Chapter 9
Elowen
I push the door open. Bruno follows me inside. Yesterday, wandering the first floor with Bruno while feeling low, I found this storeroom. I stole a book from here and finished it today since I had nothing else to do.
Nobody called me for work. In fact, someone brought me food three times—in bed. I don’t know the reason for the sudden change, but whatever. Who cares? I’m happy as long as they leave me alone with Bruno and good romance books.
So I’m back today, hunting for another book. I don’t understand what kind of man stores books in a storeroom instead of a library. Maybe there’s a library on another floor. I haven’t ventured beyond this one yet.
“Bruno, tomorrow we’ll check upstairs.”
Bruno glances at me, then returns his attention to the box. I think he’s hunting for something too—something interesting.
I pull out a book with a golden spine. My Soul is engraved in the gilt. Looks like a collector’s edition. The cover is stunning too. I open it, skim the prologue. Hmm. A historical romance.
I tuck the book under my arm and keep searching, for something else. Like Bruno. We’re both digging through boxes now, hoping to find toys.
After only a few minutes, my eyes land on treasure. A music system box. I grab it instantly and tear it open. Inside is a small speaker fitted with lights. I take it out and turn it over. There’s a plug on the back. A cable input on the bottom. Four buttons on the front.
“Bruno, let’s go,” I announce excitedly. “Tonight, we’ll dance our souls out.”
We leave the storeroom and head to our place. I set the book on the couch and plug in the speaker. I press the lights button, and colors start swirling across the walls. I turn off the warm ambient light, transforming Bruno’s room into a disco.
I hit play, and music fills the room. It sounds like an old track. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite place it from the opening beat.
The lyrics start: “Do you know? Do you know? Do you know?”
Oh, now I remember. My mom used to play this a lot.
I move away from the speaker and turn toward Bruno, who’s watching me curiously.
I grin and start singing along, directing the lyrics at him. “I can watch you all night.”
“Every move, every glow, every spark in the light.” I’m dancing now, singing louder.
By the time we hit “Turn it up, don’t slow down, We don’t need the world around.” Bruno catches on and starts jumping with me.
I’m singing at the top of my lungs, Bruno howling along—we’re making enough noise to get arrested in America. The tyrant who owns this house will probably show up, but we’re not stopping until he does.
The next song kicks in—“Low”—and I’m in full party girl mode. I can only imagine how ridiculous I look, twerking in a bathrobe that’s three sizes too big, now permanently promoted to nightdress.
Bruno’s party girl mode is something worth watching. He braces his front legs and hops side to side on his hind legs, his tail the true showstopper, wagging like mad.
I laugh and dance until I’m breathless—from both. Laughing too hard to keep my balance, I collapse onto the floor. Bruno bounds around me, his energy skyrocketing. He’s unstoppable now, pouncing on me.
I’m laughing as he plants his paws on my shoulders and licks my face in rapid, joyful bursts. He drops down, I scramble up, and we’re at it again.
But then I make the mistake of glancing at the open archway. My dancing freezes, my laughter dies, as my eyes meet his—dark and cold from across the room.
He’s standing there, arms crossed over his chest. How long has he been standing there? I thought he’d scold me and order me, in that icy tone, to turn off the music, maybe even follow it with a list of threats. But he does none of that.
Is he okay?
I walk toward him, grinning.
“Care to join?” I tease, which is basically jumping into a volcano.
“Stop this circus.”
I step closer and set my hands on his broad shoulders. Maybe it’s the aftereffect of dancing that’s made me stupidly brave. Or maybe I’m just suicidal.
“You kidnapped this circus and brought it home. Now face the consequences.” I raise my voice slightly so he can hear me over the music—though it’s not that loud.
“It would take me less than a minute to correct my mistake.” He doesn’t raise his voice.
I smirk. “So you admit kidnapping me was a mistake?”
“Letting you think you can do as you wish is the mistake.” He lets each word settle between us.
I drop my arms and take a deep breath. His scent—cedarwood and mint—instantly fills my lungs.
“Why aren’t you torturing me?” The question has been stuck in my head all day.
He shifts his gaze from me to the speaker. I glance at it, then back at him.
“Wait. Let me turn it off.”
I scramble to the light, turn it on, and shut off the speaker. But when I turn, he’s gone.
I purse my lips. What were you thinking, Wen? That he’d just sit down and have a nice conversation with you?
I plant my hands on my hips, frustrated with myself. Why do I even want to talk to him? We’re not old friends. He’s holding me captive, for god’s sake. Keeping me from my family. Making them worry.
I don’t even want to think about it. I can’t imagine what my family is going through—all because this man thinks torturing a man’s daughter because her father killed his is reasonable.
I slump onto the couch, frowning.
Something is wrong.
My eyes go wide. Is this Stockholm syndrome?
Yes. It has to be.
This morning, Antonio told me about him. Even without the details, the outline alone was enough to make me feel bad for him. And then Antonio said he kidnapped me to torture me, but he isn’t. So now I’m thinking, because of that, maybe he’s not so bad.
I press my hands to my spinning head. I’m developing Stockholm syndrome. Shit.
This can’t happen. I have to stop it before it gets worse.
“He is your captor. His morality and rationality are both questionable. He is not a good man,” I mutter to myself.
Bruno watches me from his bed, head tilted, then pads over.
I cup his face. “Bruno, he’s a bad man, right? A cruel monster, right?”
Bruno tilts his head, probably wondering why I’m babbling.
I sigh and rise. “Forget it. Let’s sleep.”
I turn off the bright light, leaving only the warm dim glow, and settle into Bruno’s bed. He snuggles up beside me.
Salvario
“Repeat.”
Cross nods and begins repeating himself for the third time. He’s the head developer of Texan, my aircraft business.
To them, I’m only a name, none have ever seen me. Antonio is the face of my enterprises.
“As I was saying, the major change is in velocity...”
“Why aren’t you torturing me?”
“So you admit kidnapping me was a mistake?”
Her smirking face. Eyes glistening, like champagne poured into crystal.
It’s starting to feel like a mistake. A grave mistake.
“We’ll continue this tomorrow.” I end the meeting, it’s only wasting my time now.
I shut down my PC and push back from the chair. With quick steps, I leave my study and head down the hallway toward the other side, a strange flutter growing in my chest, irritating my head.
It’s around midnight. A dim yellow light from Bruno’s room falls across the corridor. I step inside, careful not to make a sound.
She’s curled up in his bed. I step closer, slowly, drinking in the sight of her as she sleeps.
I sit on the floor beside her and examine her wounds. The burn has nearly faded. I lift her right hand and begin unwrapping the bandage. She hasn’t changed it all day.
The torn skin has knitted, it will heal in three days. I’ll apply ointment and rewrap it.
I trail my gloved thumb lightly over her palm.
Her skin yields under the slightest pressure—soft, almost weightless beneath my touch.
An urge to feel it without the glove rises in me, something I’ve never felt before.
I hate being touched, hate touching anyone.
Even through gloves and clothes, it makes me nauseous, furious enough to want to kill whoever dares.
“How are you doing this?” I mutter, looking at her sleeping face.
I can’t understand her effect. Why does she have this effect on me that I can’t resist? I hate it. I hate how I’m drawn to her, a helpless moth toward fire, knowing all too well that the fire will erase me.
I need to take revenge on Alexander Bennett. I won’t find peace without it. The child won’t stop haunting me, nor will he let me die. I’ve taken revenge on everyone else, only one man is left. The one who started the ruin.
She is the only way to shatter him, to force him to feel what that child felt—the child frozen in time, still breathing, still whispering within me. Breaking her is the only way I can break Alexander Bennett.
I grit my teeth.
How did something so simple become so impossible? Inflicting pain on her had always been easy to imagine; I’d thought of the ways long before I saw her.
And that’s the mistake I made. I saw her.
Her light—so bright it blinds me. But I can’t close my eyes, for that would return me to the dark nights I’ve weathered far too many of.