a lie, like when you asked a child if they broke a rule and they said no.
But it was the truth. At least my truth.
“I don’t believe you,” Enzo said. “No one atones for sins if they didn’t commit them.”
Bold of him to think I’d had a choice.
He dragged the knife’s tip across my middle finger, slightly breaking skin.
“I had no choice,” I told him. “Not writing those sentences would have resulted in a worse punishment.”
“What sins did he think you needed to atone for?”
My body relaxed when he lowered the knife, happy that I was answering questions, that I was spilling my secrets for him.
“Everything was a sin in my father’s eyes.” I motioned toward his glass. “A sin. If I backtalked, that was a sin. Me being left-handed was a sin. Anything he disapproved of, he deemed a sin.”
I left out the biggest sin he’d blamed me for.
No one else needed to know that.
Enzo set the knife down. “Sounds like your father is fucked up in the head.”
I nodded. “He is.”
“Where’s he now?”
I shrugged. “No clue. I cut off contact.”
He eyed me like he didn’t believe me. “Hmm.”
“Is there a way for me to get out of this Fawn thing?” I quickly asked, in desperate need to change the subject to anything.
He brushed his fingers against the same knuckles he’d just threatened with a knife as disappointment clouded his features. “Do you want out, Blair? Do you want to go back on your word?”
My mouth felt suddenly dry, and I took a drink of water.
It was thankfully just water.
“Technically,” I said, the words leaving me slowly, “I’m not a Fawn yet, right?”
He plucked the knife from the table and offered it to me. “Your turn to play. If you don’t hit a finger, I’ll consider letting you go. Releasing you.”
I took the knife from him like I was making a pact with the devil.
Sacrificing my soul for peace.
Plenty of times, my father had told me that the Devil was an angel first. Later, it was how he described me to others. His little girl, who’d once been an angel, had turned into something evil.
Enzo splayed his hand out on the table in front of me.