20
Logan
“Hope you guys like it spicy. I got salami.”
Damien sits down, swearing when he opens the box. “Goddammit. They didn’t cut the pizza. Seraphina, want to get a knife—no, on second thought, never mind.” He laughs. “We have enough on our hands with one killer.”
Seraphina crosses her arms and I shake my head.
“I guess you’re right to be afraid of your girl’s knife-wielding skills,” I tell him.
“You are insufferable. I don’t know how I got the clown label at Devil when you’re such a jerk.
I think I preferred you pining over Seraphina; you spent so much time being angry and frustrated that you stopped trying to rile me up. ”
“You should be thankful I was so out of it,” he growls, “or I’d have beaten the shit out of you for the number of times you went against my orders.”
I stalk off to the kitchen to grab a knife for the pizza, loyalty tying my tongue. He’s right; I never used to disobey him. He’s always been the leader, and I’ve always been loyal. But I’d do a lot worse than disobey him for the sake of my girls, and he realizes it.
When I return to the living room moments later, I find Seraphina straddling Damien’s lap, his hands wrapped firmly around her wrists.
“I like making this one angry,” he chortles. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?”
I know better than to answer him, merely looking on as Seraphina twitches around on his lap, trying and failing to struggle out of his grip, her eyes flashing.
I can see it turns him on. He’s sitting comfortably on his chair, smiling lazily as she practically cries in frustration.
For someone who’s so obsessed with her, he sure does like pissing her off.
But I guess I give him a good run for his money with Lia.
“Want me to take my pizza to my room?” I ask them. “Looks like you two need some alone time.”
“No, stay,” lashes out Seraphina. “I don’t want to be alone with him.”
I shrug, cutting up the pie and grabbing a slice. “When exactly is the baby due, Seraphina?”
She’s so slim it’s easy not to notice her round belly under the flowing dress, but I caught sight of it when she was struggling in Damien’s grip.
“I don’t know,” she mumbles.
“That’s okay, pet.” He must have seen he went too far, because he holds her to him, stroking her hair, and she at last gives in to his caress.
“Soon, very soon. Maybe we’ll have a French baby.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Hey, darling, don’t be sad.
You’re far too pretty to be sad. See, Logan?
That’s how you resolve fights in relationships. Not with a bazooka.”
“Fuck off.” I help myself to a slice of pizza. “I guess the other way is to pay a fifteen-year-old to off your wife, isn’t it?”
“Nah.” Damien reaches out for the pizza and hands Seraphina a slice.
She takes it begrudgingly, but I can tell the storm has already passed.
She loves him far too much to resent him for long.
“They weren’t a real couple. I mean, he didn’t love her.
He just wanted to take control of the Syndicate.
He paid me to kill her, and I had a lot of fun doing it, too. ”
I grab three beers from the fridge to put an end to his rambling.
“She’s not drinking that,” growls Damien when I toss one to Seraphina.
“I’ll just have a sip,” she says, and before he can stop her, she takes a long swig.
“Seraphina!” He stands up, grabbing her by the wrist. “Sorry to cut this conversation short, Logan, but I think we’re going to need that alone time after all.”
I see her satisfied little smirk as he pulls her into their bedroom.
_
“No. Tighter than that. We have to make sure it’s not wider than a head.” I pause. “I don’t know how wide her head is, so just make it as narrow as possible. Okay?”
“Okay.” He shrugs. “I’ll tighten the spacing, but it’ll cost you. I have to prepare extra bars.”
“Sure. That’s fine.” I settle back on my bed, pretending to watch the television fixed to the wall that blares out the news in French, rather than the cage that Igor’s guy has spent all day assembling.
It’s pretty spacious for a cage, though she might not find it so. She won’t have much room to move, but she can stand up and take three steps in each direction.
“Now, about the bed.” He wipes his forehead. “I need to put it in now, or it’ll be too late. I won’t be able to fit it through the door.”
“Hmm. Well, I haven’t decided on whether to get her a bed or not. I was thinking she’d have to earn it, you know. Can’t you Ikea that shit?”
He draws himself up, looking very angry. “I don’t do Ikea. I’m an artist.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” I chuckle, downing the rest of my beer. “An artist specialized in making human cages.”
“Yes.” He looks at me without an ounce of self-awareness. “And your point is?”
“Whatever.” I stand up and breathe out in relief when I find that the pain of my injuries has faded enough that I don’t wince. Or maybe watching him build the cage is such an interesting pastime that my mind isn’t dwelling on it. I walk toward it, testing the sturdiness of each bar.
“They won’t budge,” he growls. “She’ll be safe inside.
Besides, the door is tiny; it’s more like a cat door, and she’ll have to bend down and crawl through.
It’ll have a triple lock and an alarm system, just like you requested.
But be careful, because if you lose any of the three keys or forget the code, I’m gonna have to saw her out of the cage. ”
“Well, why would I want her to get out, anyway?”
He raises an eyebrow. “So what, you’re gonna keep her there, separated from you, forever?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I grab another beer from the case I’ve brought into the bedroom. “Why not?”
He shrugs. “Well, whatever you want. None of my business. But usually, I build these cages for men who plan to… well, at the very least, visit their captives every so often. And if you lose those keys…”
“Hmm. Right.” I guess I’ll probably want to visit her too, to use his words, but right now, I’ve only gotten as far as imagining her helpless behind bars.
“Though, you know,” he adds, “whatever floats your boat. One of my clients had me build a cage without doors. He wanted the bars spaced just wide enough for his dick. That was ten years ago, and last I heard, she was still in there. Now that whole building experience wasn’t exactly enjoyable.
I had to wait for him to get hard so I could measure… ”
“Okay, okay.” I gulp down some beer. “Let’s figure out a system that’s a little less risky than three keys and a code. How about a fingerprint?”
“Yeah, I’ve done that a few times. Once, the guy fell asleep, and his captive cut off his thumb with a butter knife he’d left on the dinner tray, and used the thumb to open the door and run away. Just be careful when it’s body parts, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t give her a reason to hack one off.”
“She doesn’t really need one,” I admit. “The fingerprint sensor will be fine.”
“Okay, man. You’re the boss. Too bad about the sensor, though. I like the aesthetic of the chains better. These days, with technology…”
I snort. “You can add one chain if you want.”
“Thanks. And I’ll throw in a second one for free; it hooks around the bar, and you can fasten it to a collar around her neck.”
“Hmm.” I take a swig. “Is that a… typical feature of human cages?”
“Yeah, it’s a little bonus I often include. I can even have your name engraved on the collar.”
I pause a beat, a lump rising in my throat. It suddenly occurs to me that the girl I’m building this cage for is Lia.
My Lia. My little baby.
It’s almost as though my anger and my pain have made me disassociate. It’s hard to realize I’m capable of such cruelty toward the woman I love.
A second later, though, I’ve swallowed down the lump along with more beer. “Yes,” I say forcefully. “Yes, add the bonus chain.”
Then I stand up abruptly.
“Fuck!”
“Huh?”
He looks up from his work. “Did I do something wrong?”
I don’t answer at first, gaping at the screen that shows a building in ruins.
“What?” he asks again.
“I think…” I think I’ve found my girl. “I’m going to need that cage soon. How soon can you finish it?”