Page 135 of Captive Ruin

“Make no mistake, Amelia. You’ll be wearing my ring, using my last name, and taking my cock for the rest of your life.”

My finger gleams with a diamond I’ve barely looked at, doing my best to ignore it. I look now. It’s not the obscene rock I expected, but a modest round cut, set low on its rose-gold band. It’s a beautiful stone, as clear as I’ve ever seen, catching the light when I lift and turn my hand, mini rainbows in every facet. It suits me. That’s the thought that comes. He chose what I’d actually want to wear, and that’s almost worse than if he hadn’t.

So I’ve accepted his ring, and his cock. Yet when he’s done what he’s said he will, when the threat from the Volkovs is over, there’ll be no reason for this marriage of convenience any longer.

Will he let me go? Or worse—what if he learns who I am and decides he doesn’t like me? What will happen then?

Questions I’m asking far too late. Damn it, what was I thinking?

Was it only Lucy’s protection that persuaded me, or was it my own guilt? Or more than that even—some part of me wanting this? Not him, specifically, but a man? Any man, if that man means protection and companionship?

Is that me? I can’t see myself in that description, but maybe it is.

Van Wyk does protection, there’s no doubt of that. But companionship? Breaking into my apartment doesn’t really count.

It’s all so confusing, but I can’t figure this out now. I shove the card into my pocket. I’m going to use it, and I’m not going to think about it. I’m not even sure I could put a noticeable dent in his bank balance if I tried.

Tony’s reading a book on a chair in the entrance hall as he waits for me.

“Can we go to a phone shop please?” I deliberately keep the question light.

“Apple’s flagship store is right off Fifth Avenue,” he says, rising.

I let out a subtle sigh of relief when he makes no objection. “There must be a hundred closer places to buy a phone.”

“Don’t you want to pick up a few other things?”

My eyebrows go up. “On Fifth Avenue?”

He shrugs. “Lukas won’t care.”

Of course he won’t.

I really want out of this house, and not just a trip there-and-back to a shopping center in Poughkeepsie.

A minute later, he rolls up outside the house in a sleek black BMW large enough to make parking a pain in the ass, and Jorge opens the door for me. Cream leather, plush seats, and a drinks cabinet.

“Want a whisky?” I ask Jorge, pulling out a bottle and waving it at him.

He gives me a flat look and, true to form, says not a word.

But I’m not letting anything ruin my good mood. I’m out of my prison for the first time in weeks, even if my jailers have to come with me. Two hours later, they stand around inside the doors of the Apple Store, glaring at everyone while I buy the latest iPhone and activate it with an eSIM bought online.

My first call is to Sierra, in an effort to offset at least some of my guilt. And because it’s easier than calling my sister.

“Amelia!” she cries down the line. “I was so worried! I’ve had the fire department and the police here for days. Where have you been?”

“It’s a long story,” I say, closing my eyes and leaving it at that. “Listen, can you do the insurance paperwork? And then… just take a sabbatical or something. I’ll keep paying you, for as long as needed.” Until I figure out how to get back to my gallery. Assuming he ever lets me.

“Really?” she asks, her relief evident. She must’ve been certain she’d have no job, and the reprieve I’ve offered her costs me nothing. Not really. The insurance makes me sixty percent on Fournier’s art, and I didn’t even have to sell any of it. I don’t want that money, and even if I did, I could spend more on Van Wyk’s black Amex in one afternoon, and within a three-block radius of where I’m currently standing.

It’s all too surreal.

“Really,” I tell her. “I’m going to be away for a while, so text me on this number if anything comes up.”

“Thank you, Ammy! Yes, I will.” A brief pause, and when she speaks again, her worry has gone, replaced with concern for me. “Are you all right? You’re not in any… trouble?”

I almost laugh, but that would be too difficult to explain. “I’m fine. Would you let me know when the paperwork is done?” I don’t really care, I just want her to focus on other things.