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“None of it is mine. Grant has my clothes, but I don’t know where,” she mutters, refusing to meet my gaze.
“You won’t need them. Let’s go,” I say gruffly.
Grabbing my phone, I send a text to the driver with a list of things for him to pick up. I didn’t want to hand out this number, but I need help. They’re not technically a shopping service, but with the amount of money I’m paying them, they’ll hopefully expand their services for me. He responds almost immediately, and the tension in my shoulders eases.
I tug open her door, stepping out, but she doesn’t follow. Instead, she’s scanning the closet, a forlorn look on her face. I tilt my head, peeking around the corner.
“What’s wrong?” I murmur, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one is about to ambush us.
She shakes her head, finally coming to my side. I wrap my arm around her waist, tugging the door closed. She sways, and I tighten my grip to steady her. The room I've been given is one floor down. I start for the staircase I came up, but she tugs me down the hall. I've never been this way, though that's not surprising.
This place is enormous, with more twisting hallways and back ways than even the Kings’ mansion. Being an old embassy, I suppose they needed a lot of space for whatever embassies do.
"I'll need clothes," she says under her breath.
"Like I said, already covered. Are there cameras in the alley?"
She stumbles on the last step and I pull her against my body. Once she's steady, I grab her hand and take the lead. I may not know where these stairs will come out, but I can't keep following her once we're in the main hallways.
I hate having to adjust every instinct I have. I hate having to second guess every word I say. Most of all, I hate being here. I'd rather be back at Vipers’ headquarters, showing Aelia my world. With the amount of work it will take to dismantle the Guild, I don't think that'll happen anytime soon.
"They haven't put cameras up in the back alleys yet. At least that I know of. Grant probably would have retaliated if he caught me, but he's been reserved since you threatened him."
Finally standing in front of my new door, I glance at Aelia.
"Get inside and don't open the door for anyone but me."
Her brows pull low as she nibbles on her lower lip, dragging my eyes down to the motion.
"I'll search for cameras," she whispers, dropping her head in submission, probably for the benefit of whoever monitors the hallway.
"No. You'll get on the bed and wait for me. Lock the door."
I drop her wrist, stepping back. Crossing my arms, I wait until she's disappeared inside, the lock thudding between us before I stride away. My thoughts stay fixed on her long after I've left.
Fourteen
Aelia
I hate this room. I hate it almost as much as I hated that little closet I've been in for the last several months. At least I didn’t have to share that small space. Now I feel like I'm a prisoner—a pretty bird kept in a gilded cage. As if the opulence can cover the lies rampant throughout the room. They coat the walls, drip from the chandelier, and skew the view of the dark lawn outside the window. I swear they hang in the air, threatening to suffocate me.
The lock clicks, and my eyes snap to the handle as it slowly moves. My fingers inches toward the heavy lamp on the nightstand. I drop my hand back on my lap. Whoever has a key to that door has control over every aspect of my life, whether I want them to or not. Even Dante dictates where I go and what I do.
My chest still seizes, lungs forgetting how to work. A tingling pain shoots up my arm, rendering my limbs useless. Gasping, I press my fist to my chest.
Ever since Dante showed up, I haven't been able to keep my composure. The blank nothingness I existed in before wasn't healthy, I'm sure, but at least I could function. Now, it feels as if every other hour I'm panicking, losing my ability to wade through this world.
"Fuck." Dante's voice filters through my foggy brain.
My lungs remember how to do their job, and I suck in a deep breath. His hand lands on my neck, pushing my head between my legs. Spots dance in my vision, and I slam them shut. His fingers massage the tense muscles, and they ease bit by bit.
He's not going to hurt you. You're as safe as you can be in hell.
After several minutes, I push back and my head thumps against the ornate headboard. When I glance at him, my eyes catch on the rings welded into the posts, and I shudder. I'm sure someone somewhere would see this setup and be turned on. I've never had the opportunity to explore anything like it, though. Being chained to a bed—hell, being chained to anything—still sends my mind spinning down a very dark rabbit hole.
"I wish I could have learned more," I murmur, my tongue feeling too large for my mouth.
"About what?" he asks, his rough voice brushing against my skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
