Chapter 26
Quinn is quiet the whole walk through the market. And behind that featureless mask, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Dread knots in my stomach, sure he’s caught on to the truth. And now he’s toying with me, playing some sort of cruel game where he's waiting to see how long till I crack.
“Quinn,” I start, when I can’t take the silent treatment any longer.
He stops short, gesturing off to the side. “I thought you wanted an official tour?” he asks.
My brows furrow, confused what he’s talking about, until my gaze follows his gesture to find us back in front of the bar. Bloodlust, as I now know it.
I swallow hard. That was not what I expected him to say.
“Yeah,” I say, blinking away the guilt and fear that I'm sure is ravaging my features. “Yes, I did say that.” I’m thankful for the change of subject, but gods did it have to be this change? I take a deep breath through my nose and follow his lead inside.
The bar isn't crowded this early. In fact, the only people within the bar seem to be staff getting ready for the night, along with tonight’s entertainment setting up on the stage in the far corner.
Quinn heads straight back to the door at the other end of the bar.
The one I know leads to the red rooms. A bouncer is waiting by the door, the same one that tried to kick me out the previous night.
Only this time, he doesn’t hesitate as he opens the door for me and Quinn, allowing us to slip into the shadows of the hallway beyond.
Unlike last night, the hallway is now empty. And when I hear the click of the door behind us shutting, nerves creep over my skin. It’s just me and Quinn here. No Sterling. No Aamon. And I’m suddenly feeling a lot less trusting than when we first entered the market tonight.
“So, Angel . . .” Quinn drawls from behind me. “Which one will it be?”
“What?” I ask, flustered by his question. My hands curl into my chest and I spin around to face him.
“For your tour,” he clarifies. But there’s wicked intent in his tone.
He’s leaning, too casually for my liking, against the door leading back to the bar.
A subtle threat that there will be no returning from the way we just came.
His ankles are crossed, arms folded over his chest. He’s the picture of calm, cool, and collected and it makes me all too aware how sweaty and anxious I am.
“Oh.” I swallow, turning back to face the hallway. My eyes flit from door to door but land at last on the one beside us to the right. The one I saw the girl in the red dress disappear behind last night. “That one,” I say.
Quinn smiles, a predatory, slick grin that is haunting when paired with the mask he still wears.
I retreat a step as he pushes off the wall.
“Interesting choice." He's beaming. But he doesn’t clarify further as he steps forward and twists the knob of the door.
It gives easily, creaking open with an eerie sound that echoes down the empty hall.
I lean forward, trying to get a better view of what’s on the other side, but the room is cast in pitch-black darkness.
I look back at Quinn, but he just gestures for me to step inside.
I release a breath, mustering my courage as I take a tentative step forward.
The lights flick on, making me jump. Red, like they had been the other night.
Red like the blood they come here to drink.
Quinn snickers from behind me. His hand falls away from a light switch I hadn’t noticed.
“You are so jumpy tonight, Angel. Want to tell me why that is?” He walks into the room, spurring me to keep moving as my eyes try to process everything revealed in the low light.
The space is larger than I expected, decorated in dark-toned silk fabrics.
An air of frustration snakes its way into my own tone. “Maybe because I'm trapped in a territory that is not my own, being thrown around by a bunch of vampires who seem to find humor in my misery.” I fold my arms over my chest, fixing him with a hard look.
His eyes dart just below my chin, and I realize the error in my stance the moment he licks his lips. I roll my eyes, throwing my hands in the air as I turn away. “Point proven,” I call out.
He laughs, perching on the edge of the four-poster bed sitting in the middle of the room. “Why do you keep insisting you’re trapped here? I don’t see anyone holding a gun to your head.
Nor do I see you chained up in our basement like some sort of prisoner.
“In fact,” he continues. I can feel his eyes on me as I circle the perimeter of the room.
I let my fingers trace over the tools hanging in pristine order on the far wall—leather whips, harnesses, paddles, chains.
Even more items I don’t recognize, and my stomach dips as my imagination runs wild with what they might be used for.
“You seem to be well-tended to, I’d say. ”
I pause, fingers wrapping in irritation around a length of chain hanging from the wall. I let the metal dig into my palm, squeezing my fist to alleviate the tension winding tight inside me. “How so?” I sneer.
“Well . . .” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lean back on the bed, stretching an arm behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. “It seems to me Aamon has treated you to a whole new wardrobe—”
“Because someone disposed of the only clothes I had and never gave them back,” I argue. He ignores me, continuing down his list.
“Sterling fed you this morning. Pancakes even, which is his specialty. He only whips those up when it's a holiday or when someone's pet has died.”
“I wasn’t aware the Blood Order was in the habit of keeping pets,” I huff, continuing on my path around the edge of the room.
“Only you,” he mocks when I’m finally back in his view.
It takes everything in me to not lunge at him. But what good would it do? I’d get one punch in, maybe, before he’d have me on my back, tearing into my flesh.
My skin pricks with the thought, a chill running through my core that is quickly chased away by a heat I hate to admit is steadily building inside me.
“And then there’s that,” he hums, sitting up and removing his mask so I can see his eyes raking over me.
“There’s what?” I ask, acting like I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Not once but twice now we’ve curbed your appetite, Angel. Serviced that needy little cunt of yours while asking for nothing in return.” I balk at his words, completely caught off guard by his bluntness. “Seems like an odd way to tend to a prisoner, does it not?”
I want to slap the smugness off his face. Want to take that shit-eating grin and force the shock back onto him that he’s triggered in me. I use every shred of self-control I have to compose myself, turning my nose up in the air and starting a second lap around the room.
“I don’t know what this we business is,” I say after a moment of silence. And I can tell I have his attention now. “If memory serves me correctly”—I let a sly grin tease at the edge of my lips—“Sterling is the only one I’ve allowed the pleasure of warming my bed more than once.”
I stop when I’m back in front of the wall of tools, toying with a set of leather cuffs attached to a bolted ring in the wall.
“Feeling left out, Quentin?” I huff out a laugh, looking over at him through lowered lashes.
The look on his face is exactly what I’m hoping to see, the shock in his features as he realizes I’m not one to sit back and be continuously tossed around by these males. That I can hold my own.
That I’m not as weak as they think I am, even though I know it’s a lie.
I don’t hide my smirk, making sure he gets a full view.
But when I blink, he’s no longer perched on the edge of the bed, gawking at me.
He’s right in front of me, eliciting a shriek.
I fall back against the wall, sending the selection of toys and tools clanking against each other—a few falling to the ground around our feet.
“You know what I think, Angel?” His breath is warm as it feathers across my face.
I try to move further back still, but there’s no more room for retreat.
His hands move slowly towards my body, landing at my sides.
I freeze at his touch. His long fingers wrap around both of my wrists.
His touch is soft but stern as he guides them up above my head.
“I’m going to show you exactly how it feels to be a prisoner.
” He pushes my arms back against the wall, letting the leather brush against the back of my hands.
The sensation sends a jolt straight to my core, betraying myself to him.
I can see it in the way his nostrils flare, the way his smile deepens.
“And you’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know while I enjoy the look of you bound before me. ”
“Quinn,” I breathe, trying to come up with an excuse for him to stop. But my mind is suddenly blank of all words that have ever existed.
“That is, unless you’d rather return to the market? Or the clubhouse perhaps?” He pauses, waiting for my reply. I think about returning to my new cage. How little I desire to go back to the grief and pain and anger that has possessed me this past week.
I shake my head, hesitating mid-motion before continuing more adamantly. I don’t want to leave, for a myriad of reasons, but the largest one being that I do actually want this—gods help me.
“Good,” he murmurs, wrapping the leather around my wrist with surprising ease.
“And because I consider myself a fair individual, I’ll allow you a question for a question.
" He secures the second cuff around my other wrist, and my stomach drops when he takes a step back.
Cold air rushes over my body at the sudden absence.
“I’ll even allow you the first turn,” he purrs. I fidget, testing the restraints. Suddenly I’m wondering how I even let myself get here. I don’t want to answer his questions, and I sure as fuck don’t want to be tied up under his complete control.