Chapter 13
Newton
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the exhaustion I feel after a week of Brielle living in my bedroom closet.
We have a routine. We watch television all damn day and I bring her food.
When I leave in the evenings for dinner, she locks the door and takes her shower. I come back into the room, usually an hour later, to the entire room masked in her flowery scent. I think it”s driving me insane. I could set my watch to the routine we”ve managed to wordlessly set up.
Only last night, instead of her thanking me for dinner and closing the door to the closet, she left it open a crack.
It means she”s at least trusting me some, and that”s an improvement. I”d never rush her. I”d never swing the door open and give her commands. I know she got enough of that from Xan and Nathan. It”s the last thing she needs, and I know that it will only set her back. When you grow up getting hurt, tough love is the least effective thing. It simply doesn”t work.
We rarely speak to each other, and I”m mostly okay with that. I”m not exactly a big talker. I”d rather read a book or sit quietly and watch television. I”d rather observe others as they interact than be a part of the conversations.
I don”t know if it”s my imagination or just some form of misplaced hope, but I swear I can feel her eyes on me when I sit on the edge of the bed.
I don”t look in that direction. I don”t want her to think that she”s doing something wrong.
”I was wondering,” she whispers, her face hidden in the shadows. ”Maybe I can go for a walk later.”
”The clubhouse stays pretty busy all day,” I warn her, wanting her to know what she”d be getting herself into.
”Not during the day,” she says quickly, and I”m certain this is the longest conversation we”ve had.
”I”ll make it happen,” I tell her before going into the bathroom for a shower.
The warm water makes me want to go climb back into bed, but it”s her request that makes me realize that can”t happen. I have to stick with the routine. Her getting better and losing the fear that keeps her locked away in my closet is the goal. Wanting to keep her all to myself is a little fucked up and can”t happen.
She shouldn”t have to trade one captor for another.
***
It”s well after midnight when I get a text from Max.
”Max just let me know that we”re in the clear.”
”In the clear?” she questions.
She got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt while I was out of the room for dinner earlier to prepare for her excursion from the closet.
”Everyone has settled in for the night. It”s unlikely we”ll run into anyone on our walk.”
She scrunches her nose up.
”Did you want to go alone?” I ask, reading her reaction as an issue with me including myself.
”No,” she rushes to say as if she wanted me to go all along. ”How does he know everyone has gone to bed?”
”There are cameras, and motion sensors in the clubhouse and around the property.”
She looks disgusted, and it makes me wonder if she had plans on running from here. I open my mouth to tell her that we’ll take her anywhere she wants to go. I feel the need to explain that she isn”t a prisoner, but for some reason, I don”t say anything. I figure giving her the option would make her want to choose anything but staying here, and it feels more than a little deceptive to stay quiet.
Yet, I don”t make the offer. I simply wait at the bedroom door leading into the hallway until she comes out of the closet. There have been a handful of times that she has gotten up and gone to the bathroom with me still in the room, but she makes sure to lock the bathroom door every single time. She only does it when I”m distracted, so I stay in front of her as we leave the room.
I want her to have the opportunity to get back to the room without having to go past me if she feels like this is too much too soon and she changes her mind.
”Can we go outside?” she asks, her voice a low whisper. ”Or is that not allowed?”
”You”re allowed to do whatever you want,”I assure her, pointing to the back door. ”Let’s go this way unless you want to walk around the parking lot.”
She shakes her head. ”I just want fresh air.”
I try not to read too much into her words, but I can”t help but wonder if she feels smothered in my room.
”Wow,” she whispers. ”It”s even prettier at night.”
”You”ve seen it in the daylight?” I ask, confused.
”From the window,” she says, pointing back to the clubhouse. ”Is it okay if we just sit?”
”Of course,” I tell her, waiting for her to take a seat on one of the loungers before occupying the one beside her.
I stand when she shivers, not saying a word as I leave the pool deck and go to grab a blanket from inside the cabinet in the pool house.
I offer it to her still folded up rather than spreading it out and covering her with it. Doing so feels like it would be invasive and a little too personal.
”That right there is Kincaid and Em”s house,” I say, pointing down the sidewalk. ”Over there is Shadow and Misty”s house. That one belongs to Kid and Khloe, and you can”t see it from here, but all the way back is Snatch and Itchy”s place. A lot of Cerberus also live across the street. It”s like a whole little village.”
She looks around, the lights from the pool glinting off her face. The sidewalks are lined with lights, but the glow from them isn”t distracting from the beauty of the property. They”re more to keep people from tripping or running across the occasional snake in the dark, although it”s too cold this time of year for an encounter with one.
”Compound,” she says. ”That”s what the women at the shelter referred to it as,” she says, her eyes still roaming.
There”s a tickle of suspicion that runs up my spine. There”s no denying that Nathan hurt her, but I can”t be a hundred percent sure that her being here isn”t some elaborate plan to provide Nathan with information on Cerberus.
Although he hasn”t mentioned it, there is a reason Kincaid wasn”t exactly happy with Em”s suggestion of letting Brielle stay at their house.
I don”t think the man would put me in a situation like that. It”s even less likely he”d let someone he felt was dangerous to the club stay here where his grandchildren play, but maybe she’s managed to manipulate all of them as well.
”It isn”t a compound, but I know the people who live here will defend this place with their lives.”
She nods but doesn”t look my way.
It puts a sliver of doubt in me where she”s concerned, and I pray this is just one of those times when I read a situation wrong. I hope that it”s my own trauma making me want to doubt her and not that sixth sense I honed as a child in order to stay safe.
She doesn”t speak again. She simply turns her head up to the sky as she snuggles deeper under the blanket I gave her. We stay like this for over an hour, our breaths turning to mist in the cold night.
The unease inside of me settles some when she doesn”t shift. She doesn”t look around the property in an effort to find weak spots. She doesn”t ask a million questions as if trying to determine where we could be more easily infiltrated, but it makes me wonder if it”s because she already knows.
If she has spent time looking out the bedroom window during the daytime, she”d be able to figure out a lot more than sitting poolside at night.
Plus, I told her we had cameras and motion sensors. I gave that information readily.
I try my best to tamp down my own paranoia as we sit silently.
My fingers are freezing by the time she sits up on the lounger.
”Ready to go back in?” I ask, willing to play the part she expects of me.
”I think so,” she says, folding the blanket before offering it back to me.
She waits on the lounger while I return it to the pool house, only standing once I”m back in front of her.
”Thank you for bringing me out here,” she says. Before I let thoughts of betrayal and manipulation enter my head, I”d probably make other suggestions. I”d ask if she wanted to walk along the sidewalk and stretch her legs a little, but I don”t think that getting her closer to Kincaid”s house is a good idea.
”You’re welcome,” I say, once again walking ahead of her, wondering if she”s going to grab something and hit me with it.
I pull in a deep breath, frustrated with myself for letting those racing thoughts take over.
The woman has no need to infiltrate Cerberus. She couldn”t have predicted this is where she”d end up. When she was brought to Farmington over a year ago, she wasn”t taken to the clubhouse. She hasn”t had conversations with Em. Em offered her a place at her home, and Brielle didn”t take it. If she wanted to get in the middle of Cerberus and figure stuff out, she would”ve taken Em up on the offer.
”Is it okay if I go in there first?” she asks once we make it back to the bedroom.
”Of course, ” I tell her, staying close to the door leading into the hallway as she gathers the things she needs from her two suitcases.
While she”s in the bathroom, I grab pajamas out of the closet so I can be ready for my turn when she”s done.
I listen as she runs the water, probably brushing her teeth and washing her face.
When she comes out, I”m not surprised that although she”s in pajamas, she has on her sneakers. The woman has to be prepared to run and escape at all times. I was the same way when I was younger.
”Are you trying to get information on Cerberus?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She doesn”t flinch. Her eyes don”t dart to the right to indicate her trying to formulate a lie.
”What?” She shakes her head as she stands in the middle of the room, looking at me with confusion. ”Of course not.”
”There are other rooms in the clubhouse if you”d like more privacy,” I tell her as she puts her dirty clothes into a bag near her suitcase.
She doesn”t speak until she’s settled back into the closet.
”Do you want me out of here?”
I never expected her to turn the offer back on me.
”No,” I tell her honestly. ”It doesn”t bother me that you”re in here.”
It isn”t exactly the full truth. I”ve slept like shit with her being in there, and I still haven”t determined if it”s because another person is in the room with me or if I hate that I”m on a comfortable bed and she”s curled up on the damn floor.
She frowns at me, and despite that whisper that she could be dangerous to me and the club, I can”t help but also want to see her smile at me rather than look at me with disappointment.
I grab my pajamas rather than continuing the conversation. I spend longer than needed in the bathroom. Part of me wishes she would”ve taken me up on my offer. I”d probably get a better night”s sleep, but there”s another part of me that is glad she didn”t look like she was planning on leaving the closet any time soon.
The closet door is still open when I open the bathroom door. She turned off the lights, so the room is cast mostly in darkness when I turn off the one in the bathroom.
I feel restless as I climb into bed. I knew my inactivity was going to catch up with me eventually, and it”s no surprise that I”m questioning everything. A mind that never rests tends to do that.
Unlike the cracked closet door last night, the door is standing fully open tonight, and knowing that makes my skin itch.
Darkness swirls around me, making me grow even more restless. After an hour, I question whether the noises I”m hearing are in my head or real.
The third time she whimpers, I know I”m not losing my mind. She”s having a nightmare.
I know better than to reach into the closet and shake her. I”d never violate her trust that way. Instead, I pull my blanket and pillow from the bed and lie down just outside of the closet door.
I don”t know if it”s the rustling noises I made that calmed her down or if she could sense in her sleep that I was near, but the whimpering stops. For reasons I can”t explain, being closer to her also quieted my own mind, allowing me to finally fall asleep.