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I sleep every so often, fitful and restless, dreaming of a hitman with silver blond hair and shadows under his eyes. At some point, I wake to the door to the long hallway open. But it’s a dead end. There’s nothing but more locked doors, an attack dummy, and a few knives.
I could carve my wrath into the walls and locked doors. Instead, I practice fighting, only stopping to eat or rest. Without windows or a clock, I don’t know if I sleep for years or merely a nap. The bedroom is as dark as an underground bunker. A tomb. I can’t think about this too much, or I’ll go mad.
I sleep with a knife in my hand. After one particular spell of sleep, I wake up knowing I’m not alone. He’s standing in the shadows, wearing a dark suit.
I snap to my feet, knife outstretched.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, as if I’m not ready to stab him. “Get dressed.” He nods to the foot of the bed, where he’s laid out a black dress and long, tan trench coat.
Clothes. For the first time in. . . as long as I’ve been here.
“Why?”
“I thought you might enjoy going to a party.”
“What sort of party?”
“At Cavalli’s. You’ve been there once. Remember?”
I remember the smoke, the bark of the gun. The cool air wafting up my bare legs under the trench coat.
“What’s this about?” As soon as I ask, my mind flashes over the possibilities and spits out the most likely explanation. “Stephanos will be there.” My voice is flat.
“He might be. He owes me, you see. And I always collect what I’m owed. He wants to meet me.” He leans down and straightens the slinky black dress he’s laid out for me. “It turns out you’re an excellent bargaining chip.”
My heart sinks to my feet. Any hope I had that Victor wasn’t one of them is stolen away from me.
And then Victor continues to twist the knife. “I told him I had you. At first, he didn’t believe me. But then I showed him some footage.”
I close my eyes. Of course, he did. How much footage does he have of me bound, caged, naked, and whipped? My greatest enemy, seeing my greatest humiliation. I could puke.
“And now he says he’ll meet with me. . . on the condition that I bring you to him.”
I want to stab him in the eye. I could do it if I were stronger, faster. If my opponent wasn’t Victor.
“So that’s it?” My chest is heaving, stretching the barely healed marks on my breast. Marks that mean nothing. “You’re just going to hand me over?”
“Of course not. You belong to me.” His eyes flicker to the bandage above my breast. He cut me like a schoolboy carves his name into a desk. But that doesn’t mean he owns me.
One day, he’ll find that out.
“Stephanos will not touch you.”
I scoff. “That’s supposed to reassure me?”
Victor comes closer, his pale eyes pinning me into place. His hand grabs my wrist and presses a point that makes my fingers spasm, and I drop the knife.
He catches it and holds it up. It all happened in a flash, too fast for me to see.
“I have much to teach you. But this time together is at its end. There’s a decision for you to make.” He tosses the knife so it flips overhead and embeds itself in the wall above the headboard, where it quivers. It’s in the dead center of the room, and I half expect the bed to split in half, bisected by this moment and the blade. When it doesn’t, I turn back to my nemesis. He looms over me, half of his face in the light and half in shadow. But when he speaks, I hear both the iced-over tones of the psychopath and echoes of the soft, hopeful murmur of a lover.
“So now, I must ask. Lula. . . will you trust me?”
Victor
Joe drives us to the restaurant, and Lula sits next to me in the back seat, a black silk blindfold over her eyes. When I guided her to take her first steps outside, she raised her head to the sun. She’s thinner than when I first brought her here, but not by much. I tried to feed her well, but she’s more hardened. The circles under her eyes are darker from a lack of vitamin D, but also not enough feasting with friends and family—not enough joy.
I can’t give her everything, even if I wanted to. But maybe I can give her enough.
