Page 17 of Bound

My suite faces the sea. I stand here now, a bay of windows overlooking the black shore, the dark waters. I tighten the blanket around my shoulders and watch waves shatter themselves against rocks below.

Everything here is beautiful in a way that feels breakable. Like the glass walls that shield them.

I’m always cold here.

There’s a fire lit. I heard her tell them to light it. There is a bathroom with black stone and brass fixtures. Someone put folded clothes in the drawers before I arrived. Sweaters. Socks. Soft things.

Expensive things. Not my things. Nothing has been mine in years. I wore what Carlos liked on me.

I’m dressed like a doll. Even here.

I am surrounded by armed men who hate Carlos more than I do. The house is secure. Rafe has checked my clothes, my shoes, my bag, the lining of my coat, and the clasp of the necklace I was not allowed to keep once they found it carried a transmitter.

One I had no idea was there.

I’d been wearing it.

For years.

A tracker.

Like a pet.

I doubt they believe me.

A knock sounds at the door.

I don’t turn.

Men never wait for permission.

“Rafe wants you downstairs,” he says. His voice is low. Rough. Practical.

I turn to face him. “For what?”

“Questions.”

“I have answered questions.”

“More questions.”

I laugh once. Dry.

“Does Lucian know?”

Mack’s expression does not change. “Lucian knows everything that happens in this house.”

No. He doesn’t. But I don’t say that.

I fold the blanket and place it on the chair because I’ve always been neat.

Mack waits in the hall. He doesn’t touch me. No one does.

We walk through the east wing in silence. Two of Lucian’s men fall in behind us, far enough not to crowd, close enough to remind me this is not freedom.

It makes me tired.

The main level glows with warmth. Voices drift from the family wing. Cass, bright and sharp, says something about soup. A child laughing.