Chapter 28 Wren #3
Inside is a walk-in closet, larger than my entire bedroom.
Rows of suits, button ups, and perfectly pressed slacks hang, all color coded.
My eyes trace the subtle patterns and the care in how everything is arranged.
Even his ties are rolled and placed neatly in a drawer with a glass top. It’s quite impressive.
Nox’s room is so clean, I feel like if I stay in here I’ll mess something up somehow and the idea of that makes me shudder.
Shutting the closet doors, I slip back into the hall and ease the door closed behind me.
I walk towards the door next to the room I’m staying in, remembering that Kage said his room was right next door.
The second I step inside, the difference between the two bedrooms is staggering.
Where Nox’s room was clean and precise, Kage’s is…
wild. The walls are painted a dark black and a strip of red lighting lines the ceiling, casting the room in a crimson glow.
A large black bed with silk, red sheets sits in the center of the room, a large mirror hung above it on the ceiling.
Hanging neatly on one wall is a set of toys. Floggers of various lengths and textures, leather paddles, different types of rope, and two different sets of handcuffs. One is your average metal police cuffs, the others are leather, lined with a fur-like material.
My eyes snag on the glint of something on the opposite wall that is even more intimidating. Bolted to the wall is an X shaped structure with thick black cuffs attached to each end. My stomach flips when I realize it’s a St. Andrew's cross. It’s like I walked into someone's sex fantasy.
My feet have a mind of their own as I cautiously step deeper inside the bedroom, my heart beating a mile a minute. Is it possible to be turned on by the sight of a room? Because right now all I can think about it being pinned to that cross and fucked beyond an inch of my life.
I walk to the set of toys on the wall, running my fingers across the stripped leather of the floggers.
Beneath it is a set of drawers that I can only imagine has more delicious toys inside.
Opening the first drawer, I find my suspicions proven right.
Lined neatly are several different plugs in various shapes and sizes.
Some are made of metal, others are made of glass.
Who the hell sticks a glass plug up their ass?
Every drawer has different toys in it, things I’ve never even seen before. I’m immediately intimidated, wondering what the fuck I just got myself into, and why do I want to know more?
I shouldn’t be in here, but my feet keep moving anyway.
Across from the bed, another set of doors catch my eye.
They’re different from Nox’s pristine closet doors, but somehow even more intriguing.
I pull the doors open to find the closet surprisingly neat.
Dark shirts and jeans hang in rows, various types of leather jackets hung beside them.
Stepping inside, I run my fingers along the soft fabric of a black shirt before my gaze drops lower.
On the top of a shelf, tucked behind a stack of folded clothes, something catches my eye.
A worn photo. Curiosity once again takes over my body as I grab the picture.
The colors are faded, but it's unmistakably a younger Kage, maybe seven or eight years old. He’s smiling wide, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
He’s standing beside a beautiful woman with the same face, only feminine and I realize it’s his mother.
Only, the picture isn’t whole. The right side was burned away, leaving just the obvious shape of a man's arm draped over Kage’s small shoulders. And the watch that adorns that arm—my stomach drops.
It’s hauntingly familiar. I remember when I was younger, my mom and I picked out that exact watch for my father’s birthday.
For a moment, I can’t breathe, my fingers trembling as I trace the burnt edge of the picture.
The longer I stare, the more I convince myself that this couldn’t possibly be my father.
The watch was so cheap, anyone could have bought the same one.
I was so young when we bought it, there’s a very good chance I’m completely remembering it wrong.
Shaking the haunting feeling away, I place the photo back where I found it and leave the room, no longer in the mood to keep snooping around. I walk back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Popcorn and a movie are calling my name.
Rummaging through all the cabinets, I finally find what I need.
I toss the bag of popcorn into the microwave and lean against the counter.
Waiting for the popcorn, my mind wanders to Retta and how she's been doing. My last messages from her left me feeling uneasy. Normally she’s loud and overdramatic, her messages drowning in emojis and gifs.
But those last few texts were so lifeless and unlike her.
The microwave beeps, startling me out of my thoughts.
I yank the bag out, not even caring when it burns my fingers and dump the popcorn into a bowl.
Making my way over to the couch, I scroll through my messages, rereading the last thread of texts I received from her.
The feeling in the pit of my stomach grows heavier as I stare at the screen.
It’s just so weird.
My thumb hovers over her name. Should I call her? What if she doesn’t answer?
Well, I guess she doesn’t answer then, Wren. Fucking call.
Sitting down, I tap the screen, hit dial and wait. The phone rings twice before it goes to voicemail. How did I know that was going to happen? It’s almost as if I just said it would.
Rolling my eyes, I go back to our thread of messages and begin typing, but I stop the second I see three little dots emerge from the bottom of the screen, indicating her typing. Just as quickly as they appear, they disappear, and then appear once more.
What the hell is she doing?
Retta: Sorry. Still sick.
That uneasy feeling takes over once again as I shove a handful of popcorn into my mouth before typing.
Me: Retta, if you’re still that sick, you should go to the hospital. Want me to come pick you up and take you?
Retta: No, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.
Me: You know that’s not possible, Retta.
She never writes back, and the weight of unanswered text messages sits heavy on my chest. I don’t want to keep pushing her if she’s not up for it. The last thing I want to do is get on Retta’s bad side after all she’s done for me. I just wish there was something I could do to help her.
My mind drifts off to thoughts of Chen and wondering if he’s been found yet.
Opening the web browser on my phone, I type in Sun Hong Kong in a google search.
What I find is not what I expected. There’s literally nothing.
Not a damn thing. Why? The restuarant was fucking broken into and the boys said they called the police.
Why isn’t there a single news article posted or anything about it?
As if they knew I was thinking about them, a new text message thread pops up at the top of my screen. Clicking on it, I see Monster Cock has created a new group chat with me and Sexy Cuck Gremlin that he named Bird Sandwich.
I don't think this man has a serious bone in his body.
Monster Cock: Hey, little bird. Wanna play 20 questions?
I smile down at the screen and bite my nails. Wait, what the fuck? Why am I acting like a lovesick teenager? I’m supposed to be upset with them.
Me: Bird Sandwich? Really?
Sexy Cuck Gremlin: I’m about to leave the chat.
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. Nox is always so broody.
Monster Cock: C’mon, babygirl. I’m bored. Entertain me
Monster Cock: I’ll make it worth your while later tonight
Well that sounds appetizing. I guess answering a few questions couldn’t hurt.
Me: Fine. What do you want to know?
Monster Cock: What’s your body count?
Sexy Cuck Gremlin: Seriously, Kage?
The question is simple, but the answer is not and it lands like a punch to the gut.
How do you tell someone that you have two answers to that question?
One being your willing participation, and the other that was brutally taken from you.
I have never told a partner about my past, not wanting them to judge me or think I’m tainted.
And I won’t start by airing that out over a text thread called Bird Sandwich.
Me: Uhh, next question.
Monster Cock: Boo, you guys are boring. Ok fine, what’s your last name?
That’s a better question. And one that doesn’t make me internally cringe.
Me: Daniels
Monster Cock: Hmm, I don’t like it. I think Monroe sounds better
Sexy Cuck Gremlin: Real smooth, brother.
Me: Is that your last name?
Monster Cock: It is. And one day, it’ll be ours.
I stare down at the messages and try to keep the butterflies at bay. For whatever reason, I toss the names around in my head like a kid in elementary school. I might as well get my notebook out and doodle our names together in hearts. Oh, maybe I should play M.A.S.H. I am already in the mansion.
Hmm…
Wren Daniels.
Wren Monroe.
I guess it does kind of have a ring to it.
The questions keep coming. What’s your favorite color?
Where did you grow up? What do you like to do in your free time?
For two guys who, just this morning, said that they can’t think straight around me and that I’ll be the reason they fuck up some “mission”, they seem awfully interested in my life.
We text for what feels like hours until I finally fall asleep with my phone in my hand and a smile on my face.