18. Scarlett #3
“Sebastion!” Arabella’s voice slams us in the back, her biting tone like angry little spiders nipping at the top of my spine.
Drawing us to a stop, Sebastion brings me around so I’m treated to a view of Arabella marching forward with just two of her guards instead of dozens.
She closes the distance with her hand open, her palm turned to the ceiling.
Long, beautiful black hair swishes around toned shoulders, and her pants, black and form-fitting, wrap around muscular thighs.
She comes to a stop in front of us and demands, “Your phone. It’s a condition for anyone coming to this house. It’s non-negotiable.”
“Absolutely not.” I swing desperate eyes up to Sebastion. “This is how I contact my brother! It’s how I—”
“You can have mine.” He takes out his phone and shows me the standard store screen background.
Then he tears my bag open and steals mine without a single care for how fucking terrifying losing that lifeline is to me.
“We’ll clone yours across, get you set up so your calls and texts still come through.
” He offers both to the younger soldier, the one who stared in surprise earlier, who accepts them without hesitation and does…
something to them. Even to mine, despite the passcode I had protecting it.
Or so I thought.
“You can still contact Linc,” Sebastion rumbles, accepting his back and dropping it into my bag, while the soldier takes mine and slides it into his pocket.
“They’ve been mirrored now, so all of your texts and contacts and photos and shit are available.
Linc won’t even realize anything has changed.
In the meantime—” He brings fiery eyes back to the trio.
“I’ll get a replacement, and she’ll get hers back when she leaves.
” Grabbing my arm, he spins us again and leads me away.
“Yours is trackable, which is why they’ve taken it. ”
Tears blur my vision. Exhaustion makes my legs weak. My entire life makes my heart hurt.
“You can call Linc and bitch me out, Princess. You can cry about them taking your phone, and you can even tell him my mom was mean to you. But the fact is, you can still contact him. The line is secure, so no one on the outside will intercept your communications, which means you can speak freely. You cannot text him, or anyone, pictures of this property, these buildings, or anyone you come across.”
“What if I do?” I swallow the ache in my throat and replace it with defiance. “What will you do about it? Have me killed?”
He rolls his eyes and leads me down a set of stairs that take us underground. The air is colder, the lighting is dingy, and the soldier positioned at the entryway is about as friendly as his masked counterparts.
“I don’t mean you shouldn’t,” he finally answers.
“I mean you can’t. The phone has a camera on it, but the instant you take a picture our security deems unacceptable, it’ll be deleted.
If you attempt to send a picture, our software will destroy it, and then you’ll have pissed the tech gods off, which’ll lead to the phone being disabled permanently. ”
“Cutting me off from my own brother? And you claim this isn’t a prison?”
“Only if you do the wrong thing.” He drags me through a tunnel for just a minute or so, then he brings us back up a concrete set of stairs and into a hallway lined with three brand-new soldiers.
“You know the rules, and you know the consequences.” He tugs me to the left and into a room larger than the entire square building we first entered.
“I don’t consider it unreasonable to ask you not to openly abuse our right to privacy.
Taking photos of the buildings and landscape will make us vulnerable to exposure.
That’s not oppression, Princess. It’s basic manners.
” He pulls me through the great room lined with bench seats and picnic-style tables.
“This is where meals are served four times per every twenty-four-hour rotation. You’re welcome to join the men if you wish. Six, twelve, six, twelve.”
Before I can get eyes on all four corners of the room, he leads me through a doorway and into a hall that leads…
elsewhere. “We share our space with those who dedicate themselves to protecting us. If they’re one of us, then we consider them family.
However—” He whips a heavy door open and drags me across the threshold.
“That’s a public space. This—” He gestures ahead.
“Is just for immediate family. The kitchen is private and for our use only, so if you’d rather eat alone, you can forage for food here.
You’ll see guards on the external doors, but only ever in public spaces.
Except for the one I’ll assign especially to your door,” he amends on a grunt.
“He will not enter your room. Ever. So for as long as you’re in your room, you won’t have eyes on you.
” Finally, he draws me into another hall, one that looks the same as every other until I’m convinced the designer’s intent was to disorient newcomers and intruders.
“Your room.” He presses his thumb to a sensor in the handle until a beep of acceptance announces our entry, then he opens the door and reveals a room basically as large as my entire apartment.
A massive king-sized bed takes up the far wall, with black sheets, black pillowcases, a deep olive-green cover, and a crisp white bench seat set at the foot.
The room boasts a sitting area with a couch and a flat-screen television bolted to the wall, and on either side of the TV are doors.
“Bathroom to the left,” Sebastion rumbles. “Closet to the right. Windows are reinforced, since we’re on the ground level and we’d rather not deal with intruders while we’re sleeping, which means you can’t open them more than an inch.”
“You confiscated my phone, you won’t let me leave, and now my windows don’t open?” I fold my arms and bring my chin higher in defiance. “Sounds like a prison to me.”
He thrusts his hand viciously back the way we came.
“There’s literally a door right there, Princess.
It has a knob and hinges, which is how it opens and closes freely.
Prisons don’t have those. Your thumbprint won’t work, but the passcode is 8649.
Memorize it. If you get locked out and can’t remember, use that phone you pretend not to have and call me. I’ll remind you.”
“W-where will you be?” Anger makes way for fear. Defiance is replaced with dread. “You say things like if anyone bothers me, have them contact you, and if I forget the passcode, call you. That implies you won’t be with me.”
“I’ll be in and out.” He carries my cross-body bag to the bed and dumps it at the end, then he turns back and scrubs his hands across his face.
He’s tired, I know he is. He’s less inclined to show it, but exhaustion burns in his eyes, and the crackling stubble of a missed morning shave reverberates across the room.
“I’ll be around, I promise. You’ll probably see me most of the day, even if we’re a hundred feet apart.
I have to work while I’m here, and half that work includes being with those soldiers out there.
” Dropping his hands, he starts back in my direction.
“Fresh towels in the bathroom. I’ll bring your suitcase up from the truck in a little bit. ”
“Wait.” I spin in a panic and watch him stride to the door. “Where are you going?”
“To deal with my mother before she sets this whole fucking place on fire. Shower, Princess. Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back later.”