13. Dire
Chapter 13
Dire
Winnie
There’s no conversation, just cold, uncomfortable silence as Garrick escorts me back to my suite. Even the lock clicking into place seems quieter than usual, as if that inanimate object has somehow learned consciousness, become sentient. Like it’s aware of just how dire my situation is.
How did I get here? How the hell did my life get to the place where I’m locked away in the mafia mansion of my childhood friend, staring down the barrel of a human auction that will hopefully net enough funds to clear my parents’ ridiculous drug debt?
If I read this in a book, I would toss that paperback across the room and roll my eyes so hard, I’d strain something and end up with double vision. And one Christophe Robicheaux is more than enough, thank you very much.
“Is there anything I can get for you before you retire for the evening?” Garrick stands just inside the door, hands clasped behind his back.
If I thought for a moment that he was nothing more than a normal butler, I’d consider lunging at him, shoving him to the side and running for my life. But I seriously doubt he’s simply a house servant without a special skill set that doesn’t show up on a typical resume. And it’s not just my life hanging in the balance, either.
My shoulders slump forward in defeat. I’ll allow myself that, just for tonight, because I need a plan.
“Thanks. I’m just going to wash my face and pass out after I check on Tru.” I take a step toward the bedroom and pull up short when Garrick makes a humming noise. “What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Miss Cochonette has retired for the evening.”
My brows pull together as I cross the room, pulling up short at the sight of my empty bed. “Where is she?” I whip around to face him. Any tension I allowed to leach out only moments ago, is back. My hands fist and shoulders rise as every muscle in my body tightens and prepares to fight. “Who took her away from me?”
Tru needs me.
If I’m being honest, I need her, too. I’m comfortable taking care of her, looking out for her. Giving her a stable environment in which to heal as much as she can. It gives me a purpose beyond just me, something to work for. Planning for my exodus from this town was so much easier once I had another person to consider.
Without even realizing I’d moved, I’m across the room, looking past Garrick’s rigid form into the hallway.
He places his hands on my upper arms and holds me in place. “She’s in her suite of rooms, quite comfortable, I assure you.”
I push against his hold, desperate to get to her. “You… No. You don’t know what she’s been through, Garrick. You don’t know what she needs.” What if she has an episode and goes catatonic again? She had finally settled and stopped shaking just before I left for the fucked up dinner with Christophe and his uncle.
I fully expected to come back and crawl into bed with her. That close, I might have gotten some sleep in bits and starts, but with her somewhere else in this gilded prison, somewhere that I can’t hear her if she cries out, that I can’t get to her if she needs me, any hope for me to drift off is gone.
This entire thing is a mess, and now I don’t even know where my friend is. Tears sting as they gather in my eyes.
“Would it soothe you to lay eyes on her before you retire, miss?” He gives my arms a subtle squeeze and dips slightly to put himself in my line of sight, gaining my focus. “I can escort you to her suite to set your mind at ease.”
I blink back the tears that threaten to spill and ask, “Is that allowed?” When did things change so drastically that I’m asking permission to do anything? This is some serious bullshit.
Garrick smiles, his eyes crinkling with the shift of his cheeks. “It’s not explicitly forbidden, but perhaps we’ll keep this little fieldtrip between us, shall we?”
I pull in a shaky breath and let it out slowly while nodding. I’ll agree to just about anything right now if it gets me to Tru.
“Right, then. If you’ll follow me?” He releases his hold on me and steps back, sweeping a hand toward the hallway.
I follow him through an impossible labyrinth and push past him when he finally opens a door. The layout of the suite is similar to mine with a sitting room and a door that likely leads to the bedroom and ensuite beyond.
What I do not expect is the relaxed tiger of a man, lounging on the settee that looks far too delicate to support his bulk.
Teague pushes to his feet, hand immediately reaching for the holster at his side. He darts his gaze over us, looking into the hall beyond when he detects no immediate threat from Garrick or myself. “What’s happened?” he barks.
“Miss L’Ourson would like to see Miss Cochonette and ensure her comfort before retiring for the evening,” Garrick explains.
I duck around the men and dart for the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I’m sure they both have keys and would have no qualms about breaking through, if need be, but the symbolic security eases my nerves.
The lamp on the dresser casts a soft glow throughout the space giving me just enough light to see the silhouette of Tru’s small form tucked beneath the mound of blankets.
I tiptoe across the room and slide onto the plush bed. Any worry of disturbing her with my movement dissipates; the mattress is so luxurious that there’s no transfer of movement. Wispy, platinum blond hair rests on her cheek, rising lightly with each soft exhale.
Her features are as relaxed as I think I’ve ever seen them as she sleeps, the throw from my room still clutched in her fists, tucked up next to her face. She’s okay. She’s resting. I don’t know how, after the upheaval from what has become our normal routine in the years that she’s lived with my family. That routine was necessary when she was released to us. Change—the unknown—is not her friend.
I reach out and gently slide the hair off her face, tucking it away so I can really see her. So she’s not hidden from me.
There are no salty trails from her early tears. She’s fresh-faced and absolutely still, no trembling, no pinched lips, no tic in the muscles of her jaw.
I almost don’t recognize her like this. It’s been years since I’ve seen this side of Tru.
I’ve missed her. Missed the way she used to be…before.
The door cracks open, shitting all over my illusion of separation. Teague fills the space and after a moment, he silently demands that I leave Tru to sleep.
It goes against everything in me to leave her, but this is not the time to put up a fuss. Maybe I can confuse these men, throw them off their game by yielding when resisting won’t get me anything in return.
I silently pad out of the room, noting that Teague’s gaze stays on Tru well after I’ve brushed past him. Only when he’s satisfied that my presence didn’t disturb her, does he pull the door closed and turn to glare at me.
“Satisfied?” His voice is low and gruff, softened only by the slightest lilt of an accent.
My brows pop high. “I am. Why’d you move her though? She was fine with me in my room.”
“I feel better having her here, with me.” He folds his arms across his chest, settling into his heels.
I have no doubt that it would take a truckload of determination and a damn miracle to get through him to hurt her. But why?
“Where is this over-the-top protective shit coming from? What do you… If you touch her, if you lay one fucking finger on her, I’ll kill you myself.” How I’d accomplish that is a problem for future Winnie, but I don’t tell him that because the way his head snaps back as if I’ve slapped him gives me pause.
He looks offended at my insinuation that he might harm her in any way.
“Settle down. The last thing I’d ever do is hurt Truie.” He nods to Garrick, who steps out of the room, an amused smile pulling at his lips as he patiently waits for me to join him.
Whatever his reasons for attaching himself to her and sitting sentry outside her door, are something to think about as I lay in bed later, because I’ve officially been excused.
With my mind settled and my heart at ease knowing that Tru’s okay, I pay careful attention on the return to my suite. The mansion is massive, but the winding labyrinth of our earlier trip is actually a couple of turns and three doors from the last of those.
I feel pretty confident that I can find my way back…if the opportunity presents itself.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” I ask as Garrick ushers me into my sitting room.
His chuckle is soft, amused. “That, my dear, is up to Mr. Robicheaux. I don’t deign to guess at his designs for the future.” He moves through the rooms comfortably, clicking off lamps, pulling curtains closed, and ultimately turning down the covers on my bed. “If there’s nothing further?” he asks, pausing by the chair that’s been resituated in its original position.
“Thank you,” I say, and I find that I sincerely mean it. As bad as the past day has been here, if it wasn’t for Garrick’s gentle nature, it would have been so much worse.
“Not at all, miss. Rest well,” he says as if knowing that sleep isn’t a given for me. “Until tomorrow.”
I slump into the chair, my gaze settling on the glimmering silk of the window treatments. There’s a gap where the curtains weren’t pulled quite closed, and in the dark of the room, the moon casts a soft glow over the grounds.
The illusion of freedom pulls me from where I sit, and I find myself pushing through the curtains until I’m cocooned between the crisp silk and cool glass. I don’t doubt that there are guards out there, at the very least cameras securing the grounds, but at the edge of the manicured lawn is a darkness that can only be attributed to thickly grown trees.
The woods.
Our woods.
And just like that, I find a glimmer of hope. I have no desire to run to the home I grew up in; it’s never been a safe place. But it is familiar.
If I can find a way to get us out of here, I can get us home. And if I can get us home, freedom doesn’t seem quite so unattainable.