Chapter 26
Twenty- Six
“A gilded cage is still a prison, no matter how sweet the perfume or how soft the sheets.” – Aria Boschett.
Iwake to warmth that isn’t mine. The room smells of him. Whiskey, smoke, and the soft spice of his cologne. Reality hits me like a fist to the sternum. Yesterday wasn’t a dream.
My head throbs. My limbs feel underwater thick from too much whiskey, but the memory still slices clean through my mind, Chester’s smile.
Then gunfire; his body crumpled as crimson spread across the pavement.
I push upright, swallowing down a wave of nausea.
My bare feet sink into the rug. I glance out the window to the sea, and my pulse stutters.
This is his home, his fortress, and my cage.
I inhale slowly, gripping the edge of the bed until the room steadies.Then I search the nightstands.
They’re empty, no phone, no weapon. I jerk open drawers.
A watch, cufflinks, nothing that belongs to me.
I whirl toward the open door; it is a massive walk-in closet.
I rush inside, fingers skimming over expensive suits, shirts folded with military precision.
Walking to the other side of the closet, I freeze when I see a familiar lavender blouse, my old jeans.
Even my favorite hoodie with the tiny bleach stain.
My clothes hang beside the new ones, stitching my life into his world and trapping me here.
My freedom is gone. Panic licks up my throat.
I shove it down, bolt out of the closet and, crossing the room, press my ear to the door.
Hearing nothing, I turn the knob locked.
Of course it’s locked; my throat tightens.
I pivot to the windows. Floor-to-ceiling glass shows the cliffs, the vast blue ocean, the rocks far below.
Paradise wrapped in steel bars. The balcony doors don’t budge. A hollow laugh escapes me. “Of course.”
My hands tremble. I press them to my head, squeezing my eyes shut as Nonna’s face flashes behind my eyelids.
Fear winds tight around my ribs, threatening to crush me.
“Move, think, Aria.” I refuse to let him win, so I force my legs to move.
I stumble into the bathroom, yanking drawers open, tossing everything aside.
Razors, bottles, cologne, an electric shaver hitting the marble with a crack.
Anything I can use. Anything at all. A prickle crawls up my spine.
Someone’s watching me. I whirl around and freeze.
Cyan stands in the doorway, gaze sweeping the chaos on the floor. His presence fills the room.
“What are you looking for, Dove?” Which version is this? The man who saved me? Or the one who cages me? “Aria?” he presses.
I lift my chin. Force myself to breathe and fight the pull.
“Give me my Nonna and let me go, Cyan… Please.” I don’t care how it sounds.
I don’t care if begging makes me weak. Chester was smiling one minute.
Dead the next. I won’t let my grandmother become another name carved into Cyan’s world of bullets and blood.
“No, but I can tell you she’s safe.” He’s words lands like a hammer; his blue-green eyes pin me, burning with a force that steals the air from my lungs. “You’re mine, Aria. I take care of what’s mine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Your Nonna is being cared for.”
“Bullshit, you’re just trying to use her to control me. Give her back.”
“ She’s better where she is.”
“Why can’t you just leave me alone... Cyan how can you sleep at night knowing someone died because of your choices?
What I saw yesterday…” My throat tightens.
“Chester was a nice old man. One minute he was smiling, giving you advice; the next, dead under a thunderstorm of bullets.” And he wasn’t the only one… flashes hit me.
A man lay on the crosswalk clutching his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers.
A woman screamed as she dragged her child away.
Bodies, one slumped over the hood of a parked car, twitched once before going still.
The memory claws at me until I’m trembling, hands shake so hard I curl them into fists, nails digging into my palms to ground me.
“I–I ca-n’t…” I swallow hard trying to control the stutter, and meet Cyan’s eyes, desperation scraping my voice raw. “Give me my Nonna and let me go. Before I become another casualty of your chaos. Like Chester.”
Cyan’s jaw locks, the muscle ticking as he steps closer, slow and deliberate, compressing the space between us. “How dare you?” His voice… lethally soft. “You think I wanted Chester dead?”
My hands come up between us as I push at his chest. “I never asked for this. You think I can sit back and accept this reality? Live in your nightmare?”
Cyan inhales sharply, his shoulders rising and falling.
His control seems to hang by a thread. But I don’t care.
My only thought is getting out of here and, like a drowning person grasping at a straw, for survival itself.
I blurt out the only thing I can think of.
“I know you think the law doesn’t apply to you.
But to use your words, actions have consequences.
I want my freedom. Give me back my grandmother, Cyan.
If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to go to the cops. ”
The moment the words leave my lips, he goes still, then he moves.
Faster than I can react, he’s on me. My spine slams against the marble countertop.
His body cages mine, heat and fury pouring off him in waves.
His hands grip the counter on either side of me, trapping me completely.
“Go ahead, I dare you.” The tip of his nose brushes against my lips, my cheek and my throat.
“In Crescent Bay, my word is law. The people here play by my rules. My reach goes further than you could ever imagine, Dove. I have men in my pocket at every level.” His eyes deadpan, a storm gathering.
“Laws don’t apply to the rich and powerful lass.
Only to the sheep of society who believe the bullshit stories corrupt politicians spin for them. ”
I flinch as I feel his teeth graze my ear, my pulse thumping wildly in response.
His tone drops lower, almost intimate in its threat.
“And don’t let the luxury of my obsession fool you; I will no longer tolerate your disobedience.
” His eyes bore into mine, a raging tempest swallowing me whole.
He means it. I try to push him back, but my actions are useless; he doesn’t move an inch.
The vibe between us is suffocating and dangerous. A throat clears from the doorway.
“Cyan,” Troy’s voice cuts through the tension, and I suck in a shaky breath. “Jake, Liam, and the requested foot soldiers are downstairs.”
For a moment, Cyan doesn’t move, then, slowly, his head tilts toward Troy.
“I’ll be there in a moment.” Troy hesitates like he wants to say more, but Cyan silences him with a raised hand.
“Make sure our arrangements are secure, Troy.” A short beat before Troy nods and his footsteps are retreating out of the room.
Cyan turns back to me, control settling over his frame once more.
He steps back and gestures with a slow, sweeping motion.
“Look around, Aria, this isn’t just a home, it’s a fortress, and I’ll keep you here.
It’s your choice how this unfolds... Remember, I can be the man of your dreams or the devil you fear.
” He walks out. The truth hits like a wave.
I’m trapped. I’m not leaving this house. Not unless I escape or he allows it.
Cyan doesn’t return all day. The only person I see is Johnny, who brings lunch I don’t touch. When I ask for my phone, he shrugs. “Cyan said no.” Of course he did.
The hungover fog eventually fades, but the walls feel closer than before.
If I don’t move. If I don’t do something; I’ll crack.
I explore the space, finding, just like in Boston, a closet full of new clothes in my size.
How long has he been planning to keep me here?
The thought unsettles me more than I care to admit.By the time night falls, I shower quickly, refusing to be caught vulnerable again.
My favorite coconut-scented body wash is here too. You stalking bastard.
I step out of the closet, tugging on loose cotton shorts and an oversized T-shirt and freeze.
He’s here. Standing at the edge of the bed in nothing but boxers, toweling his damp hair.
His back is to me, broad, powerful, muscles shifting as he moves.
Sprawled across it is the demon horse tattoo from his Boston penthouse.
Black and gray ink, alive under the light.
The beast seems to watch me. Its head lowered in a menacing stance; its eyes stare out of his skin as if it can see right through me. Whoever inked it was an artist–a master in black and gray. It’s eerie how much it suits him. Like he is the beast.
He turns. “Ready for bed?”
I step back instinctively, pulse thudding in my throat. He follows with predatory steps. Did he forget this morning?
“Are you insane?”
A side of his lips quirk up, as he stops in front of me, just short of touching. “No, Dove. Just obsessed.”
The word curls over my skin. I force myself to meet his eyes, but I can’t help but take him in.
My gaze drops anyway, to his chest, his abs and that perfect V of his hips.
Even lower, to the large, unmistakable bulge in his boxers.
Heat floods my cheeks. My clit throbs. Mercy no…
not now. I wrench my eyes away. “Which side of the bed do you prefer?”
He grins. “Doesn’t matter, Dove. As long as you’re in it.” I step around him and move toward the bed. He stops me with a lazy, wicked accent. “Dove… you never sleep with clothes on.”
I turn slowly. “That’s only when I’m alone.”