Chapter 16
Seraphina
“Fuck that asshole!” fumes Damien. “I killed his boss. Noel should be thanking me.”
We’ve spent the past twenty minutes in the living room.
Damien is walking around in circles while Logan sits on a chair, drumming his fingers nervously on the windowsill.
I’m sitting on one of the couches, feeling very confused and more than a little annoyed at being kept in the dark.
The suitcase leans against the door, forgotten.
“I just can’t believe Vincent is the rat,” mutters Damien. “I trusted that kid. I promoted him. And this is what I get?”
“There’s something very odd about all this, though,” intervenes Logan. “Well, a number of odd things. For instance, Vincent bought the house. But there’s no information about the house in the email. I would have figured that would be of most interest.”
“Okay,” grumbles Damien. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know about it. He knows about all the rest. What the fuck am I going to do with that house now?”
“I don’t think Noel knows about it,” insists Logan. “If Vincent was the rat, that would be the first thing he’d mention. Did Vincent give orders to anyone else?”
Damien shrugs. “No idea. Why?”
“Well, maybe he had an assistant reach out to…”
“An assistant?” flares Damien. “He is my assistant! Who does he think he is, getting his own assistant?”
“Relax,” drawls Logan. “Stop using your dick to think. And stop chewing me out over everything.”
Damien pauses and I stifle a gasp. I can’t even imagine how he’d react if I said anything like that. What is Logan thinking?
But Damien merely shrugs off the comment. “Fine. I guess he probably does delegate some stuff. We need to figure it out. I can’t endanger her.”
He dials a number and brings his phone to his ear. “Igor? Bring me Vincent. And stick around. I may need you.”
Less than ten minutes later, Igor walks in, dragging Vincent after him. The latter is looking pretty pale. I guess it’s bad news when Igor’s sent to get you.
“I haven’t done anything,” says Vincent, his voice shaking.
“We’ll find that out in a minute,” growls Damien, his voice so ominous that I find myself shaking too, even though his anger is not directed at me.
I really hate how scared I still get around him. I should be absolutely furious, I should be resisting the trap that I feel myself falling into, harder than ever. I love you. Yeah, right. The words should have angered me, but they merely hurt me. Why does he insist on mocking me?
And yet, despite it all, the only way I can resist his spell is through little acts of feeble defiance.
What the hell is wrong with you, Seraphina Connor?
Damien turns toward me and gives me a reassuring smile. “Give me a second,” he tells the others, and he pushes me gently toward the bedroom.
“What’s going on?” I ask, unwilling for him to shut me out like this.
Instead of answering, he goes to each of the windows, making sure they’re locked. Then he returns to me and gives me a deep kiss. “My job is to keep you safe,” he says, ignoring my question. “I’m going to do that, and I’ll be right back.”
“But what’s going on?” I insist harshly, anger growing inside me as I realize he’s shutting me out.
Literally.
Without answering, he locks the door and leaves me alone.
I sit on the bed, a mix of emotions throttling me.
Angry at being treated like a helpless child.
Cold, despite the sunny weather. But most of all, foreboding that rises within me, telling me that he’s not in as much control of things as he’d like me to think.
I close my eyes, allowing my mind to wander, though I occasionally startle back to reality at the sound of a particularly loud blow or cry of pain.
So, they’re beating up Vincent. I don’t know him that well, but I’ve always viewed him as a kid.
Probably not much younger than me, but he has baby fat on his cheeks and sometimes his voice cracks, like it’s still changing.
And from the little I’ve seen of Damien’s interactions with him, I thought he liked him. He might have teased him, but he looked out for him. He was protective.
Just like he is with me.
And now he’s beating the shit out of him without a second thought. Just like he’s done to me in the past. Just like he’d do again, if I angered him enough.
It’s laughable to hear Damien say he loves me. How he wants to build a life with me. Take me to an idyllic farm and raise a family with me.
I may be falling into his trap, but I’m no idiot. I’m well aware this is all bullshit.
I’m just as disposable to him as Vincent is. For the moment, he’s being kind to me, but in a minute it could all turn. It has in the past.
Only now, I won’t let myself believe. Not entirely. I will steel myself, though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, at its smooth whiteness. I hate it. I hate everything about it. The lack of shadows I can lose myself in feels stifling. It descends upon me, heavy against my throat.
The feeling that begins as an emotion turns into something physical.
I literally can’t breathe. My lungs feel crushed, as though a hand has reached into my chest and is squeezing the life out of me.
I try to catch my breath, but it’s useless.
I suck in air, a tiny bit at a time, breathing faster and faster, wheezing, my heart palpitating.
A thick sheen of sweat forms on my skin.
I can’t breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest. I’m going to die.
I feel clammy, faint. I stand up, trying to get to the window for some fresh air, before remembering it’s locked.
But I don’t make it back to the bed. The world spirals around me, then grows dark, and I crash to the floor.
__
I awake to the feel of a hand patting my cheek, softly at first, then hard. A slap that knocks the wind out of me.
My eyes open onto Damien. He’s bent over me, staring at me with anxiety.
“She’s awake,” he calls to someone I can’t see. “Thank God.”
He gathers me gently in his arms and strokes the side of my face.
“What happened?” I gasp.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
I pass a hand over my eyes, frowning. “I think… I think I couldn’t breathe. But now I can.”
“Sounds like a panic attack,” says the muffled voice of someone I can’t see. “I used to have them as a kid.”
The someone approaches and I recognize Vincent. At least, what was once Vincent. This bleeding, bruised person looks only vaguely like the cheerful, slightly nervous kid I saw a few times.
Damien holds me to him while glaring at Vincent. “Go get the doctor.”
Vincent stumbles off, wincing painfully, and returns a few minutes later with Doctor Farley, who kneels down to examine me.
“It does appear to be a panic episode,” he declares at last, removing his stethoscope. “Those symptoms are pretty classic. Damien, have you thought about contacting the therapist I recommended to you?”
He nods curtly. “I’ll set it up. Thank you.”
The doctor leaves, and Damien tilts my head back, studying me. “What was that all about?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “It just… happened.”
“Is it the idea of moving to the countryside? About your fear of the dirt?”
I shake my head. It’s not a lie. That’s only the tip of the iceberg.
But he seems to want to cling to that belief.
“I told you we wouldn’t stay if it makes you feel uncomfortable. There’s no need to worry, my darling.”
At the sound of that name, my throat constricts again. I start to gasp.
“Breathe, Seraphina. Breathe.” Damien puts a hand on my chest and the warmth relaxes me, but only for an instant.
The gentle look in his eyes feels unbearable.
I can’t stand the thought that one day, maybe soon, that look will disappear, replaced by exasperation, anger, even.
I blink, and the vision of Vincent’s bruised, bloody features appear before me.
Is that the fate that awaits me, once I fall out of his favor?
He grits his teeth. “Tell me your thoughts.”
I try to look anywhere but at him, but his eyes seem to bore into me. Still, I keep my own gaze averted. There’s no way I’m sharing my fears with him.
At last, he gives up, and stands, still holding me in his arms. “Let’s go.”
He carries me back to the living room, where Logan is sprawled on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone. But when we enter, he lifts his head up.
“Are you really going?”
“Sure. I believe Vincent.”
Logan lifts an eyebrow. “You believe the guy you just pummeled half to death.”
“I found his admissions, under first the threat of violence, and then the carrying out of that violence, to have the ring of truth.”
Logan snorts. “Okay. But three people know exactly where you’re going. He delegated. He told you so.”
“He said he delegated today’s bookings to Alice.
Obviously it’s her. She was already on our list of suspects, and this confirms it.
But only people we have full faith in have any knowledge of the house.
I’ve already changed the bookings, and no one but you, me and Vincent have the address of the house. ”
Logan nods, but he doesn’t seem fully convinced. “Alright. But what I don’t get is why you’re not canceling the plane. Or at least booking another flight. We can deal with Alice, you know.”
“I want to deal with her,” insists Damien.
“On your wedd—”
Damien glares at him, and he interrupts himself. “Not very romantic,” he comments instead.
“On the contrary, I find killing people to be very romantic,” says Damien, and Logan snorts again.
I keep my head pressed on Damien’s chest, letting the conversation wash over me.
I don’t understand any part of it. Something about delegations, and bookings, and some woman named Alice.
My thoughts are still far away, on the happy future that Damien seems insistent on brainwashing me into believing, and on how easily he beat up the guy who was once his loyal assistant, only to laugh it off after.