28
There are some things in life you just know. A loved one’s voice, the smell of a bonfire. For me, it’s the way every single bed feels in the prison I’ve found myself in.
I’m no longer in one.
Without even opening my eyes, I know I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I feel the cum between my thighs, the soreness in my arms, the dull ache in my head — all the telltale signs I had an episode overnight. But what I don’t feel is any sort of familiarity. The air smells different here, like pumpkins and apple pie. It’s colder, too. At least ten degrees. The pillows are nice, the blankets are fluffy, but they’re not our pillows. Not our blankets.
Wherever I am, I’m not in the same place that I was when I fell asleep.
Panic trickles up my spine as I sit up and try to focus on the room around me. It’s small but cozy with a white wooden dresser, dark green walls, and a floor lamp across from the twin-sized bed I find myself on. I’ve never been in this room before. My clothes are folded neatly on top of the dresser and my boots — the new boots Manson bought me — are resting next to the doorframe. I’m wearing pajamas I don’t remember putting on, and I know without having to reach up to touch my neck that I’m no longer collared. No cuffs, either.
Maybe I’m still asleep.
But can you feel pain when you’re asleep? Real, true pain like the bite of a pinch or the sting of a slap? I try both of them, and nothing changes. The dizzying realization that I’m definitely awake and lying in some stranger’s bed has me pushing myself to my feet and heading for the door. If I got out somehow, went somewhere... Manson and Asher will kill me.
The bedroom door leads me to a narrow, short hallway with two other doors. One is shut, one is open. The dark silhouette of a bathroom sink illuminated by one of those plug-in scent diffusers tells me what’s in there, so I keep moving. The bare floors are chilly under my feet as I step into a dining room decorated with fucking swords and crossbows, and the sight alone would steal my breath — but the stunningly pretty girl sitting on top of a high-rise table just about does me in.
“Who the fuck are you?” I blurt, taking a half-step back. Her long, dark hair slides over her shoulder as she chuckles, pissing me off. “Is something funny? Who the fuck are you?”
“They warned me you weren’t a morning person. Here, have some coffee. Black, right? Because you’re already sweet enough without adding sugar?”
There’s nothing menacing in her smile as she gestures toward a coffee pot and several cute mugs, but I can’t bring myself to move. Not without knowing what the hell is going on and how she knows what I said to Manson and Asher as a joke. “Who... are... you?”
“Blair,” she replies flippantly. “And you’re Rhea Ellis, step-sister to a devil in disguise. Long as you don’t look into his eyes, right?”
I’d give just about anything to look into his eyes right now. None of this makes sense. “Blair who? Why am I here? How am I here? Where are they?”
Her expression changes to something far too close to pity, but I’m surprised there isn’t any malice behind it. “They brought you here because apparently even devils can be martyrs. Did you, by any chance, tell them your love for them would never be real?”
She holds out the cup of coffee in solidarity, politely ignoring my shaking hand as I reach out to take it. It’s just like those assholes to finally listen to the truth the moment it starts to become a lie. “That’s not fair.”
“I agree. Men are fucking stupid,” she offers. “That’s why I didn’t make it at that damned school. I commend the subs that can deal with them, but all I’ve learned is I never want a man. I may not know your situation fully, but I saw the truth in your eyes just now. You really did let them in, huh?”
I take a long sip of coffee and sit right there on the floor, feeling too unsteady to stay standing. So she’s from St. Andrew’s, then. That’s how they know her. “So what, they dumped me on you?” I deflect. “No money, no car, just the clothes on my back? What’d you do to deserve that? Why’d you even agree?”
“Well they paid me,” she replies. “But even if they didn’t insist, I would have helped you. Firstly, Daddy would have killed me if she knew I let a girl go homeless, that’s not how we’re made. Secondly, no. Your car is out front and they told me to tell you to check your bank account so I assume you’re not broke. Your phone is on the coffee table, and your clothes are in the room you left. You’re a hard sleeper.”
“No, I’m not. I had a fucking episode last night so they probably drugged me before I passed out again,” I snap, then remember she’s the exact opposite of my enemy right now. “I’m sorry. I just...”
I don’t want to think about my clothes being here, my car being in the drive, or my measly seven thousand dollars being returned. All that tells me is that I wasn’t good enough. Did they get bored when things were good? Did it stop being satisfying for them when they weren’t forcing me to comply, hurting me with every word, every action? Domestic life isn’t for them, I guess. I’m not for them. “Fuck.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” She pauses. “Okay, it’s absolutely not okay, but it will be. It may make look like it now, but once upon a time I was also alone in the world, abandoned by men. To be fair, I wanted to leave, but I know how it feels to be cast aside, and you will rise from these ashes just as I did. I don’t know if it helps or not, but in their own twisted way they loved you. I saw it clear as day in their eyes, and I heard it as they argued about letting you go. They’re just... men. Always choosing the wrong time to be what we women need, and then they wonder why we end up hating them.”
Arguing?
Slowly, I lift my head up to meet her eyes. “Whose idea was it, Blair? Which one of them wanted to let me go?”
She bites her lip like she doesn’t want to say. “Does it really matter?”
“No.” Of course it doesn’t. The end result is the same, and I know the answer anyway. Manson set me free. The kind boy who comforted me when I was a teen was still inside him and finally won out. I’m just surprised Asher didn’t win. “Who the hell is Daddy?”
Smiling softly, she points to a framed picture across from us in the living room. I can’t see shit from the floor, so I force myself to my feet and head over to take a look.
“We’re sort of St. Andrews’ outcasts. Subs who either couldn’t hack it or simply wouldn’t. The woman in the middle is Daddy.”
Strikingly tall, Daddy stands at least six inches above Blair herself and probably seven over everyone else. Her jet black hair descends nearly to her ass, contrasting against a white suit and nearly flawless umber skin. But it’s her smile that grabs me the most, and not because it’s blindingly white.
It’s so... warm. The kind of smile you gravitate toward, the kind that changes your mood. The kind of smile I’d love to be around every second of every day, because it just might remind me that life is worth living.
Yeah, it’s that good.
I’m breathless as Blair continues, “Her real name is Valerie Dadd, but if you ever tell her I told you that, she’ll kill us both. Everyone at the school, everyone she deals with... they all call her Daddy, and for good reason. She’s a fixer. All the chaos the Provost gets into, the shit the Wardens, Keepers, and Royals stir up? She’s the one who wipes the slate clean. We help her when we can.”
“How’d you end up with her?” I ask. “How do I?”
Snorting, Blair spins me to face her. “You’re having a very typical reaction. Daddy might look sweet and snuggly, but she’s a complete badass. She knows about four hundred ways to kill a man without breaking a sweat, so she takes no shit from anyone. She expects her girls to be the same. You don’t choose her, she chooses you.”
I’m not very good at being chosen, so I offer her a polite smile and turn my back to the photo. I don’t want to be involved in their world without them, anyway.
“Got it. So... where are we, then?”
“My house, just outside the school’s border. You’re still in Saint City, but there’s a whole wide world separating you from the devils now. You’re safe.”
I’m a lot of things, but I don’t think safe is one of them. My, how things change.
“For what it’s worth... I’ve never seen Asher like this before. Stern and adamant yes... but never heartbroken. Somehow you got under his skin, but now it’s time for you to heal yours. They want you to live.”
“No, they don’t. They want to push me out of sight, out of mind, so they don’t have to be actual fucking humans anymore.”
Shrugging, she hops off her seat and sets her coffee mug aside. “Maybe. The question is, what do you want to do about it?”
“I want to drive back over there and punch them both in the dick,” I say firmly. “But I’m also not stupid. They let me go for a reason, so I’ll just... I don’t fucking know. Try to find a new place to live I guess.”
Even the thought makes my chest ache, but what am I supposed to do? They don’t want me anymore.
“No rush, okay? I don’t mind you staying here a while, and it could be fun. When’s the last time you hung out with another girl?”
“I don’t know. Years, probably. I don’t know how much they told you, but I had a bit of a complicated past. I haven’t really had many friends.”
“They didn’t touch on that, and you don’t have to either unless you want to. I don’t judge people for their pasts, and I hope people do the same for me.”
So there’s a chance she doesn’t know about my mom, which is good. The last thing I need is some super badass in training thinking I’m gonna kill her while she sleeps. “I don’t judge people for anything. I’ve lived long enough to realize this world is so fucked up, nothing matters.”
“Cheers to that.” She glances around her for her drink, deflating slightly when she remembers it’s morning and all we have is coffee. “Well, we’ll cheers later. If you’re up for it?”
Knowing she’s not the one who did this to me, I keep my shitty comments to myself and nod. “Yeah, absolutely.”
“Cool. What’d you do before they captured you anyway?”
“Does it count as being captured if I walked right into it?” I grimace, looking away from the pity on her face. I want to trust her, I do, but she’s a stranger to me. I’m exhausted and hurt, scared and a little embarrassed, too. What must she think of me? I’m afraid to ask, and I definitely don’t want to give her any additional reasons to get the wrong impression. That means my past — all of it — is off limits, no matter how many times she tells me she won’t judge me. At least until I figure all this out, she’s all I’ve got, and I can’t afford to burn any more bridges right now.
It’s a miracle I’m still standing at all.