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“Very well, you may retire for the night, Francis. Thank you.”
“Of course, sir. But, if I may.”
I hold up my hand, I don’t need his moral compass right now, even though everyone already knows mine is broken.
I hear the door close softly just as my business phone rings. I’m not just a hunter, I’m also a fixer. Looking down, I see the name and hit ignore. A deal is a deal, Joseph.
Constance is mine now.
Chapter 4
“The heart was made to be broken." - Oscar Wilde
When you growup in a not-so-good neighborhood, you tend to see things. Drug overdoses, people high, woman raped, children sold, but the one thing I never saw was a person murdered.Never felt the warmth of another’s blood splattering against my own skin like paint.
I huff, throwing the covers back as I look up at the ceiling of my sterile white cage, that is a stark contrast to the gothic theme of this castle. I may have free range, but I know a cage when I see one. Joseph also kept me in a cage, only it was gold and not as pretty. At least my clothes were from this century. Here, not so much. I have to have help just getting dressed. My closet is full of them. Like the house, they have an old feel but also new. Like the dipping backs and how the skirts do not require one of those metal things.
I rise, looking out the window to see the moon high in the sky. I’ve lost all sense of time. Obviously, it’s night. I’ve been here for about a day. Slipping my feet into the most luxurious slippers ever, I rise, walking to my closet to grab a matching silk robe. It’s a bit ridiculous. Why hold a captive in such fine luxury?
I feel as if I’ve been ripped from the real world and put in one of those horror books. Where the monster holds you hostage while warping your reality, so you’ll feel safe and then, he eats you. The end.
I take a tentative step out into the hall. I’m free to go anywhere except the west wing. Without a compass, I’m not sure how he expects me to know which way that is. I’m not fucking Louis and Clark.
I walk along the black carpet, my finger trailing over a rough textured wallpaper. There are no pictures of a family, no tell of whom or what I’m dealing with. It kind of makes me sad for him. And honestly, that’s what’s wrong with me. I always find redeeming qualities where there are none.
There are empty frames with smashed glass, the odd metal symbol that looks original to the house and mirrors. So many in different shapes. It’s…odd to say the least. I allow my hand to trail over the banister that looks down onto a sitting room.It’s dark, ineligible beyond the shadows of simple, yet elegant furniture. I take the first set of stairs down, they wind and spin, putting me out into the sitting room. I glance to the left and then the right, my eyes snapping on a sunroom where vines of flowers grow around the exposed ceiling, dripping down the glass walls. In the middle sits a grand piano and my heart stops. My fingers itch, flex to press on the white and black keys. To dance along them in a familiar tune. Like the rest of the house, it’s older, and black.
My feet carry me across the checkered floor and to the piano. My finger swipes over the fallboard, dust gathering on the tips of my fingers. Right as I’m about to sit, I’m startled.
“Miss.”
I jump, hand to my chest as I spin around. The older man stands at the entrance, hands folded gently in front of him. “You best get back to bed, the master doesn’t like night roaming.”
I bite my lip, looking back to the piano.
“You can come play it tomorrow, I assure you. Now, do you need help finding your room?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well.” He walks away and I look back to the piano one last time before leaving. As I’m entering the sitting room, a lamp snaps on. It's him, and he’s still fully dressed, a cigar hanging from his lips as he sits lazily in a chair.
“Constance.” I freeze at the name that falls from pouty lips.
I smile awkwardly, “No, I’m afraid you have the wrong name. I’m Jennifer.”
He raises one thick eyebrow. “You may be Jennifer to everyone you deceive, but you cannot deceive me, Little Bird. I know everything about everyone.”
Well, shit. I haven’t used my real name since I ran away from home.
I purse my lips, folding my hands behind my back as I walk closer. “And what should I call you? I think it’s only fair since you know my name.”
“You can call me nothing. My name is irrelevant to you. The only thing you need to focus on is if you can survive.”
The base in his voice washes through me, twisting in my stomach and causing my core to ache.
I narrow my eyes at him, mouth opening but I shut it quickly when he holds up a hand. A very big, strong, veiny hand. Damn it. Hands are not supposed to be attractive but well, his is. “Go to bed, Little Bird.”
Dreams are supposedto be for freedom, but mine lock me up, reminding me, I can never escapeher. Even if she’s chained to cinder blocks in the ocean, nothing but fish food. Even if I tore down her castle of torture and replaced it with mine. She haunts me. So, I don’t sleep. Well, I do, but not if I can help it. I wait forthe weight on my body and mind to drag me under. Drag me so far under I don’t dream. I just see black. It’s the only way to not allow her to get me again. To lock me up.
