AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"You think I'm lying?"
"I think it doesn't matter either way. Either your claim is going to get me killed or you will. Or this is an elaborate ruse to fuck with me before you—" She swallows hard, then sets her jaw. "Break me."
"I am many things, Aelia. There's a lot of things you can accuse me of, but cruelty is not one of them." My nostrils flare as I pull in a deep breath.
"Go to hell," she spits out.
She spins, stomping out the door. I let her go, wondering all the while if I'm making the right decision.
Ten
Aelia
"About time you showed up," Jenkins says as I step into the office.
My feet stutter, but I keep my head down. I'm not late. I'm never late. Grant usually makes sure I know exactly what time it is, but he's been suspiciously erratic with his movements since his run-in with Dante almost a week ago. Grant hasn't been escorting me anywhere. Instead, he’s taken to popping up randomly, putting me in my place, then disappearing again.
It's both a blessing and a curse. Every morning I go to bed tense, sleep becoming an elusive thing chasing the sun across the sky in its daily commute to sunset. Anxiety is my constant companion, dogging my steps as I work event after event.
I imagined Dante would show up the next night after the incident in the supply closet, but he's been missing, too. I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have told him what I did. I certainly shouldn't have kissed him. It only blurs the lines more. A momentary lapse in judgment might cost me my life.
Living in this hell has taught me that lesson well, but I forgot. Complacency took the place of panic. After so many years, I wonder if I'll welcome death with open arms. It might be just the reprieve I've been looking for.
"Where's your handler?" Jenkins bites out.
Swallowing hard, I sink into my chair before answering. "Grant hasn’t been escorting me anywhere, sir."
Peeking at Jenkins seated behind his desk, I watch his face morph from annoyed to rage to a blank mask. I tense, waiting for the explosion. He's usually eerily calm, only adopting the charismatic leader persona when in front of clients. In this room, he doesn't play a part, but his nonchalance is an act all the same. It took me a while to figure out his moods, to decipher the beast swimming under the surface.
"I wasn't asking about Grant," he says in a low voice.
He pushes from his chair, rounding on me as my lungs forget how to function. The bruises Grant left behind haven't fully healed. I'd rather not add more on top of them. Hiding them from Dante was hard, but then he disappeared. He's probably long gone by now, abandoning me to this cesspit. I don't blame him. I'd run too if I could.
It probably makes me selfish, willing to desert the people in the Pit, the women working the various events, everyone in the Trade. Even thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach, but I know I'd do it. I'd flee as fast and as far as I could in a heartbeat—constantly worried the next beat would be my last. And they would too.
"Answer me," Jenkins whispers harshly in my ear, leaning his body over mine.
"I don't know where he is," I gasp, then silently curse myself.
Any sign of weakness and he'll only seek to punish me further. Showing him I'm afraid triggers something within him, and the only way to avoid the beast lurking under his expensive suit is to pretend I don't exist. In this moment of time, I’m nothing but a wisp of matter, a ghost haunting the halls of this bastardized company.
"At some point, you're going to have to give in, Aelia. Mr. Cruz will throw you aside, done playing the long game of almost breaking you, and then what will we do with you?"
I hold perfectly still, eyes fixed on the door as my muscles tense more with each passing second. I don't even care who walks in. Even Grant would be a blessing. At least I can anticipate his blows.
Jenkins slithers through the grass, striking when I least expect. I'd take the bruises over this any day. Dark marks fade, but the psychological warfare Jenkins engages in has broken me in ways I'll never reveal to him.
His hand slides down my arm, then seizes my wrist in a bruising hold. He twists his fingers and I swallow hard. When he bends my own hand back, I bite my tongue, blood coating my mouth in my quest to keep the cry of pain inside. I can't help the jolt though, and the move presses my stomach into the desk. His hot breath sends strands of my hair fluttering across my neck and a tremor of fear rolls through me.
I jerk at the loud knock on the door, banging my knee on the underside of my desk, and I yelp. Jenkins doesn't move for a good ten seconds, then retreats, sinking into his chair before calling for whoever it is to enter. I drop my shoulders, curling my body as I attempt to get a grip on my breathing.
Peeking from behind my curtain of hair, I suck in a quick breath, holding it as Dante steps inside. He doesn't even spare me a glance as he approaches Jenkins. My fear transitions into a blinding rage. I want to scream at him, throw shit, demand answers. I do nothing, though. Instead, I sit perfectly still, letting my wrath simmer just below the surface, allowing it to burn away the last vestiges of terror, and slowly sink into what's left of my soul. He can rot in hell for all I care. The problem with that is I'm rotting right alongside him. Even here, I'm unable to escape him.
I mentally shake myself, placing my hands lightly on the keyboard, and sign in as I check back into reality. Dante leans his fists on Jenkins’s desk, his shirt stretching taut across his back, accentuating the prominent muscles lining his body. A shiver rolls through me, and I pull my eyes away.
"I thought I made myself clear," Dante hisses. "No one touches her but me. And yet here I find that he's been using her as a punching bag."
"Is that a problem, Mr. Cruz?" Jenkins asks, raising an eyebrow as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
