Chapter 7 #4
I leave my hair down to air dry and dress in a clean pair of jeans and a black tank top.
I’m not cold, but I grab Jonah’s hoodie anyway and pull it on like a security blanket.
My eyes water and I breathe in his familiar scent, forever imprinted on the fabric.
It’s linked to so many memories, too many memories.
And now he’s just…gone. Forever. I angrily wipe a tear from my cheek.
I won’t let myself cry now, not yet. Traeger will be sending for me soon, so I can’t be in the middle of a breakdown when that happens.
I wander back into the living space and find a tray of food waiting on the dining table.
I make my way closer, eying the plate suspiciously.
They wouldn’t poison me, would they? No, I don’t think Traeger would kill me, at least not so quickly.
That just seems like a waste of a good hostage and if he planned to kill me, why not just do it on the road?
Or better yet, just do it at The Cove as an example for everyone there to see.
Why go to all the trouble to bring me back here?
No, he won’t kill me, but he may make me sick as a dog just for shits and giggles…
I deliberate for a few minutes, watching the plate like it will eventually tell me whether it’s poisoned or not. My mouth waters…
“Oh, fuck it,” I huff as I sit heavily in one of the cushioned chairs and take a tentative bite of what looks to be chicken, though it could be some other kind of bird I guess.
It’s fucking delicious, whatever it is. I quickly polish off the rest of the meat, followed by the cucumbers, potatoes, and bread.
I actually moan in delight as I chew on the roll.
Several people in The Cove make bread, but they need to take notes from whoever’s doing it here at FOS because damn. It’s soft and warm and full of flavor.
After my meal, I have nothing to do but wait.
I feel like I wait for hours and hours, the sun slowly making its trek across the sky and getting closer to setting.
Is he ever fucking coming? Without much else to do, I go through everything I know about him again, trying to fit the inconsistencies into the puzzle that is Austin Traeger.
I’ll figure him all out eventually, it’s just a matter of time, but the inconsistencies are admittedly fascinating—and frustrating.
He’s known as completely savage and despicable, despite his charming and charismatic personality that he displays the majority of the time.
He’s killed too many people to count in his quest to gain and maintain his power…
so, why hadn’t I’d seen that sadistic gleam in his eye when he’d been about to gut Kevin?
Then I realize what had felt off about it: he’d seemed resigned to it, as if it was a chore that had to be done, not something he was excited about.
He’d treated me surprisingly respectfully during the trip to FOS, hadn’t physically harmed me or touched me in any way, hadn’t allowed his men to do so either.
“Ugh!” I groan in frustration, punching a pillow.
It just doesn’t fucking track. Was the monster some kind of facade?
Or was he just better at hiding his monster and mind games than anyone I’ve ever met?
I decide to stop thinking about Traeger and read instead.
I only make it a couple of chapters before I end up dozing off on the couch, more exhausted than I realized it.
When I wake to a knock at the door, it’s full dark out.
To my utter astonishment, the guy guarding my door waits for me to answer instead of just barging in.
“Traeger will see you now.”
“And I didn’t practice my curtsey,” I say with a mocking gasp.
The guard’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t respond as he steps to the left of the doorway so I can exit and turn right towards Traeger’s room.
It’s a short distance from my door to his, but why couldn’t I just go through the connecting door?
Does he just want to make a big to-do of having me come in the main entrance?
So I can be escorted the thirty feet by an armed guard? I roll my eyes.
The guard posted outside of Traeger’s room gives me an appraising look before nodding and moving so I can enter.
Despite all my bravado, I swallow hard and take a few deep, steadying breaths before I open the door.
Will he…expect things from me tonight? Will he demand them?
Force them? I remind myself again that I can’t lash out or fight back, no matter what happens.
I know without a doubt that he’ll punish Jonah for anything that I do here.
Because that was the deal, wasn’t it? Jonah and everyone at The Cove are safe so long as I behave.
I push my shoulders back, open the door, and enter the room.
Holy. Shit. His suite is twice as big as mine, maybe even three times, and even has a spiral staircase leading up to a second-floor loft overlooking the living space.
There are what look to be three bedrooms and a bathroom on the left side, with his master bedroom on the right—meaning we share a bedroom wall.
I eye the connecting door with disdain before scanning the rest of the room.
There’s a full kitchen and dining area, and a large, fully-stocked bar in the corner, bottles lining the glass shelves behind the stone counter.
A large desk strewn with books and notes sits just beside it in between two of the bedroom doors.
A few pieces of art hang on the walls—a couple of Monets and a Degas—and I narrow my eyes: are these…
fuck, I think these might be real?? I take a step forward before I’ve even made the decision to move, like I’m going to sprint across the room and touch one of these masterpieces with my own hands, but freeze, locking my muscles in place.
I let my gaze keep sweeping over the space and find mismatched shelves filled to the brim with books lining the other wall. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands.
“Surprised?” he drawls as he unfolds himself from the leather couch.
His hair is damp, a few droplets falling from the strands and turning the light gray fabric of his t-shirt nearly black.
He has a bandage on his bicep from where Kevin had grazed him, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him too much.
His tattoos are on full display now, covering both arms pretty much fully down to his elbows.
Neither are one solid design, but a mix of things that flow cohesively together to form one overall picture, though the actual items vary wildly: a pocket watch; a cross with some script beneath it; the state of Georgia; a lion’s head; a thick Celtic knot encircling his right bicep; a compass; initials and dates.
I hate that I’m interested in the stories behind all of them.
I idly wonder if the bullet wound ruined the design beneath the bandage, but I can’t really tell right now.
I hike a shoulder as if I couldn’t care less about what’s in his room, but I’m eager to get closer and browse the titles on the bookshelves. I’m in desperate need of new reading material. Not that I’d ever ask to borrow his books, of course, but I could steal them...
“I trust you found your room to be adequate.” His lips curl at the corners and I narrow my eyes.
“Why am I staying there? Shouldn’t I be in a cell or something?”
He doesn’t answer, just studies me before making his way to the bar.
He adds ice to two glasses, pours a healthy amount of amber liquid into each, and strolls towards me.
I tense but don’t retreat and he holds out one of the glasses.
Though I could really use a drink or twelve, I eye it coldly.
He waits, cocking a dark blonde brow and telling me without words that he’ll stand there all night if he has to.
I roll my eyes and take the damn glass. Whiskey by the smell of it.
My brows rise a bit. Good whiskey. I take a sip and just stop myself from giving an appreciative mmm.
“I like to keep an eye on the new members of our little group,” he finally answers, though it seems like a lie to me.
Renee had been shocked when he’d told her to put me in that room.
Maybe it’s reserved for the ones he takes a particular interest in torturing—or using for…
other things. I grit my teeth as he makes his way back to the couch, gesturing for me to sit too.
I reluctantly follow, perching on the chair that sits opposite the couch.
He studies me in silence as he sips his drink slowly.
The look is calculating and…intense. Smoldering comes to mind, and my entire body feels like a bow string pulled too taut.
From fear, I tell myself. Just fear and nothing else…
I quickly down my entire drink, wincing a little at the burn left behind.
If ever there was a time for liquid courage, it’s now.
Sure, I’d been trained for, and put into, far worse situations, but that is different.
I almost always had backup in those days, for one.
Now, I’m totally on my own. And it isn’t just my life on the line if I fuck up.
Jonah, Jonah, Jonah. I can do this for him.
I decide that since this is happening whether I like it or not, maybe it won’t be as bad if I do it on my own terms, if I make the move.
I can pretend in some delusional part of my brain that this is my choice.
I take a deep breath and rise from the chair, closing the small distance between it and the couch in just a few steps.