Chapter 20 – ELLIE
ELLIE
Sunlight slaps me awake, and for a disorienting moment, I don't know where the hell I am. The pink walls should be a dead giveaway, but my brain's still caught between here and there, now and then.
Then the collar presses against my throat and reality comes crashing back in.
Right. I'm property now. Signed, sealed, delivered like a fucking package.
At least I slept this time.
I sit up, running my hands through my tangled hair. The house is silent. Way too silent. Either they're all dead or still asleep, and considering it's—I check my phone—eight in the morning, I'm betting on the latter.
Underworld gods aren't known for being early risers.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since yesterday's stress-induced breakfast of pills and anxiety. I should probably stay in this room. Be a good little pet and wait for instructions.
Fuck that.
I pad down the hallway in bare feet, peeking into rooms as I pass. Tank's door is closed, but I can't hear anything. Same with Kade's. Jinx's door is cracked open enough for me to catch a glimpse of golden hair spread across black silk pillowcases.
Only Cyrus's door shows any signs of life, the blue glow of monitors still bleeding from underneath. Of course. The ghost in the machine never sleeps. He can probably sustain himself entirely with energy drinks and spite at this point.
The kitchen's exactly as I remember from last night. Stainless steel fixtures and granite countertops, just like the ones we used to make fun of Sheri's mom for bragging about. Looking back, they were probably as fake as everything else.
I open the fridge, half-expecting it to be empty or full of beer and takeout containers. Instead, it's... stocked. Actually stocked. Eggs, bacon, vegetables, milk that's not expired. Someone shops here. Someone cares about having real food.
It's got to be Jinx. He was always kind of a health nut.
I pull out ingredients, moving on autopilot. Cooking always calms me down, gives my hands something to do besides count to five. The bacon hits the pan with a vicious hiss, and the smell fills the kitchen.
"You're up early."
I don't jump. Barely. Cyrus stands in the doorway looking like he got dressed in the dark and lost the fight.
His hair sticks up in twelve directions, his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and he's wearing a t-shirt that's inside out.
The black coffee mug in his hand might be the only thing holding him upright.
"Could say the same to you," I reply, focusing on flipping bacon instead of looking at him. "Though I'm guessing you never actually slept."
"Sleep's for people without deadlines." He moves to the coffee maker, pouring himself a refill with the care of someone performing a sacred ritual. "You always wake up at the ass crack of dawn, or is this a new development?"
"It's eight, so I'd hardly call that dawn, and it's old habit." I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them with more force than necessary. "Mom used to work morning shifts at the diner. Someone had to make sure there was food in the house."
The words slip out, an unwelcome reminder of before. When we were just kids trying to survive instead of... whatever the fuck we are now.
Cyrus leans against the counter, watching me with those green eyes that miss nothing even when he looks half-dead. "The others won't be up for hours. We're nocturnal creatures in a nocturnal business."
"Makes sense." I pour the eggs into another pan, grateful for something to do with my hands. "Can't exactly run a vigilante empire during banker's hours."
"Vigilante's a strong word." His mouth quirks into something that's almost a smile. "We prefer 'independent contractors.'"
"Right. Because that sounds so much better."
"It does on tax forms."
I actually manage a laugh. "You pay taxes on murder money?"
"Money laundering 101, Princess." He takes a long sip of coffee, and I see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes. "Al Capone didn't get caught for murder, he got caught for tax fraud. I just make sure everything adds up."
"That's... actually kind of genius."
"I know." The arrogance in his voice is pure Cyrus, and for a second, he sounds exactly like the lanky teenager who used to hack our teachers' computers to fix Jinx's failing grades.
"We've got a whole network. Shell companies, dummy accounts, investments that look legitimate on paper.
Kade runs the street-level shit, but I make sure the money stays clean. "
"And the killing?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "How do you make that look clean?"
His expression goes cold again. "We're very good at what we do."
I suppress a shiver. Maybe there's no money to worry about laundering when you're accepting payment in the form of sex.
Do they do that with all their 'clients'?
The bacon's done. I plate it, add the scrambled eggs, and try to ignore the growing lump in my throat. Then again, I hired them to kill someone. Glass houses and all that.
"Bacon!"
Jinx's voice carries from somewhere upstairs, followed by the sound of feet hitting the floor. Hard. He appears in the kitchen doorway moments later, looking like a golden retriever who just caught the scent of food.
His hair's a disaster, even more than Cyrus's.
He's shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and make it clear a Glock isn't the only heat he's packing, and there's a hickey on his collarbone that definitely wasn't there yesterday.
My eyes track to Cyrus automatically, but his expression gives nothing away.
Huh.
"Is that bacon?" Jinx inhales deeply, eyes closed like he's experiencing a religious moment. "Tell me that's bacon."
"It's bacon," I confirm, trying not to stare at his bare chest. When did he get that... defined? "I figured someone should make breakfast."
"You cook?" Jinx moves to the counter, already reaching for a piece of bacon with his bare hands like a heathen.
I smack his hand away with the spatula. "Use a plate, you animal."
"Bossy." But he's grinning as he grabs a plate, loading it up with eggs and bacon like he hasn't eaten in days. "I forgot you could cook. Remember when you made us those cookies for Kade's birthday?"
"The ones he said tasted like cotton candy had an abominable love child with cinnamon?" The memory makes me smile despite everything. "Sweet'N Low packets weren't the best sugar substitute after all."
"He ate seven of them," Cyrus points out, claiming his own plate. "And then threw up in the RV."
"That was the vodka, not the cookies," I protest in defense of my admittedly limited baking abilities.
"Probably both."
We fall into an easy rhythm, and for just a moment, it feels like before.
Like we're just three friends sharing breakfast instead of a captive and her captors.
Jinx chatters about nothing, filling the silence with stories about some party he went to last week.
Cyrus occasionally interjects with dry commentary that makes Jinx laugh.
But there's a stiffness to it all. A performance. They're being careful around me, like I'm a bomb that might explode if they say the wrong thing.
I hate it.
This is so much fucking worse.
"So what's the plan for today?" I ask, scraping the last of the eggs onto my plate. "Do I just... sit here? Wait for instructions?"
Cyrus and Jinx exchange a look that tells me they haven't actually thought that far ahead. I guess they don't do this often, buying random women and keeping them captive in a giant house.
It's a relief for all the wrong reasons.
"We've got business," Cyrus says finally.
"And I'm supposed to do what, exactly? Twiddle my thumbs in my pink cage?"
"You could unpack," Jinx suggests weakly.
"Already did. Took me twenty minutes." I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. "What else?"
Before either can answer, heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs. My heart leaps instinctively at the thought it might be Tank, but Kade appears in the doorway, and I look away sharply, freshly humiliated from whatever the fuck that was last night.
But my eyes drift back as he strides into the room.
He's shirtless, too, packed with lean muscle and tattoos that have multiplied since I last saw them. So many tattoos. The flames on his arms have spread to his chest, and the scar on his forearm isn't the only one after all.
"The fuck is this?"
His voice cuts through the kitchen like a whip, and suddenly the easy atmosphere shatters. He's staring at the stove, at the plates of food, at me like I've committed some cardinal sin.
"Breakfast?" I offer, trying for casual and landing somewhere around defensive.
"Did I tell you that you could touch our shit?" He moves into the kitchen, and the space suddenly feels claustrophobic. "That you could just make yourself at home?"
"You said this was my home," I remind him. "For the next year. Or are you already sick of me?"
Why the fuck do I hope he's not?
"Your room is your home. The rest"—he gestures around the kitchen—"belongs to us. And I don't remember giving you permission to dig through our fridge and use our stove."
"For fuck's sake, Kade." Jinx sets his fork down with a clatter. "She made breakfast. That's not exactly a war crime."
"Not the point. She doesn't get to decide what she does anymore." Kade's eyes are on me, gray and hard as steel. "That's the point."
We stare at each other across the kitchen island, choking on an awkwardness that has nothing to do with my apparent breakfast crimes and everything to do with last night.
With me on my knees.
With him walking away.
Jinx grabs a piece of bacon and shoves it in Kade's mouth before he can say more. Kade's eyes widen in surprise, then narrow dangerously as he chews, swallowing with obvious effort like Jinx just fed him pan-fried fucking betrayal.
"See?" Jinx says cheerfully. "Delicious. And free. Which, last I checked, is your favorite price point."
"It's not free if I paid for it." Kade looks like he's considering murder, but then his shoulders drop slightly. "Fine. She can fucking cook."
"Such gracious permission," I mutter, turning back to the stove to hide my smirk.
"Where's Tank?" I ask, because I'm already on thin ice.
All three of them go still.
"Don't know," Kade says after a beat. "He left last night and hasn't come back."
My stomach drops. "Is that... normal?"
"For Tank?" Jinx shrugs. "Sometimes he needs space. Drives around on that bike until his head clears."
I don't know what to say to that. Can't help but feel like it's just an excuse for the fact that he clearly hates me even more than the rest of them do.
We eat in uncomfortable silence, the only sound the scrape of forks against plates. I can feel Kade watching me the entire time, studying every movement like he's trying to figure out if I'm playing a game—and if I am, what that game is, and how he can win.
Kade is nothing if not competitive.
"So, what am I supposed to do today?" I ask finally, pushing my empty plate away. "Since it's the weekend and apparently I'm not allowed to make decisions."
Kade leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "We've got shit to handle. You can entertain yourself until we get back."
"Entertain myself." I repeat the words slowly, like Kade does when he's being dramatic as fuck, tasting the condescension on my tongue and enjoying the way he glowers at me like he knows exactly what I'm doing.
"Like what, watch TV? Paint my nails? Sit pretty in my cage and wait for my owners to return? "
"Sounds perfect." Kade's smirk is vicious. "Maybe work on your obedience while you're at it."
"Fuck you."
"Not today, Princess." He stands, grabbing his plate and dumping it in the sink without rinsing it. "Maybe after you learn some manners."
"Manners?" I'm on my feet before I can think, anger flooding my veins. "You want to talk about manners? You're the one who threatened to use me as your personal fucktoy—"
"I don't threaten, Ellie." He's in my space again, close enough that I can smell black coffee on his breath. "I promise. And you're not my fucktoy. You're our pet. There's a difference."
"Enlighten me."
"A fucktoy gets used and discarded." His hand comes up, fingers wrapping around the collar at my throat. My mouth goes bone dry and my heart restarts like someone just slammed paddles against my chest. "A pet gets kept. Fed. Protected. As long as she's good."
"And if I'm not good?" My voice is tight, even though the hand around my throat isn't gripping.
His thumb traces the line of the collar and my pulse jumps. His steely gray eyes darken as they drift to my throat and I can practically feel his gaze as solidly as his fingertips. "Then you get disciplined."
"You're sick," I whisper, even as heat pools low in my belly.
"Yeah." His other hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone next. "And you should have thought about that before you sold yourself to us, Princess."
I briefly consider biting his thumb.
He lets me go before I can add another scar to his collection, turning away like the moment never happened. "We'll be back by six. Be a good girl and stay put."
My challenge is automatic. "And what if I don't?"
Kade pauses in the doorway and looks back with a dark light in his eyes that goes straight to my fucking core, as pissed as I am. "Then we'll have to hunt you. And trust me, Princess, you don't want us to have to do that."
They file out. Kade first, then Cyrus after grabbing his laptop, Jinx pausing just long enough to flash me an almost apologetic smile that's familiar enough to sting. The front door slams, and moments later I hear the rumble of engines pulling away.
I flip off the empty doorway, middle finger raised high until my hand is trembling with the strain as if they can see it.
This is going to be hell.