Chapter 15
I tighten my grip on the pillar’s topmost motif, then use my legs as a boost to haul myself upward. My palms burn at the impact, but the thrill that’s coursing through me right now takes precedence over any strain I feel in my body.
There’s something absolutely delicious about infringing the systematic cycle of things, isn’t there? And I – I’m the kinda fucker who relishes being an oddity.
The weather is pretty brisk tonight, and I can kinda smell rain in the air. Not the most ideal condition, but eh, I’ve been here before, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.
I eye the balcony on my right – merely an inch from my reach – and balance myself in such a way that I can lean in and grab the marble railing.
Once I’ve done that, I take a couple of steps in a sideways fashion, and then carefully move one leg, followed by the other, over the railing.
My boots make a soft thump sound when they touch the floor, and I let go of the breath I was holding before glancing behind me with a smirk.
“Assholes,” I whisper when I see the nightshift guards – oblivious of my presence – chattering among themselves while stationed on the inside of the estate’s main gates.
Perhaps my deep-green vest and dark jeans gave me ample leverage for blending in, but still, those guys didn’t even try looking in my direction.
I may or may not have pretended to be a bit lazy in the process, and even then, they didn’t give any number of shits about the suspicious rustling in the garden.
I guess all one needs these days is a shiny exterior to fool people into thinking they’re unbreakable, when, in fact, they’re hollow and worthless – just like their claims and résumés.
I roll my eyes when a few of the guards laugh at something they were talking about, then turn my back to them.
I take a step forward and look up, but stop when I notice her.
I don’t know how I missed it before – probably because I was focused on not falling on my ass whilst proving to myself that I can one-up the guards yet again – but I didn’t see her until now.
Cignette’s room is bathed in darkness; there’s not a single light turned on. The silence in here is so heavy, it’s almost like I can feel it brushing over my ears.
She’s sitting on the side of her bed – the one that’s facing the balcony – with her bare feet touching the carpet.
She’s wearing a pink-and-white letterman hoodie, and every other second, drops of water drip down her damp hair and fall soundlessly on her exposed thighs.
Her head is bowed, so she hasn’t seen me yet, but something about her posture heightens my attention.
I take another step forward, and that results in moonlight to stream into the otherwise unlit room. It reflects on her side profile, and a chill – one that has nothing to do with the weather – rakes over my spine.
Her face…
The left side looks slightly purplish, and there’s a bit of swelling there. My hands clench into vise-gripped fists when I see the fresh scar on her right cheek. Immediately, the thought of Gavin having hit her crosses my mind, and my anger flares like a motherfucking fire.
I grit my teeth as my feet move forward on their own accord, and even though I’m slightly shocked by how strongly I’m reacting towards her, I don’t dwell on the realization. I brush it aside as I keep erasing the distance between her and I.
She doesn’t look up as I approach – not even when I fall on my knees in front of her.
“Cignette?” I say with caution, then place my hands on the mattress on either side of her, enclosing her.
She sits there motionless – still and silent – as if she’s a sculpture made of the tatters of the incident she has endured.
“Cignette?” I try again, but she continues to stare downwards.
I work my jaw as I study her. She looks lost in her thoughts, probably revisiting what happened to her, or maybe even dealing with the mental impact it has left behind.
Either way, it’s making me restless seeing her this way, so I pull a hand away from the mattress and bring it to her face.
With a swallow, I slowly, as gently as I can, cup the right side of her face and tilt her head up a little.
She parts her lips and sucks in an audible breath, but when our eyes meet, her brows pinch together in confusion.
“Dorran,” she whispers my name with a rush of air, then shakes her head. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I tried calling you, but it kept saying that your phone was switched off,” I tell her, as if that’s a valid enough reason for me to breach the estate’s security in order to see her.
Maybe it is. Maybe not. Fuck if it matters.
“Mave must’ve turned it off while I was asleep,” Cignette says matter-of-factly.
I clench my jaw. “Mave?” I all but spit the word out. Whoever this fucker is, they must be someone Cignette trusts, because there’s a familiarity and ease with which she says their name.
She blinks, sensing the slight change in my behavior. “My bodyguard,” she states, and the heavy emphasis she puts on the second word doesn’t go unnoticed by me.
I feel my shoulders relax, which frustrates me. I need to get a damn grip on my reactions.
“Who did this to you?” I ask her instead of acknowledging her answer. I know who her Mave is, but I wasn’t aware that Chase had assigned him to Cignette.
Maverick is a polished asshole, with skills so keen they could almost put Solo’s to shame. During the few times I’ve met him, he’s kept to himself and obeyed Chase’s orders to the T. He’s not necessarily the kinda guy who invites trouble, so that’s a relief, at least.
It’s comforting, but also unnerving, that he’s around Cignette most of the time, but he’s nothing I can’t handle. If he gets in the way, I’ll be forced to deal with him. Until then, he can continue breathing and stay in his fucking lane.
Cignette inhales in response to my question. “It’s–”
“If you’re about to lie to me, Little Swan,” I cut her off, “then make sure it’s a solid one, because I’m well-equipped in sniffing out bullshit.”
She lets go of the breath she’s holding, then shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
My anger flares. She can’t possibly be defending the dipshit who hurt her.
I grit my teeth and move the hand I have on her cheek, to the back of her neck, before cupping it. I use my other hand to part her legs, then shift closer to her.
“Bullshit,” I hiss at her.
She looks pleadingly at me. “Dorran, please…”
“Was it Gavin?” I ask.
“What, no!” she says with enough incredulity that I’m assured it isn’t the greasy bastard.
“Then who, Cignette?” I lean in and scan her face. “Who fucking did this to you?”
She swallows and places a hand on my chest. “Please…” Her voice breaks, and I watch as tears fall down her cheeks. She flinches when they touch the scar on her right one, then sniffs before saying, “Please,” again.
I’m so fucking enraged at her stubbornness that I can barely control it. I slap the mattress with my free hand – hard enough to make Cignette gasp – and tighten my grip on the back of her neck before pressing her forehead to mine.
“Fucking tell
me,” I all but command. “Because if you don’t, then I swear on everything I hold dear, I will rip through everyone who’s in and around this damn house right now just to get you to name this person.”
Cignette is fully crying now. “I can’t,” she says between her tears. “You don’t get it; I can’t.”
“It’s not that you can’t,” I tell her. “You simply won’t. And why? Because you’re scared of whoever is responsible for your state?” I’m not proud of provoking her like this, but I need to know what she’s not telling me. And if I’ve gotta play dirty to get what I want, then I’ll do it.
Cignette jerks her head back and glares at me with pure rage in her dark eyes. “Fuck
you.” She moves forward and pushes me in the chest, then groans and clutches her stomach.
What the hell?
I reach for her and grab her hoodie. She tries to shove my hands, but I don’t let go, and instead, yank at her hem. “Lift your ass,” I order.
She stares at me for a moment, and when she realizes I’m not giving up, she huffs and does what I’ve told her to.
“Good girl,” I say to her, then raise her hoodie all the way to her collarbone, only to inhale a sharp breath when I see her stomach.
The bruise is purple – exactly like the one on her face – and starts just above the waistband of her underwear, covering almost her entire stomach. It’s deeper at the bottom, but fades out completely along the underside of her breasts.
My chest tightens at the sight of it; I can’t stop looking at it. My hands shake in anger, and heat rises in the back of my neck as I lift my gaze to Cignette.
“Did you get yourself checked out?” I inquire, then drop her hoodie back down.
She shakes her head. “Mave helped me ice it, and I’ve been taking painkillers.” She pushes her hair behind her ears and gives me a hesitant look. “It...it usually heals in a few days.”
I blink at her in absolute disbelief. “Usually?” I raise my arms by my sides. “How often does this fucking happen, Cignette? And who fucking does this to you?”
She swallows, and fresh tears start falling down her crestfallen face.
She closes her eyes, lowers her head, and sniffs before saying, “I just…” She bows her head further.
“It’s…” She stops, then sniffs again. She brings her hands over her thighs and clenches them into fists. “It’s my mom,” she finally reveals.
I don’t even know why I’m shocked, or why I didn’t think it was Miranda who’d done this to Cignette.
That woman is cunning in the most extreme of ways, and I don’t think she possesses a single humble bone in her botoxed body.
But even then, Cignette is her fucking daughter.
What could she have possibly done to deserve any of this?
“Confused?” Cignette asks, then chuckles humorlessly. She lifts her head and looks at me. “You must think I live a perfectly uptight life, don’t you?”
“Will you blame me if I say yes?” I counter.