25. Elle
25
ELLE
A nger and embarrassment streaks through me like bolts of lightning. God, he’s such an asshole. I can’t believe that I actually admitted that I wanted to have sex with him again. I didn’t even know that I wanted to have sex with him again until he started kissing my neck like that. It made me feel as if fire coursed through my veins. I could barely think straight. And because I couldn’t think properly, I admitted… that . Ugh.
Yanking up a hand, I rub the side of my neck hard. As if that can get rid of the lingering feeling of his lips on my skin.
God, he really is an absolute bastard.
My cheeks are still flaming red as I march through the crowd of drunk, dancing people and head straight for the tables on the other side. I need a drink. Actually, I need more than one.
When I reach it, there are several other people there too, so I wait for them to finish getting their drinks first. While I wait, I glance over my shoulder to see if Tristan is still watching me. He’s not. Instead, he is talking to another group of women. As if he didn’t just set my soul on fire with nothing but his hands and lips two minutes ago.
A cold oily feeling spreads through my limbs. And I don’t even understand why. Why do I suddenly feel rejected ?
He is nothing to me. I am nothing to him. It’s not as if there was even anything to reject. We were never anything more than enemies.
The people in front of me at last move aside, clearing the path to the table.
Tearing my gaze from Tristan, I shift my attention to the army of red plastic cups waiting for me. They all appear to contain the same thing, so I just pick one at random and turn back around.
A huff rips from my chest as I slam into someone. The impact jostles my arm, making me spill half of the drink on the floor.
“Shit, sorry,” a guy says.
I shift the cup to my other hand and flick spilled alcohol off my fingers while looking up to see the guy I collided with. My eyes widen.
“You,” I blurt out.
The blond man in front of me grimaces apologetically. It’s one of Tristan’s friends. I think his name is Paul.
“Sorry,” he says again. “I was just about to tap you on the shoulder but then you turned around so quickly.” He takes my now half empty cup and puts it back on the table, all the way at the edge where no one will reach for it. “Listen, I saw what Tristan did back there and I just wanted to apologize.” While holding my gaze, he picks up another cup from the front of the table and hands it to me. “He can be a real asshole.”
I let out a bitter laugh as I take the offered cup. “You think? ”
“I mean, I do share a house with the guy, so yeah… I know.” He draws a hand through his messy blond hair and shrugs. “Just try to ignore him and have fun.” Then he glances over his shoulder towards Tristan. “I should probably go before he sees me talking to you.” He looks back at me while he nods and starts to retreat. “Anyway, sorry about his asshole-ness. And about the drink.”
Despite myself, I smile. Lifting the cup in a cheers, I watch him go. Maybe not everyone in the White Serpents is a complete and total bastard.
Straightening my spine, I draw in a deep breath to center myself again. I didn’t come here to flirt with Tristan anyway. I came to watch him. To report his movements to John. To nail his damn balls to the wall before he does something else to get me expelled.
With my focus once more back where it should be, I move away from the table while I take a drink from my cup. It tastes surprisingly good. Whoever mixed them must certainly know what they’re doing.
I walk until I reach a spot where I’m not in the way and where I will be able to discreetly watch Tristan. He’s still talking to that group of girls, who laugh at something he said. The two blonde ones on his left rake their eyes up and down his body when he focuses on the two women on his right. Desire burns in their eyes.
My fingers tighten around the cup. The cheap plastic creaks in alarm.
Blinking in surprise, I snap out of the sudden burst of highly irrational anger. Why should I care about how other women look at him?
I let out an annoyed huff and down half of my drink in one go. I don’t even know what’s happening to me. Tristan has just turned everything upside down. I don’t know who I am anymore.
On the one side, I’m still the perfect mayor’s daughter. The political science student who actually wants to go into politics and make the world a better place. But at the same time, I have also started to become someone who curses and throws dead rats at people and who gets angry when someone else is eyeing up the guy who bullies me. And someone who enjoys being pushed up against a wall and fucked hard with a dominant hand around my throat.
And I don’t know which version I am anymore.
Which of the two is the real me?
I don’t know.
Blowing out a long sigh, I shake my head and then finish the rest of my drink. I should probably slow down, but my emotions are so tangled up that I don’t know what to do with myself.
After setting down the now empty cup, I go back to my previous spot to continue watching Tristan.
Surprise shoots through me when I realize that he’s no longer there.
Whipping my head from side to side, I search frantically for him.
My vision swims when I move my head.
I frown.
Then I give my head a short shake. Jesus, I probably shouldn’t have drunk that cup of alcohol so fast.
While still searching for Tristan, I start moving through the crowd.
The room sways around me with every step. I press a hand to my temple. My head feels foggy. And my muscles suddenly feel weak. I blink, trying hard to concentrate. But it’s getting increasingly difficult.
How on earth could I have gotten this drunk from just one glass? Sure, I’m kind of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. But this is ridiculous.
Abandoning my efforts to find Tristan, I instead set course for the door. I need some fresh air to clear my head.
It takes me three tries to get the door open. My hands fumble and everything sways around me.
I stumble out onto the porch.
Bracing a hand on the wall, I try desperately to support myself but my legs can barely carry my weight anymore. I blink repeatedly. My head spins. Oh God, I need to?—
My knees give out.
But before I can hit the hard stone porch, a pair of muscular arms wrap around my body. A pair of muscular, tattooed arms.
My vision is sliding in and out of focus, but I force myself to look up at my savior.
Tristan’s wicked smirk meets me.
Then darkness drags me under.
I groan as I wake up. My head pounds and nausea swirls inside me, so I keep my eyes closed for another few seconds. God, I’m never drinking again. I always get a little hungover, but this is on a whole other level. Ugh. Why did I drink so much last night?
Something prickles at the back of my mind.
Did I even drink a lot last night ?
Blinking, I rub a hand over my eyes and then massage my temples.
A gray concrete roof stares back at me from above.
I pause with my hand next to my face as I frown up at the ceiling. Why is it gray? The ceiling in my dorm room is made of concrete, yes. But isn’t it supposed to be painted white? Or have I somehow lost my sense of?—
“Morning, sweetheart.”
I whip my head towards the sound.
That was a mistake because it makes my headache pulse with such intensity that I have to squeeze my eyes shut against the pain.
When I open them again, I’m met with a sight that I simply can’t make sense of.
The room around me is made of gray concrete. It’s fairly large, but there are no windows. As if it’s some kind of basement. There is a wooden door to my left, and another one a short distance from the bed that I’m currently lying on. Crisp white sheets cover the bed made of white wood, and there is a nightstand in the same material next to me. By the other wall is a desk and a chair. But the chair has been pulled out and turned around so that it’s facing the bed instead.
And on the chair sits a man.
Tristan.
His black hair has been swept back as if he has lazily dragged a hand through it after a shower, and his intense green eyes are locked on me. He is only wearing a pair of dark sweatpants. No shirt.
My heart starts pounding in my chest.
Sitting upright in a flash, I swing my legs off the bed and twist around .
The movement causes a metallic rattling sound to echo between the walls.
It startles me enough that I pause with my mouth halfway open and instead stare down at what produced the strange sound.
My mind goes blank.
Everything inside my head goes still and silent as I stare down at my right ankle. A manacle is locked around it. And there is a chain attached to the manacle.
Completely dumbfounded, I turn my head and follow that chain with my eyes. It has been looped around one of the steel beams at the back of the room and secured there with a padlock.
For a while, I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, so I just keep staring at that chain.
“You really should be more careful,” Tristan suddenly says with a wicked smirk in his voice. “Otherwise, dangerous men could spike your drink.”
That snaps me out of my stupor.
I whip my head back around and stare at him with wide eyes. “You roofied me.”
He shrugs. “Technically, Paul is the one who slipped it into your drink. But yeah, I’m the one who told him to do it.”
My head spins. Paul. He didn’t come over to apologize. He came to drug me on Tristan’s orders.
Rage burns through me like wildfire.
Apparently, everyone in the White Serpents is a complete and utter bastard.
“You drugged me!” I scream as I shoot up from the bed. “You?—”
“Sit down,” Tristan orders, cutting me off.
“I will not be sitting down!” Anger courses through my every vein as I storm across the floor towards him. “You roofied me and then?—”
The rest of my sentence never makes it out of my mouth because my knees buckle and I suck in a gasp instead.
Tristan is already out of the chair and halfway to me when I start to fall.
He wraps his arms around my waist before I can hit the ground, and pulls me back up again.
“I told you to sit down,” he says, shooting me a disapproving look. “It will be another few hours before you’re fully recovered.”
My cheek is pressed against his bare chest as he holds me tightly. I try to push myself away, but he simply walks me back to the bed and sits me down on it again.
Then he points towards a plate on the nightstand. “Eat.”
I glance towards the sandwich and the pile of fruit salad on the plate before giving Tristan a sharp look. “It’s probably poisoned.”
He laughs. It’s a kind of surprised laugh that actually seems to startle him too. Recovering, he flashes me a devilish grin instead.
“Good,” he says. “You’re learning.”
Then he picks up the sandwich and takes a bite of it. After swallowing that, he grabs the spoon and scoops up some pieces of fruit. Sitting there on the edge of the bed, I watch him through narrowed eyes as he then walks back to the chair by the other wall.
When he doesn’t drop dead after eating, I reluctantly reach for the plate.
While I eat the rest of the food, he drags over the chair so that it’s closer to the bed instead. It scrapes loudly against the floor. Once it’s in position, he drops down on it .
I set the now empty plate back on the nightstand while I roll my eyes at the way Tristan is sitting. It’s that typical cocky male way with his legs spread while he lounges back in the chair as if he owns the place. And because he’s also shirtless, he looks like a true prince of sin on his throne.
After running my tongue over my lip, I brush my hands down the pale blue dress that I’m still wearing. Then I raise my gaze and lock it on Tristan.
“I have questions,” I declare.
The corner of his mouth tilts up as he meets my gaze. “I’m sure you do.”
“What time is it? Actually, what day is it?”
“It’s Saturday. Almost noon.”
Which means that the party was last night. So I have only been asleep, or unconscious, for about twelve hours or so.
I lick my lips. “Where am I?”
“In my house. My basement, to be specific.”
“Why?”
“Because I drugged you and brought you here.”
I level an annoyed glare at him. “I meant, why did you bring me here?”
He rakes a hand through his hair and then draws it down his neck and over his toned shoulder. There is a casual note to his voice as he holds my gaze and replies, “To cut you up as my personal science project. To sell your organs on the black market.” He shrugs. “Who knows?”
My body goes still. Ice spreads through my veins, and my heart starts beating erratically.
I stare at him.
He’s kidding, right? He has to be.
But his face betrays nothing.
My heart pounds hard .
He has to be kidding.
Then that serious mask cracks, and he chuckles.
With a smile on his face, he waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Relax. I’m not going to cut you up and sell your organs. We’re just going to spend some quality time together.”
Both relief and confusion crash over me.
For a few seconds, I don’t know what to say. So all that makes it out of my mouth is, “I… what?”
He suddenly pushes up from the chair. “You should get some rest. The side effects from the Rohypnol should wear off soon.” Now towering over me, he raises a hand and points to the wooden door a short distance from the bed. “There’s a bathroom through there. And a sink. So make sure you drink a lot of water.” He grabs the plate from the nightstand. “I’ll be back with more food later.”
Confusion still clangs inside my skull, so for a while, all I can do is to stare at him.
He has almost made it all the way to the door when I finally snap out of it.
Leaping up from the bed, I sprint after him towards the door. If I can just make it there while his back is still towards me, I can probably surprise him enough to make it out.
But my race to freedom comes to a jarring halt when the chain attached to my manacle snaps taut.
The stop is so sudden that I lose my balance. Spinning my arms in the air, I try to recover it. But because of the drugs still affecting me, my muscles feel sluggish and I hit the ground.
Tristan comes to a halt and turns around to see what caused the disturbance. When he sees me there on my knees, he heaves an exasperated sigh and arches a dark brow at me .
“The fuck did I just tell you?” he says, and then stabs a hand towards the bed. “Go lie down.”
Twisting around on the floor, I yank desperately against the chain. But it refuses to give even an inch. I crawl forward as far as I can get. But Tristan, and the door to freedom, is still several steps away. The chain is not long enough for me to reach it.
I slam my palm against the cold concrete floor in frustration. “You can’t keep me here!”
His eyes glint as he nods towards my shackles. “Apparently, I can.”
“This is kidnapping!” I yell as I glare up at him and curl my hand into a fist. “This is a crime!”
He chuckles and gives me a smug once-over while he pulls open the door.
“Yep, it sure is,” he replies.
And then he walks out and locks the door behind him.