Page 94 of Locked in Wonderland

The shutters came down instantly, making me regret the question. “Some things are black and white,” I said in my defense.

He stood up and left the kitchen, leaving me staring after him.

I considered staying where I was and letting him sulk in peace.

Then I muttered, “Fuck it,” and followed.

He stood at the living room window, gazing down at Wonderland’s main street as if the answer to something lay hidden among the revelers below. His shoulders were rigid. Every line of his body said he wanted to be left alone. Unfortunately, my presence in Wonderland already proved that I wouldn’t know a sensible idea if it punched me in the face.

I walked over and stood beside him. Close enough that our shoulders touched. At least he didn’t move away. I didn’t look at the street. The scene had become so familiar, so ingrained, that everyone had blended together. The same people making the same movements day after day, as though Wonderland were trapped in an endless cycle of revelry. It felt less like a good time and more like a twisted nightmare masquerading as one. Or maybe I just needed to fuck less and sleep more.

“You could leave,” I suggested when Nico said nothing.

The silence stretched so long that I’d given up on getting an answer by the time he finally spoke.

“And do what?”

“Anything.” I gestured vaguely. “I still don’t entirely understand what you do, but surely it involves transferable skills. You can’t honestly tell me you’ve never thought about getting out of here.”

“This is my home.”

The certainty in his voice caught me off guard. “You want to live in an artificial dome where nothing is real—not the light, not the people, not even the damn weather—until the day you die?” Frustration lent my words a bitter edge. “What about travel? A family? Actual experiences?”

“What about them?”

I sighed. Talking to Nico could feel remarkably similar to arguing with a brick wall.

He turned his head toward me. “Your problem is—”

“Wow! Another one. I’m just full of them.”

He ignored me. “Your problem is that you’re determined to see me as a good person. You keep assigning virtues to me I don’t have.”

“You rescued me from the auction house.”

“I didn’t rescue you.” His gaze held mine. “I didn’t want anyone else to have you.”

The words landed like a physical blow.

“I’d already marked you as mine.”

That should have horrified me. Instead, my pulse kicked into a faster rhythm, and my nipples tightened. My body had a habit of responding to Nico in a way my brain found deeply unhelpful. I kept telling myself that it was the situation, that anyone would cling to the safest option after everything I’d been through, but I suspected it was a lie.

Nico swung away from the window. “Take your clothes off.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Take. Your. Clothes. Off.”

“We were having a serious conversation.”

“You were.” His gaze swept slowly over me. “I was thinking about fucking you.” A pause. “Not a good guy, remember.”

I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Unfortunately, my fingers had already started undoing the buttons on my shirt.

Nico watched with naked hunger, making no move to undress himself. “In the mirror room,” he said, his voice low. “Face down. Arse up.”

I kicked off my trousers to join the shirt on the floor. “Yes, sir.”