Chapter 16 – ELLIE
ELLIE
The warehouse looks exactly the same as it did three days ago, which is to say it looks like shit.
Same rust-bleeding walls. Same shadows that could hide a hundred crimes. Same guard at the door who looks like he bench presses small cars for fun.
But this time, I'm not here to negotiate. I'm here to surrender.
"Back so soon?" The guard's voice drips with amusement as he recognizes me. "Boss said you'd return."
"Yeah, well, your boss is an arrogant prick." The words come out before I can stop them, but what's the point in censoring myself now? I'm about to sign my life away to four men who used to say they'd do anything for me just because I existed. "Can I go in? Or do you need to feel me up again?"
He chuckles, a sound like gravel in a blender. "Nah, you're expected. The Kings are waiting."
Of course they are. Kade's always been patient when he knows he's already won.
The path through the warehouse feels shorter this time, or maybe I'm just more resigned to my fate. The bass from the club that apparently goes at all hours pounds through the walls, vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.
One that's about to belong to someone else.
Four someones.
The throne room doors are already open when I arrive, like they've been watching me approach on the cameras. Knowing Cyrus, they probably have. The four of them are sitting in those tall chairs, which are facing the entrance this time. The theatrical masks are gone today.
Guess there's no point in pretending anymore.
Kade looks like sin incarnate, lounging on his throne with his usual "I don't give a fuck" arrogance. His gray eyes track my movement as I approach and his lips curl into that smirk that used to make my heart do backflips. Now it just makes me want to slap him.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
Cyrus has his laptop balanced on his knees, typing rapidly on the keyboard even as his eyes flick back and forth between me and the screen. Always multitasking, always ten steps ahead.
His glasses catch the throbbing white light from the club beyond the one-way glass, transforming the lenses into pulsing mirrors that reflect my own desperation back at me.
Beautiful, broken Jinx sprawls in his chair like a Renaissance painting, a statue of a young god. But there's something in his blue eyes that wasn't there three days ago. Hope, maybe. Or maybe I'm just projecting because I need at least one of them to not completely hate me.
But when I meet Jinx's eyes, he perks up and his lips part slightly, like he's praying for me to say something, anything, but afraid of what might come out of my mouth. I don't give him the courtesy of a smile. He's part of this bullshit whether he wants to look at me like a lost puppy or not.
And Tank…
Tank sits rigid in his chair like he'd rather be anywhere else. The gas mask is gone. He's wearing a solid black bandana over the lower half of his face now, and for a moment, I see my Tank.
Then I notice other changes. Subtler ones beyond his impossible size. The black-and-gray tattoos of feathers and snarling dog skulls covering the scars on his muscled forearms and hands, disappearing beneath the edges of his sleeves and fingerless gloves.
Tank was always terrified of needles. He had obvious medical trauma from whatever had happened to him, and whenever the other boys would experiment with stick-and-pokes—I even have a faded heart on my ankle, courtesy of Jinx—he'd be nowhere to be found.
That rips my heart out of my chest.
So does the realization he isn't hiding the other scars on his face behind his hair anymore. It's even partially swept back, almost like Kade's, and his dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Tank doesn't look happy to see me here at all.
"Look who came crawling back," Kade drawls, and I want to set his eyebrows on fire. "Miss us already, Princess?"
"Fuck you." I stop in front of them, chin raised even though my knees feel like water. "You know why I'm here."
"Do I?" He leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying me like I'm a germ under a fucking microscope. "I want to hear you say it."
I grit my teeth. He's going to make me say it. Of course he is. "I'll do it. Your deal. One year for Todd Waterson's death."
"See? Was that so hard?" His smirk widens, and I seriously consider if one year of being his pet is worth the assault charge I'd catch for breaking his nose.
Again, apparently, based on the slight crook that wasn't there four years ago.
I hate that it somehow works on him. "Though we need to clarify some things first."
He snaps his fingers and Cyrus pulls out a fucking manila folder from beside his chair. Because apparently we're doing this like a legitimate business transaction instead of the insane revenge plot it actually is.
That's actually the least surprising part about all this. Kade was always dramatic. For some reason, the fact that hasn't changed at all is a weird comfort.
"Is that a contract?" I laugh, but it comes out bitter. "You think a contract for hired murder is legally binding? What are you going to do, take me to court and sue me if I breach?"
"Oh, this isn't for legal purposes." Kade takes the folder from Cyrus, pulling out what looks like an actual professionally drafted document.
"This is purely for our pleasure. I want you to know exactly what you're agreeing to.
No take-backs, no misunderstandings, no 'I didn't know that was part of the deal' bullshit later. "
He holds it out to me and I snatch it from his hands, scanning the pages.
It's... thorough. Disturbingly thorough.
Sexual availability. Scheduling. Punishments for disobedience that range from mild to spanking and other things that make me do a double take.
"You're sick," I tell him, but my voice lacks conviction because some twisted part of me is almost impressed by the detail. I find myself laughing. "All of you."
Tank's eyes flick to the floor and I swear those huge shoulders sag ever so slightly.
"Yep." Kade doesn't even try to deny it. "But we're your only option, so..." He produces a pen from his pocket, holding it out to me. "Sign on the dotted line, Princess. Or fuck off forever and see if you can rope some Ivy League sucker into killing Daddy Dearest for you. See if I give a shit."
My hand shakes as I take the pen. This is insane. I'm literally signing my life away to my childhood friends turned vigilante psychopaths.
It occurs to me one last time that I could tell them the truth. Beg for their help instead of buying it. But I'd rather be their property than their charity case. At least this way, it's a simple transaction.
This way, I'm not just another broken bird needing to be rescued.
And in the only way that matters right now, this actually preserves what little autonomy I've eked out for myself.
I press the pen to paper before I can second-guess it.
Eleanor Waterson.
Such a simple signature for such a monumentally fucked up decision.
"There." I fling the pen back at him, and he catches it easily. "Happy now?"
"Ec-fucking-static. Congrats on your upcoming riches." He folds the contract and hands it back to Cyrus, who files it away like we just closed a fucking real estate deal. "Jinx?"
Jinx straightens in his chair, reaching into his pocket.
He pulls out a key—just a regular house key on a simple ring—and holds it out to me.
I reach for it, and our fingers brush. But it's not accidental.
He holds on a beat too long, his thumb stroking across my knuckles in a gesture so gentle it makes my throat tight.
He used to braid my hair with these hands for hours.
Those blue eyes meet mine, and there's definitely something there. A hint of the old Jinx that gives me the shred of hope I need to not fall apart right now in front of them.
"What's this?" I ask, my voice rough.
"The key to your new home away from home," Kade says, drawing my attention back to him. "It's a house three blocks from your campus. Nice neighborhood, very respectable. Very gentrified.”
They bought a fucking house for this?
"I have a dorm—"
"Had. Past tense," Kade corrects me, holding up his left hand.
A mottled pink and white burn scar I hadn't noticed before wraps around his forearm and palm like a serpent. My mouth goes dry briefly at the sight of it. Maybe he's still a pyromaniac after all these years.
"You'll keep up appearances during the day," Kade continues. "Go to classes, maintain your perfect GPA, play the senator's good little daughter. But the second your last class ends, you come home. Our home."
"That's—"
"Non-negotiable." He stands, and suddenly he's in my space, forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"You have a curfew now, Princess. Six PM on school nights.
Weekends are ours. Any exceptions go through me first. Any events, galas, political bullshit—you clear those with me directly.
You don't go anywhere without permission. "
"Fuck, Kade. I'm not a child."
Not anymore, my miserably nostalgic brain supplies helpfully.
"No. You're property for the next three hundred and sixty five days."
The words hit me harder than a slap to my face would, but his voice is almost gentle. Like he's explaining something simple to someone who's being deliberately obtuse.
I have to fight down the words bubbling up in my throat that tell him just where he can shove every last bit of property he has. "Anything else? Or are you done marking your territory?"
"Funny you should mention that." He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small velvet jewelry box. "There's one more thing."
That had better not be a fucking ring in there.
He opens the box and I freeze. It's the only thing that could be worse than a ring.
It's a collar. A delicate silver collar designed to look like an expensive choker to anyone who doesn't look too close. But I can see what it really is. The subtle lock mechanism at the back. The loop where a leash or tag could be attached.
"You're fucking joking, Kade."
"Do I look like I'm fucking joking, Princess?" He pulls it from the box, letting it catch the light. "You'll wear this at all times. It's subtle enough for your fancy functions and pretty enough that people will think it's just jewelry. But you'll know what it is. We'll know what it is."
"Kade—"
"Turn around."
It's an order, not a request. I glower at him as I turn—the contract said fuck all about glowering—and gather my hair over one shoulder, exposing the column of my neck to him.
I feel him step closer, the heat of his body radiating against my back.
"Good girl," he murmurs as he slides the cold metal collar around my throat and clicks the lock into place.
It fits like it was made for me.
It probably was.
"There." Kade’s breath ghosts across my ear. "Now everyone will know you're ours. Because this doesn't come off, Princess. Not for showers, not for sleeping, not for anything. It stays on until your year is up."
I'd assumed he meant a few days, maybe a week, when I read the part in the contract about how I had to wear a collar for as long as he wants.
Guess a year fits the bill.
I'm still tempted to rip the collar off and throw it in his smug face. But if I'm being completely honest with myself, I've had so many fucked up dreams about scenarios along these lines that there's a part of me that preened at his praise. And it's still preening.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Shit. I really have lost my mind.
"Anything else?" I manage to ask, wondering if he can tell how red my ears are right now. I hope to god my hair is covering them.
"Just one more thing." He steps back, and I turn to face all four of them. Kade spreads his arms wide, a smile stretching across his face. "Welcome home, Princess."
Home.
Kade is more wrong about that than anything else so far. Home was a rusted RV and Conquest and five kids against the world. Home was Before.
This is After.
Tank stands suddenly, rising to his full height at a speed that actually makes me take a step back from him for the first time in my life. He pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to me in his gloved palm. It's so small in his hand, it takes me a moment to register it's a phone.
I'm sure it's already loaded with tracking software courtesy of Cyrus.
"So you can reach us," Kade explains. "And so we can reach you.
Your old number will be forwarded to this one.
This is the only one you're allowed to use now, and Cy here is gonna be monitoring everything that goes in or out—just in case you decide to talk to any of your little trust fund brat friends.
If one of us calls or texts, you have exactly one minute to answer before we hunt you down and drag your ass back here. Understood?"
I take the phone from Tank, our fingers brushing. Those dark eyes soften for just a moment, just long enough to steal the breath from my lungs, but then it's gone.
"Understood," I mutter.
"Cyrus will text you the address. You're expected there by six tonight. That gives you…" Kade pauses to check his watch before continuing, "three hours to get your shit and say goodbye to your roommate."
"Three hours?" I echo in disbelief.
"Problem?"
Yes, I want to scream. Everything about this is a problem. The number itself is a fucking problem.
I set my jaw. "No."
"Good." He sits back down, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. "Run along then, Princess. Don't be late. You wouldn't want to start this arrangement off on the wrong foot."
The threat is clear as day. I turn to leave, the collar suddenly feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds.
The guard smirks as I pass him. "See you around."
I flip him off without looking back.
As I walk briskly to my car, the collar tapping gently against my collarbone, it sinks in that I just sold my fucking soul to the devil.
Four devils, to be exact.
Except this time, I know exactly what kind of cage I'm walking into.
And ever since I was collared, some twisted part of me can't wait to be locked inside.