Chapter 30
Thirty
Zee
Do you know how humiliating it is to walk around the Manor naked with a leash around your neck?
Pretty fucking humiliating.
Do they do this to all the girls? Or am I special?
A red piece of fabric sits tight in my mouth as Ezra tugs me down a long hallway on the basement floor.
The Manor above exudes old money with its golden frames and polished floors.
It's different down here, all concrete and metal.
It reminds me of places I’ve been before. Police holding cells, juvenile detention...
When we get to a large metal door, Ezra places his hand against my face.
I pull away, my mouth twisting.
His cold hand slides around the back of my neck, pulling me close enough to smell his coffee-laced breath.
“Will you give yourself to me tonight?”
It’s the same question he asked after the party. My answer hasn't changed. “Fuck off.”
He smirks.
Then he opens the door and pushes me in.
The metal door creaks before it slams behind me, Ezra on the other side.
Clack-clink!
Did he lock me in here?
I glance around.
Grey walls, concrete floor, a sliver of a window near the ceiling.
Fuck no.
“Hey!” Turning around, I bang on the door.
"Quiet." Ezra's voice comes through the metal. “I will be back at eight to ask you again."
“That’s hours away!” When I got to the Manor, it was only noon.
“Yes, Azalea. It is.”
Those muffled words are his last before his footsteps become distant, my ear against the door.
Kicking the door doesn’t bring him back. Screaming his name doesn’t let me out.
So I scream for Atlas.
He still doesn't come.
I forgot how much time drags when you’re alone in the dark.
My bare back pressed against the cold wall, I wait. For footsteps. For that voice.
For him.
Atlas doesn't come. Instead, he loops through my head like a highlight reel at a funeral—like I've lost him for good.
I get it. He was an intruder. A stalker. He knew everything about me and used it to his advantage. Yet he's still on my mind when those doors open again, my heart sinking when Ezra appears instead of him.
As promised, he asks the same question.
“Will you give yourself to me tonight?”
Am I stupid for saying no?
It takes another few hours after he leaves again for me to focus, my mind shifting from Atlas to Liv. To Kon. Reggie and Lola.
Father.
My father.
Was his abandonment protection? Was what I thought to be carelessness actually the opposite?
I try piecing it all together. Eastmount. Obedience, rituals, hierarchy. There’s so much more to this place than I saw before.
Ezra doesn’t come back in eight hours this time. Not twelve. Or twenty-four. I stop counting after forty-eight.
I'm starting to look insane. I mutter to hear myself speak. The light from the window makes me hiss if I stare too long. The space doesn't feel real anymore.
At some point, another day passes.
The longer time spans, the closer I get to saying yes to Ezra. But that’s what they want.
Is that what Atlas wants?
The Atlas I know wouldn’t let anyone near me. The Atlas I know would kill to make sure of that.
Unless they killed him first.
Crreak!
I can hardly move when the door opens again, my lips cracked, my body hollow.
I know it’s not him.
Two sets of shiny shoes approach me before two men grab me, pulling me to my feet.
I stumble when I try to stand, squinting as everything blurs.
They throw something over my cold, naked body. A robe. The fabric scratches my skin, but it brings warmth as I’m dragged up the stairs into the decorated hallways.
They don’t stop until we’re in the big dining hall, triple the size of Mo’s apartment.
A chandelier hangs over the long, white-clothed table. Its dim light shines on a vase of black roses in the middle. Intricate moulding decorates wooden walls with old, expensive paintings hanging between them.
Father sits in the middle of the table in a black dress shirt, his gold rings shining under the dim lights. Cherise sits on his left in a stunning gold dress, looking like she’s swallowed a whole bottle of Xanax.
The aroma of baked bread awakens my senses, and my stomach rumbles loudly enough to echo around the room.
My eyes land on the spread of food surrounding delicate plates and shiny golden cutlery.
The minute the men release me, I lunge towards the first thing I see and shove it in my mouth.
My hands brace the table as I chew and swallow before I stuff another crispy, juicy potato in my mouth. Then another.
Slap!
My body stills, a familiar sting spreading on my cheek.
The leather strap.
“Azalea, be our guest,” Father says. “Not an animal.”
I stop and look around the room.
He’s not alone.
He’s not with Atlas either.
Swallowing hard on the glob of potato in my throat, I drop into the upholstered wooden chair right in front of him. “Anyone becomes an animal when deprived."
My eyes drift to the casserole in the middle of the table, steam coming off it.
Lasagna.
Cheesy. Saucy.
The smell flows into my nose, marinara spices making my stomach grumble again.
“Go ahead,” Father directs, and like an obedient little pet, I do. “Good, good girl.”
My hand stalls above the golden spatula, his words making my stomach coil.
I'm too hungry not to let it slide. I want every last bite of this dish in me.
I slice into the deep, gooey pasta and place a heavy slice on the plate in front of me. Picking up a fork, I dig right in.
“Ah ah!” Father says, a forkful of lasagna hovering by my mouth. I flinch as the man with the strap comes closer. Father stops him again. “Sit up, Azalea. Be a woman."
Looking at Cherise, she still doesn’t acknowledge me or anything in existence. My mouth waters for the food in front of me, so fuck it, I do what I’m told. I sit up in my seat.
“Straighter."
My mouth flattens. With a deep breath, I settle my back against the chair, forcing my shoulders down.
Slap!
That sting comes to my face again as I meet Father’s eyes. “You’re expressive. I can see the disdain on your face.”
“It’s hunger," I reply. "Can I eat?”
“You will refer to me as Father when you speak with me.”
Trying to keep my facial muscles under control, I ask again. “Can I eat, Father?”
“Yes.”
The minute he says the words, I dig in. And fuck, I don’t know if I’m extra hungry, or they have the world’s best chef because this is the best piece of lasagna I’ve ever eaten.
“Another misstep from you and this dinner is over," Father says. "Understand?”
I nod as the rich, flavourful sauce dances on my taste buds.
Is this what Atlas experiences all the time?
Is this why he’s so loyal?
Is this why my father abandoned me?
“Azalea." The muscles in my neck stiffen when Father says my name again. “Do you prefer men or women?”
I choke.
Reaching for the metal jug between us, I pull it to my lips, chugging water to push the food down.
Father ignores my struggle. “Little Brother Ezra says you’ve been uninterested in bonding.”
It’s not bonding, it’s coercion. But I won’t risk this meal. I open my mouth to speak before my eyes narrow on something hanging above Father's head.
My eyes drag up to it as I swallow hard on the mixture of lasagna and water.
It’s the same logo I saw on my dad and Liv.
This one’s in gold, positioned above the fireplace behind him.
My jaw twitches before my question slips out. “Are you homophobic?”
He chuckles, pulling a golden glass to his lips. “There are some things that are preferred here." I clench the fork that I want to drive through his eye. “I asked you a question, Azalea. You’re best served by answering it.”
I flinch again as the man with the strap inches closer.
But then I look Father straight in his narrow eyes. “I’m understanding that you think I won’t sleep with Ezra because I’m queer. The real reason is that I’m saving myself for you.”
Now that gets Cherise’s attention.
Her head slowly turns towards me.
I meet her eyes, but I can’t read them. They linger on me, like she’s picking out a shade of paint.
“Ezra is suitable for your age,” Father says, glancing at Cherise. “He’s the perfect man to be by your side, to shape and mould you into truly being one of us.”
“I prefer older men."
Cherise narrows her eyes in my peripheral vision, but I keep my gaze on Father.
He smirks. “Then you need better training.”
Father doesn’t want to train me.
He wants to rebuild me.
But I plan to burn this place to the fucking ground.
Thing is, I’ve committed to something that’ll kill me in the process.
My quick thinking at dinner means Ezra’s off my back. Thankfully, Father won’t sleep with me. He says he won’t until I’ve become ‘enlightened.’ True family.
One of them.
But his rituals aren’t for the weak.
I spend the days by his side and the nights alone in my empty room. This involves kneeling around him like a good subservient pet. I tell him how good he is while he sits in his office, smoking cigars and pretending to work.
This can span hours.
Everything is punishable. The way I speak. The way I stand. The way I walk. And dinners? That’s when Father tries to break my mind apart some more.
Today is different, though.
Cherise is missing.
Earlier, I heard him mumbling around to his men, asking for her. It’s the first time I’ve seen him even a little rattled.
"Have you seen my wife?" he asks at dinner, pouring me a glass of wine. He never pours me a glass.
It's just the two of us alone at the table in the massive dining room. I sit across from him as usual, Cherise’s seat empty.
“I don’t.” My fingers tighten around the stem of the wine glass before taking a big chug. If they’re about to blame her absence on me, I’d rather be drunk the next time I’m abused. “Do you?”
He sips his wine instead of answering, staring at me. “We should’ve kept your mother.” I take another long drink, emptying my glass. “Maybe she would’ve been as strong as you.”
“You killed her, didn’t you?”
Silence takes over us again, Father's eyes searing into mine. After a moment, he clears his throat. “Azalea, your mother was from Eastmount, born under Colonel Fritz, your brother died in childbirth and—”
“Wait, wait…” My mother was born in Cairo before moving to Canada with my grandparents in the seventies. “I was the only child they gave birth to. She told me I was their lovechild.”
“Your mother was from Eastmount.” He speaks again, someone removing my plate. I’ve only taken a bite of the delicious spread of salmon and roasted potatoes.
I reach for it, but it's too late as Father continues.
“She was born under Colonel Fritz. Your brother died in childbirth, and you’ll go on to marry one of ours.”
My mind twists, my eyes moving between Father and his men, but no one looks bothered. “My mother lost everything when she left my father. She wasn’t from here!"
Slap!
A burn sticks to my sting, that leather strap striking my face again. Father repeats himself like he’s reciting lines from a script.
"Your mother was from Eastmount. Your grandfather is Colonel Fritz."
My chest tightens when it hits me.
They’re not trying to rebuild me.
They’re trying to reset me.
“Say it,” Father demands. “Repeat after me, Azalea.”
My voice hardens. “Zee.”
Slap!
The sting numbs, my eyes narrowing further and further into Father’s.
“Say it,” he demands.
“Fuck you.”
Slap!
I want to end them from the inside, like poison. They don’t get to rewrite my history. Not when they’ve already taken so much from me.
Slam!
Father’s head snaps up to the double doors behind me.
His face reddens, his grip around his glass so tight his knuckles whiten.
“Oh, good, you’re already sitting down.”
That deep, rolling voice strikes my core.
It's a voice that makes my body come alive.
“Give me what’s mine. And I’ll give you what’s yours.”