Chapter Eighteen
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Ily
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I SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON THE curved balcony as the sun sank, slowly committing suicide into the ocean. Its fiery colours of reds, oranges, and gold-gilded peaches extinguished under a cloak of navy as day became night, and Henri still didn’t summon me.
The grounds below slowly vanished as shadows swallowed neat paths, hedges, fountains, and gazebos.
The men who’d dotted the lawn with their unfortunate slaves made their way inside, commanding their jewels to follow.
As the gardens emptied, the bedroom behind me grew louder as girls and boys returned to wash away cum, blood, and sweat.
Occasionally, someone laughed, somehow finding humour in this cesspit. A part of me wanted to join them, but most of me craved to be alone.
I stayed where I was.
The cool evening air caressed the fine hairs on the back of my arms, making me shiver.
I’d showered and dressed in the only loungewear available in the walk-in wardrobe: another sheer dressing gown like the one I’d worn when Peter took me to the gardens for the first time.
Unlike the periwinkle blue of this morning, this one glowed with rose gold, the lace around the hem and collar a gorgeous alabaster white.
What would Sam say if he saw me in something so sensual? He’d often complained of my flannelette pyjamas and demanded I wear G-strings and corsets to sleep in, guilt-tripping me to be dressed for his pleasure at all times.
The red flags had been waving for far longer than I wanted to admit.
I should never have wasted four years of my life on him.
I should never have gone to France.
If I hadn’t, I’d be back in my childhood bedroom, just down the hall from Krish, about to share a lovely family dinner with my beloved parents and sensitive brother.
My chest ached, but no tears formed.
I think I was all cried out—numb after waiting all day to be abused only to reach nighttime untouched.
With nothing else to do all afternoon, my mind had wandered into the past, deliberately refusing to think of the future or present.
What exactly is my ex doing?
Had he gone back to England and left all my luggage at the hotel? Would he get nervous when I never returned home to collect my things? Would he tell my parents and Krish that I’d gone missing?
Is anyone searching for me?
Sighing, I fought the urge to go inside where it was warm and full of company.
While I stayed here—high enough to touch the sunset and close enough to feel speckles of splashing surf—I could pretend I was free.
But the moment I stepped inside, the truth would slap me, and I honestly didn’t know if I had the courage to keep pretending.
“Dinner is in thirty minutes.” Peter stuck his head out the small glass door, invading my tiny, barred sanctuary. At least he wore the same linen trousers he’d had on when I first met him in the foyer.
The lightness of his clothing and the rich honey of his skin seemed at such odds with the black wrought-iron rungs curved around and above me, forming a birdcage sticking out from the wall of the citadel.
In another life—when I’d explored ancient ruins and drifted down carefully restored corridors of castles and strongholds—I’d seen such cages.
Gibbet cages the information plaques called them. Used to hang traitors and criminals until dead, their skin rotting and sun-bleached skeletons swinging from the parapets as warnings to all.
My empty stomach rumbled as I twisted to face Peter. “Dinner for us or for them?”
He smirked at my growling tummy. “Every night is a banquet fit for a king. If your Master is kind and feeling magnanimous, you may eat morsels that he gives you.” Stepping fully onto the balcony, he lowered his voice.
“Some of us don’t have Masters who are kind, so we have a smoothie before going down.
That way we don’t faint beneath the table. ”
“Do we not get our own rations?” I stood slowly. My knees popped from staying cross-legged for so long.
“Not the rich food they eat, no. You’ve seen the kitchen we have. Nothing to heat or cook with. Just a blender and a sink. We have fresh fruit and vegetables. Some of us nibble on them raw, but most of us have them in a smoothie to get as much inside us as possible.”
“Smoothies aren’t exactly fulfilling.”
“No, but at least they keep us healthy.”
I sighed sadly. “Healthy is a strong word.”
He nodded. “Fine. Let’s go with...not dying.”
“Physically maybe.” I looked his svelte frame up and down, noticing the shadows of bruises from whatever his Master of the day had done to him. “But how about spiritually? How’s that going?”
His eyes narrowed. “Pretty sure you know how that’s going.” His prickly persona appeared for a moment. “We’re all surviving, not thriving. We make do. Just like you’ll learn to.”
My heart panged a little. I had complex feelings when it came to this man. Annoyance at him sweeping me into service. Frustration at his downtrodden-ness. Dislike sometimes. Empathy at others. Confusion most of the time.
Deciding to change the subject, I forced a smile. “If you could eat anything right now, what would it be? Would you ask for a burger or pizza? Sushi or pasta? Me? I’d kill for my mother’s version of malai kofta with a buttery garlic naan, saffron rice, and—”
“Ugh, don’t torture me.” He chuckled with a weary shake of his head. “I hate it when the others play this game. My mouth waters so much it’s disgusting.”
“What would you have?”
He stared toward the night-shrouded cliffs. “I’d murder someone for a banana blossom coconut curry from my cousin’s restaurant. He runs it with his wife, and I’ve never found anything as good.” He shrugged sadly. “It’s been years since I’ve tasted anything that delicious.”
My heart didn’t just pang this time, it broke in half. “I’m so sorry, Peter.”
He shook himself. “Doesn’t matter. No point dwelling on the past. One day, I’ll enjoy rich food again. Might be in the next life, but I hope it will be in this one.”
Unable to stop myself, I reached out and squeezed his forearm. “It will be in this one. I know it.”
His lips twisted with a sarcastic smile. “How? You gonna break us out of here?”
I’m not. But Henri is.
“I just—” I kept my hand on his arm, forcing back the urge to console him with Henri’s true intentions. Blurting out the first question that came to mind, I asked, “Where were you captured?”
He looked at where I touched him, but didn’t move away.
“Like I said, my family immigrated to the UK. I was born in Leeds, but a lot of my extended family still live in Jaipur. I went to visit them after I finished school. I liked it better than England and decided to stay. I got a job working as a tour guide, but unfortunately, one night, the English group I was in charge of got too drunk and created a nuisance of themselves. They ended up in a fight on the street, and I went to get help. A well-dressed American man offered to get them back to their hotel. I was grateful. I got into his car and gave him directions, but...”
“He took you somewhere else.”
He stepped away from me and crossed his arms. “You’ve broken two of your new Master’s rules already by the way.”
I frowned.
Rules? What rules?
“What do you mean?”
“He told you not to speak to another. You were to be mute to everyone but him. Yet you’re talking freely to me.”
I reared back. “You mean, he’ll expect me to stay silent...even around other jewels?” I shot a look at the cameras, blinking red and nosy on the stone walls. Henri had conducted that strange ritual to ward off others, not to control me...didn’t he?
Would he honestly expect me not to speak? Was it because he was afraid I’d blab to every slave that he was a cop or because of some draconian level of control?
“All I know is if they replay the footage of you talking to me, then he’ll punish you.”
No, he wouldn’t...
I stiffened.
Yes, he would.
To keep up the ruse, he would have no choice.
“W-What was the other rule I broke?”
“You showered.” Peter sniffed. “You must’ve used quite a lot of soap because you stink of geraniums.”
My chin shot up. “It’s better to stink of spicy flowers than sperm.”
He chuckled. “I would agree with you, but...he told you to keep his spoof on you. You didn’t.”
I couldn’t hide my shiver, recalling the stickiness of dried cum. The musky scent of Henri had been too much, and I’d stumbled into the shower the moment Peter left to serve his current Master.
“He told you explicitly not to bathe,” he huffed. “He’ll punish you for that too.”
The urge to tell him that Henri wasn’t like the rest burned my tongue all over again.
I’d never had a secret before.
Never learned the cost and energy it took to keep it. Especially when I had no one: no one to confide in, no one to save me.
Bowing my chin, I did my best to seem afraid of what Henri would do.
“Hopefully, he’ll be gentle.” My voice wavered, which really wasn’t hard to fake because if Victor knew I’d showered and spoken—despite Henri’s instructions—I would be punished.
In full view of everyone. By a good man pretending to do bad things.
All to keep his secret for just a little longer.
But for how much longer?
Surely, his team was getting worried by now?
It’d been almost twenty-four hours. An utter lifetime in the scheme of a spy.
Peter scoffed. “Gentle? That man is many things, but gentle is not one of them.”
“He’s been gentle so far.”
Oops.
I instantly wished I could take the words back.
Peter glowered. “Dammit, Ily. I told you not to be stupid, and here you are...being stupid.” Pointing a finger at my chest, he hissed, “Just because he hasn’t truly hurt you yet doesn’t mean he won’t.
Face that. Accept that. So when it happens, at least you won’t have a broken heart as well as broken bones. ”