by Henry, Jane
So I play the cards he deals me and don’t continue eating. Clearly, given the way he ordered food as if sent from heaven above in the hands of a winged messenger, there’s plenty to eat around here. I’ll find my way down to the kitchen if I have to.
I take another sip of water and sit back in my chair.
A stream of light illuminates his features for a moment as he watches me. I look to the window, uncomfortable under his penetrating glare. For the first time, I notice there are bars on the window. Bars. Thick, black, impenetrable bars. I rise to my feet, panic welling in my chest.
“This is a prison,” I whisper, my throat feeling as if someone’s wrapped a hand around it. “You pretended it was a bedroom with your pretty bed and luxurious carpet.” I back away from him toward the bed, afraid of what will happen next. “But you tricked me. I’m in a prison.”
His brow furrows and his lips turn down as he studies me. “No,” he says thoughtfully. “The bars on the window are to keep people out, not to keep the occupants inside.” His gaze swings to the window, then back to me. “But you’re most definitely my prisoner. Does this surprise you?”
I’m not sure how to answer. Yes and no, I suppose. I knew I wasn’t free to go. It wasn’t until I saw the bars on the window that I panicked.
I clear my throat. “No.”
“Now that we’ve taken care of the business of feeding you, it’s essential we establish some ground rules,” he says, a note of steel in his voice.
“Is it?” I ask, not able to mask the note of petulance in my voice.
“It is,” he says, his voice hardening.
“Have at it, then. Rules and all that.”
To my surprise, he walks to me, takes my hand, and yanks me to my feet. Placing one hand on my lower back, he pulls me to him so that I’m flush against him. I begin to tremble. I’ve not been touched like this by a man before, and it frightens me a little. And why is my body doing strange, wonderful, terrible things to me? A rush of heat flares in my body, my throat suddenly dry. He smells the way I’d imagine a waterfall would, strong and clean and powerful. His hand is warm, and I feel it straight through the thin fabric of my dress. My heartbeat quickens, and my palms feel weirdly damp. I’ve read of these things before, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think I were attracted to him. But how could I be? He’s been nothing but mean.
His deep, rough voice, laced with his brogue, washes over me as he warns me. “When you speak to me, you’ll speak respectfully. None of this ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ It’s ‘yes, sir,’ and ‘no, sir.’”
And odd rule, but I’ve noticed the men he speaks to calls him sir and it was how he himself addressed his father. He’s an authority figure, then, just like his father.
“Yes, sir,” I say, though I barely keep my tone cordial. He’s a bully. “How long am I to be here? I want to go home.” I was starving to death and lonely, but anything would be better than being here under his thumb.
I want to either pull closer to him or push away, but instead, I’m just frozen in place.
His brows rise for a barely noticeable fraction of a second before he draws them together again. “Are you really that naïve?”
Is he asking a question, or does he really mean that?
“I don’t know how to answer that,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you expect me to?” He runs his hand from my lower back upward, stroking as he maintains eye contact.
“You were caught in possession of notes, details, and data that mark you as a spy. Spying on The Clan is punishable by death. You raised your hand to me and tried to kick me, which earns additional punishment. You aren’t going home, Caitlin. You’ve escaped with your life by sheer luck.”
I feel cold and warm and a little dizzy.
They think I’m a spy? I’m not going home?
It doesn’t matter that I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself if I did go home. I have no food in the house, no contact with the outside world, and the home I lived in really was not much better than where I am now. If I’m honest, this place is far more comfortable.
But I’m not safe here.
“I’m to deal with you, but first we need to deal with practicalities. You’ll not present in front of my brothers looking like that.”
My throat tightens and my nose tingles, and for one brief moment, I’m glad I haven’t been around other people before now. People can be cruel.
“Mam, I need you,” Keenan says into his phone.
Mam? He called his mother?
“Aye. Can you come to my room?” He listens. “Of course. Yes. Thank you.”
“My mother will be coming here directly,” he says. “I’m hoping she can sort your clothing.” He releases me and walks away.
I look down at myself as if seeing for the first time. My cheeks flame with embarrassment, and I suddenly don’t want his mother seeing me dressed like this.
Since I was old enough to wear my mother’s clothes, it’s all I’ve ever worn. I hadn’t given them too much thought until he scorned me so fiercely. I swallow hard and turn away from him, not answering.
“Caitlin, look at me.” His voice has returned to steel, as he stands in front of me with his arms crossed. “We must—”
A knock sounds at the door, and he crosses the room quickly, holding a finger up for me to stay where I am. As if there’s anywhere to go.
He seems as surprised as I am when he opens the door, and it isn’t his mother on the other side, but someone who looks like a paler, younger version of himself, with the same green eyes, but blond hair. This one does look like an angel.
“Well, well, well,” the young man says, he’s quite a bit younger than Keenan. “What have we here?”
“Oh come off it, Nolan,” Keenan says, his bright green eyes darkening. “Get out. I told you no one comes here. Mam’s coming to help me clothe her.”
They’re brothers, then. He did mention brothers, but I wasn’t sure if he meant that in a figurative sort of way or not.
The man called Nolan looks sharply back at me. “Aw, feck. Ye got my hopes up. Thought I missed the fact she wasn’t clothed.”
Keenan crosses the room and reaches for him. He looks ready to throttle him, bright splotches of red on his cheeks, and his eyes narrowed on his brother. “You watch your mouth,” he fumes.
Oh, my. Are they… are they fighting over me? I freeze, a little afraid of watching them...beat each other up or something.
Someone clears her throat in the doorway.
I look to the doorway to find a stunning woman leaning her hip casually against the doorframe. “Really, Keenan, must you?”
She’s got similar facial features to her sons, even and symmetrical, though the angles of her face are gentler, more feminine. Her long, sandy-brown hair hangs just to her shoulders in waves. Dressed in a V-neck black sweater and jeans that hug her curves, it’s hard to believe this woman ever gave birth. The only clue to me that she’s older than she appears are the soft, gentle lines on either side of her eyes.
“Of all the cheek—” Keenan begins, shaking Nolan.
“Let him go,” she says, her melodic tone gentle yet firm. “Please. You’ll frighten the girl.”
Keenan releases Nolan, who takes a few steps away as if to distance himself from his overbearing brother. “Seems that’s what dad’s ordered him to do,” Nolan says casually.
Her lips tighten, but she doesn’t respond for long minutes. Finally, she nods and looks to Keenan. “Is that right, son?”
Keenan meets her gaze. “Aye.”
“We ought to be going, then,” Nolan says, heading to the doorway, when his brother grabs him by the back of the shirt, drags him back, and pushes him to sitting in one of the vacant chairs.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Sit.”
Nolan looks at me sheepishly, flashing me a grin. I give him the tiniest smile back. I like him. It seems I may have a friend in this, if he doesn’t get whisked away from me or murdered in his sleep by Keenan.
The woman crosses the room, but when her eyes come to my clothing, she freezes. I feel the heat return to my cheeks. Do I really look that bad? She pauses, unable to mask her surprise, before she schools her features, shakes her head, and continues walking to me. She reaches her hand out to me.
“Maeve McCarthy,” she says. Maeve. I’ve never heard such a pretty name.
I don’t know how to respond. It seems odd, really. I don’t know what her purpose is here, or what’s expected.
I clear my throat. “My name is Caitlin,” I say awkwardly. Was that right? Is that how people respond?
“Oh,” she says softly, and her voice gentles. “I’d chosen the name Caitlin.”
“Excuse me?”
She shakes her head. “Eh, never mind that now. I once chose the name, for if I’d ever had a girl.” She rolls her eyes and laughs, though she looks more like she’s going to cry than laugh. “But wouldn’t you know, as luck would have it, I got boys. All boys. Punishment for my sins, you see.”
I can’t help but smile in response.
Nolan snorts. “Reward for something good ya did, I’d say.”
“Nolan, out,” Keenan orders. “I need privacy.”
Nolan gets to his feet and yawns, stretching his arms up over his head. “Suit yourself,” he says, but it looks as if he only feigns nonchalance. He is indeed afraid of Keenan, and frankly, I don’t blame him.
She comes to me and takes my hands, eyeing me up and down. “You’re about five foot four, no?” She murmurs to herself. “Fifty-five kilos, give or take.”
I shrug. “I… I have no idea.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a wide-eyed stare before responding. “Reeallllly. Not know?”
I shake my head. She looks back down at my dress and absentmindedly fingers the fabric. It troubles her, somehow. But before she can respond, she sighs. “Right, then.”
Maeve walks around the room, picking things up and straightening the bed as if tidying it, though it already seems immaculate.
“Get to it, then, Keenan,” she says. “What do you need from me?”
I blink in surprise, thinking she’s rude, but he doesn’t even flinch. Something troubles her. Something about me.
“Clothing,” Keenan says. “I want her out of these old things and into something fresh, clean, and appropriate.”
“Aye,” she says, taking his perfectly fluffy pillows off the bed and fluffing them before returning them. “Naturally. When?”
“Before dinner, please,” he says. “Will you get them for me?”
She turns and faces him but won’t look at me. “Of course,” she says. “Anything in particular?”
He shrugs, then looks back in my general direction, his eyes traveling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes before responding. He shrugs. “Nothing too… modern. Sleek. I kind of like the look of her in a dress, and for the love of God, nothing revealing.”
I don’t like how they’re talking about me as if I’m not standing right here before them. It feels weird.
“Certainly” she says. She turns from me and leaves, without even casting a backward glance my way, and I’m left with a sadness that feels heavy on my chest. What did I do? I’d hoped for a friend in her, or… something.
It’s confusing, all of this interaction with other people. I’ve never spoken so much in my life, and it’s exhausting.
Keenan’s walking to a large closet, bigger than my room at home. “I mean to find if you’re telling me the truth, Caitlin.”
“Of course I am,” I tell him. “What use would it be to lie?”
He turns to face me, a length of rope in his hands. For some reason, the combination of the rope in his hands and the way he’s eyeing me makes me shiver. “Not much use if I caught you in a lie,” he says truthfully. “Doesn’t mean you won’t try it. But I’ve work to do and can’t trust you. Give me your wrists.”
Panic wells in me at the sight of the rope. He restrained me once, and I hoped he wouldn’t again. I hated being restrained.
“Why?” I ask, but it’s the wrong response. With a firm set of his jaw, he spins me around and cracks his hand against my backside. I gasp in pain and move to get away from him when a second hard blow follows the first. My cheeks flame with embarrassment. I’m humiliated at being punished like this.
“Stop!” I say, but he lands one final smack of his palm against my ass before he spins me back around to face him.
“I should punish you properly,” he says. “Give me cheek like that again, and I will.”
It’s not lost on me that his father demanded just this, that he punish me. Is this what he has in mind?
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I protest.
He spins me around he grabs my chin so roughly, his fingers hurt. I wonder if he leaves marks. “Obedience,” he says tightly. “Submission. I’ve given you more leeway that I should have. But I have my reasons. And your warnings are up, Caitlin. Now give me your wrists, or I will punish you properly.”
With tears in my eyes, I obey. I hate him. Hate him. I was hidden away, apart from others, and my first interaction with people outside the confines of my home has destroyed my faith in humanity. My father had good reason to be hidden away like he was. Good reason. I swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the way my nose tingles while he ties a knot around my wrists.
“Good girl,” he says. “Now, you’ll wait on the side of the bed while I get ready.” His voice drips with condescension, as if he thinks I’m only a child who needs correcting.
I scowl at him. I hate that this is my first interaction with the outside world, and he’s taught me hate.
“I don’t like that look on your face,” he corrects. “Wipe it.”
I hate him. I hate him.
It’s almost like I hear an audible snap in my brain, like my resolve’s been tied with string that can’t bear any more weight.
“You’re no better than your father,” I snap, flouncing onto the bed. I don’t curse, I will not, but I want to hurt him. “You’re a jerk, just like him. I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing, and yet you arrogant, domineering—” I’m so angry, hot, fat tears well in my eyes and I can’t speak anymore.
The way his eyes flash at me, I know I’ve said the wrong thing. “I’ll show you no better than my father,” he says, his jaw as hard as granite as he reaches for me, flips me over, and presses me onto my belly. I roll, trying to get away from him, as panic floods me. He’s going to hurt me. I can see it in his eyes.
He didn’t save me from his father. He kept me for himself.
He pushes me into the bed so hard I can barely breathe. I turn my head and gasp for breath. He’s got only one hand on me, but he’s so strong I can’t get away. My bound hands press into my chest. I hear a jingle of metal and a whirr. I flail in confusion and fear when the first searing strike hits me.
I howl in pain when a line of fire ignites across my thigh. “Stop!” I gasp, the pain’s too much, but he doesn’t heed my words. Still holding me down, he lashes me again, this time striking my backside. I gasp on a dry sob, wriggling to try to get away, but the harder I fight, the harder he pushes me. He strikes me again and again, until my world is throbbing pain and I’m choking on my tears.
“No more of your cheek. You’ll watch that tongue of yours.”
“Okay, okay. Stop, please!” I beg. “Please.”
“That’s for raising your hand to me,” he says, before he gives me another wicked lash of pain, followed by two more in rapid succession. I sob.
“That’s for your cheek, and that,” he says, underscoring his lecture with harsh strokes that take my breath away, “Is for good measure.”
“Please,” I sob, my voice cracking.
“Let’s be sure I’ve done a proper job,” he says tightly. “Do you have anything else to say about spying? For whom did you work?”
“No one!” I cry. I don’t tell him I didn’t spy. I can’t disrespect my father like tha
t. He isn’t here anymore to defend himself.
“You’re lying,” he snaps, lashing me again and again, until I feel my whole world is pain. I shake my head, refusing to contradict him but tempted to stop the punishment. He continues in silence, but I won’t speak.
Finally, when I’m convinced I can’t possibly take another moment, he pauses.
“I’ll get the truth from you, lass. Will you behave yourself?” he admonishes, his tone cutting, lacerating my heart. If I thought I’d see any mercy at his hands, I was wrong.
“Yes,” I say, though I’m still not even sure what “behave” means. “Yes. Please, stop hurting me.”
He releases me, and I cry softly into the soft, satiny sheets. Whatever he struck me with clatters to the floor, but I don’t know what it is, and I don’t care.
He isn’t done with me. Rolling me over onto my back, he drags me to my feet by my bound hands and pulls me to his chest. “My father ordered you punished,” he says, his voice angry and fierce, and it might be my imagination, but it seems there’s a note of regret in his tone. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But if I show up with you unrepentant and defiant, he’ll punish you far worse. Is that what you want, Caitlin? A man like my father meting out your discipline?”
I shake my head. I don’t know what his father is capable of, but I can only imagine.
“No,” I whisper, then quickly correct my response, a note of defeat in my voice that makes my shoulders droop. “No, sir.”
His response takes me by surprise. Grasping the back of my head, he pulls me to him and kisses my forehead with a ferocity that belies the tender gesture. “Good girl,” he whispers. “Good girl.”
Chapter Seven
Keenan
It’s with great regret I stop myself from punishing her further. Keeping a watchful eye on the pretty lass with tear-stained cheeks, I thread my belt back in my trousers and watch her. She sits on the bed, her eyes on me warily, taking in every detail.
If I’m to believe what she says, the girl is innocent to the ways of the world and may not even know who The Clan is. All the more reason for the punishment I just administered. She’s ignorant to the ways of organized crime, of criminals like us. And the sooner she sees how much danger she’s in, the better.
