My heart slammed up against my ribcage. I think it wanted to make a run for it on its own. At the rate it was galloping, it might have stood a chance.
The drugs had gotten me into this mess, but they were also my escape from it. Without them . . . I had no defenses, nowhere to hide. The memories—the blurs of sight and sound and color—suddenly snapped into focus. Not a day of my life would go by that I wouldn’t remember every last detail of this moment with perfect clarity.
The chill of the smooth sheets sliding beneath my palms and shins. The quiet chink of the clutch chain hitting the floor between the headboard and the wall. The taste of bile creeping up the back of my throat. The deafening sound of my own blood whooshing in my ears. The tang of citrus filling my nose.
I tried to hold onto thoughts of why I was doing this—the nameless, faceless girls counting on me to earn their freedom, to purchase it at the expense of my body and soul. It was a far greater payoff than anything I’d earned before, and yet they kept slipping away, overshadowed by the darkness of my current reality as I stared up at him standing over me.
“Ah,” Damien crooned. “What a sight. But this isn’t the view I’m craving right now.”
His fierce grip on my ankle startled me, and before I knew it, I found myself face down in a black silk pillow.
“There it is.” His voice grew deep and husky as his hands traveled slowly up the backs of my calves, my thighs. “You may not enjoy the things I do to you, but you’ll grow used to them.”
All at once, I was glad my face was buried in a pillow because I could no longer conceal the pure terror raging through me when his firm hands cupped my ass. What had I done, giving myself to a man I didn’t know? Trusting him not to hurt me when I knew exactly what he was capable of?
You may not enjoy the things I do to you? What things does he plan to do? My imagination ran wild, taking me to the depths of depravity. But in the end, he was a man. He wanted what they all wanted and he was no more creative about how he got it than any of the others.
Given the size of the room, I knew it couldn’t be the master suite in such an extravagant home. But if that wasn’t clue enough as to whom the room belonged, the distinct click of a deadbolt—on the outside the door—when Damien exited, left no doubt.
Chapter Forty-four
There was a small lake in the park across the street. The sunlight slanted off the water and every time the wind blew, tiny ripples disturbed the surface, causing it to shimmer like liquid gold. Heavy branches swayed in the surrounding trees. Every once and a while a leaf would tear free and float along until, finally losing its futile battle with gravity, it would come to its final resting place in the grass. I watched it all from behind the glass encasement, perched on the window seat of my gilded cage.
When I signed up to play ‘Undercover Spy’, I’d honestly expected it to be a bit more exciting, but mostly I was just . . . bored. I spent hours upon hours locked away in my room, unable to roam freely around the apartment unless Damien was home, and even then, he kept a close watch over me. Rosita was around throughout the day. I could hear the crisp slap of her sensible shoes along the floor as she went about her business, but I only saw her when she delivered my breakfast and lunch.
I rarely spoke to her, and when I did it was always benign statements like, ‘thank you’ and ‘when will Damien be home?’ As instructed, she never responded, but I think my simple communications—and the fact that I used her native language coherently—raised her opinion of me. At least she didn’t scowl every time she laid eyes on me anymore.
In the endless hours of utter boredom, however, I’d piece together broken phrases and a few of the million or so questions I wanted to ask her. Not easily accomplished, even with years’ worth of straight A’s behind my efforts. I could ask where the bathroom was as fluently as any native speaker, but phrases like ‘I’m being held against my will’, ‘Please help me escape’ and ‘How can you work for such a man?’ weren’t exactly part of the course vocabulary.
If things were different, I might have tried to use them anyway, even knowing the futility of it. As it was, I didn’t beg for her help because I didn’t need it. Freedom didn’t come in the form of escape for me. There was a key to my freedom. A key that I had to find. The only problem was I had no clue what it looked like or where it was hiding.
A lazy fire crackled in the electric fireplace warming the floorboards beneath my feet as I wandered along the walls of books. Some were so old the pages were yellowed, frail as skin, their covers curling outward. These were the ones that drew me in. They smelled of ink and coffee and tobacco, and told me a story of a time and place far from this one, without ever having to read a single word.
I ran my fingers reverently over the three-hundred-sixty-one titles. I’d counted them. Twice. Almost enough to read a book a day for a year, and at the rate I was going that was beginning to look like a distinct possibility. Three weeks and I hadn’t laid eyes on so much as an unpaid parking ticket.
Hours would pass where I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop moving, pacing my room like a caged animal. And I guess that’s what I was. For the first time in almost a year, I felt the urge to run. To break free of my confinements and soar. Feel the wind on my face, the pavement under my feet, the burn in my muscles.
When I’d finally force myself to stop and sit, my mind would drift, and I wouldn’t even notice how much time had passed until my body started aching—from lack of exercise, from sitting in one position for too long, I don’t know, but my brain kept insisting it was the drugs. I needed them.
I knew I didn’t, rationally. They were bad, the root of all my problems. The physical craving shouldn’t even exist anymore. It was all in my head. The heroin, itself, had cleared from my system, but the memories of it lingered. Of the peace it provided. The escape from the anxiety and regret. Things that plagued my every waking hour. I craved that peace so intensely sometimes that it hurt.
The sound of Damien’s smooth voice dismissing Rosita for the evening brought with it the stupidest of reactions . . . relief. Again my rational mind rebelled against these thoughts, but he was home and if I was lucky, I’d have a distraction for a couple hours. A change of scenery.
Rafe hadn’t been wrong when he said that men like Damien Cross wanted more than a fuck-buddy. In the time that I’d been with him, he’d been so consumed with his work that I barely even saw him. Some nights he’d come home and I’d hear him go into his office. I ate alone in my room those nights with no one for company but myself. I wasn’t very good company. Other nights, he wouldn’t come home at all. But on the rare occasion he’d unlock my cage and invite me to step outside, to join him for dinner, conversation. The rest of the apartment was really nothing more than a bigger cage, but it tasted like freedom to me.
I shouldn’t have wanted to be around him. Shouldn’t have craved his presence. But I was desperate. Starved for human interaction.
I sighed when I heard the lock on my door click open, rationality be damned.
“Star.” Damien stopped near the couch, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. I swear that smile was more deceitful than any words that flowed from his mouth. It was a weapon. A very effective weapon. “Would you care to join me for dinner?”
The untouched chicken pot pie from lunch still sat on the small round table flanked by a pair of camel-back chairs. I hadn’t had much of an appetite earlier, but now . . . “Yes. Please.”
Neither of us spoke as I trailed him from the room. I wanted to say something. Say anything. I hadn’t spoken to another person in days. But a conversation with Damien Cross felt a little like crossing a minefield. I had no idea where it was safe to step.
“I owe you an apology.” He detoured into the living room. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit neglectful. Things have been . . . complicated. I hope you understand.”
“Of course.” His kind of work must have all sorts of ‘complications’.
“Relax, pet.” Damien lowered h
imself gracefully onto the sofa and angled his body to face me where I continued to hover in the doorway. “Dinner is in the oven. It should be ready in about twenty minutes. This is your home now. Make yourself comfortable. There’s no need to hide in corners.”
Despite knowing better, I let the warmth of his smile lure me into a faulty sense of security. I stepped farther into the room and when he made no move to stop me, I wandered around the periphery, keeping a wide berth as I stretched my legs.
He watched me with barely concealed amusement. “How was your day?”
As though I hadn’t spent the entire thing locked in a room. “It was fine. How was . . .” Am I allowed to ask questions? “. . . yours?”
I braced for his response, but he merely sighed. “Long.”
Near the window I came to a stop, my attention snared by a framed photo sitting on a small table in the corner. His hair was longer than he kept it now and there was a bit more baby fat in his cheeks, but his eyes . . . there was no denying those striking blue eyes.
“Is this you?”
“No.”
I glanced at Damien and back at the image. He was lying. He had to be. But why? What had happened to that happy little boy to turn him into the calculating man behind me? I was so curious about that man. Not just for the sake of the investigation, but for my own personal sanity. I couldn’t figure him out.
I’d come into this expecting . . . I don’t know what I’d expected. A monster? Someone cold and dismissive? Someone cruel? So far, he hadn’t proved to be any of those things. So far, he’d been polite, considerate, almost . . . kind.
“What did you want to be when you were little?” I kept my eyes glued to the picture, half hoping he hadn’t heard my question.
“You mean did I always aspire to be a criminal?” His words made me wince, though his voice remained even. Curiosity had always been one of my greatest flaws. Under current circumstances it was likely to send me the way of the cat. “It might surprise you to know this, Star, but I haven’t always been this way.”
I risked a peek in his direction. He didn’t look angry, arms stretched across the back of the sofa, legs crossed knee to ankle. His brows inched up, daring me, wordlessly, to come closer.
Dare? Order? It didn’t matter. Cautiously, I perched on the far cushion.
Humor lit his eyes. “A doctor.”
“What?”
“As a child . . .” He folded his hands and tipped his head as though he were trying to make up his mind about something. About me. “I wanted to be a doctor. A pediatric oncologist, to be precise.”
“How did . . .?” Am I overstepping my bounds asking what happened? After all, it was a hell of a leap—pediatric oncologist to criminal overlord—but, then again, were we so very different?
“The boy in the picture . . .” He nodded at the image I’d been examining. “That’s my brother. My twin, actually. Marcus.”
Two of them? Lord, help the planet.
His hands twisted and his expression turned flat, emotionless. “He died less than a year after that was taken.”
“Oh.” I took in the boy’s smiling face again and felt the loss as though I’d known him personally. “I’m sorry.”
“So were the hospitals that turned him away. The doctors that refused to treat him because my father couldn’t afford insurance. He was a good man, my father. Hard-working. Honest. Loyal. What did that ever get him besides a shitty place to call home and a dead son?” Bitterness tinged his words, but the mask of indifference remained in place as he studied the picture of his brother. “He had leukemia. I thought I could change things. Thought I’d become a great doctor and help all the people no one else would. I was a child.” The word was spit from his lips as though it were something to be disgusted by. “Ideals and good intentions do not change the world, Star. The world doesn’t change. It never will. And good men never come in first.
“I was surrounded day and night by shady men and women working the streets near my house. Pimps, prostitutes, dealers . . . killers with more money than they knew what to do with. When I was old enough to truly understand how the world works, I swore to myself I’d never lack for anything I needed or wanted ever again. And I haven’t.” His arms swept wide to encompass the extravagant apartment surrounding us and a huge smile broke across his face.
I could see his point—he’d proven it—but at what cost?
His soul was the only answer I could conjure.
Chapter Forty-five
“I have a gift for you.”
My shoulder bounced off the cool glass where I sat curled up in the window seat. So engrossed in the mystery I’d been reading all day, I hadn’t even noticed the sun setting outside. Or heard Damien arrive home. Or come into my room. Yet there he was, standing at the food of the bed, a long garment bag draped over one arm.
Stuffing a bookmark in place, I set aside the novel and approached him slowly, curiosity mildly outweighing my trepidation. Other than the vast array of clothing provided in my walk-in closet, he’d never tried to tell me what to wear before.
Damien’s deep chuckle chilled my bones and sent fire and ice through my veins. “Relax, pet. You’ll like it. I promise.”
Hooking the hanger over the canopy frame, he unzipped the bag and carefully guided a long black sequined dress into the light. It was obviously meant to be skin tight, backless, and absolutely stunning. The kind of dress that belonged on a red carpet somewhere.
“W—” My fingers strained to touch the shimmering material. “Why?”
“We’re hosting a party this evening. Get ready.”
As expected the dress clung to my every curve. I twisted this way and that, examining my reflection in the full length mirror in my private bathroom. I’d studiously avoided mirrors like it was my job for weeks, but now I took a long, hard look. And I honestly didn’t know what to think about what I saw.
I was still too thin, but I’d put some weight back on. My skin was pale from lack of sunlight, but it had lost the yellow pallor. My eyes looked different. More alive. And my hair was getting back some of its thickness and shine. Whether or not I wanted to admit it, being locked away in Damien’s apartment seemed to be agreeing with me. I was sheltered, pampered, and the drugs were entirely out of reach. Even when I found myself craving them—when I was so overcome by stress and boredom that I physically shook with my need for them—I knew I could never relapse simply because Damien would not allow it.
Pressing the palm of my hand against my churning stomach, I spritzed on a perfume Damien seemed to favor and finished pulling my hair up to expose my neck. God, I looked incredible. And all I wanted, more than anything, was an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. I wanted clothes I could hide in. I wanted body armor. Instead, I reached back and unsnapped my bra. No use trying to be modest now.
“You look ravishing.” I watched Damien’s reflection as he approached. Felt the heat of his body against my back. His eyes caught mine in the mirror and flared before he bent his head and his hot, wet mouth traveled along the slope of my neck and across my bared shoulder. “I could just eat you up. And perhaps I will. Later. The guests will be arriving any minute now.”
I felt the evidence of his dark promise pressing against my back and shuddered.
“The rules for this evening are very simple. You will stay with me at all times and you will not speak to anyone except me, unless given my approval. Is that understood?”
I nodded, sincerely doubting there would be anyone in attendance I’d be interested in speaking to anyway.
“I don’t like to threaten, Star, but I think we both know that a violation of these rules will be met with . . . consequences.” His fingers glided up and down my throat, barely a wisp of a touch, but I felt the threat nonetheless.
Swallowing hard, I almost choked on my reply. “I understand.”
Damien’s head dipped to trace the shell of my ear with his nose. “Good girl.”
He had a way of leaving my head spinning
and when he pulled back abruptly, I had to grab hold of the sink to keep myself upright.
“Come.” He whirled me around and linked his arm with mine. “I need to check on the arrangements.”
Everything seemed to be in order in the kitchen. Rows of champagne glasses were lined up and ready to be served, trays of fancy finger foods were garnished to look more like works of art than hors d’oeurves.
“And the buffet?” Damien addressed a man in uniform who looked flushed and out of breath.
“Just finishing up now, sir. Everything should be prepared in the dining room.”
“Excellent.”
Silver trays covered the long ebony table from end to end, laden with everything from steak to pasta. Oysters, scallops, lobster, pools of melted butter . . . Some kind of black globules sat in a bowl beside a plate of crackers. At the far end, was a tall, decorative fountain, splashing with liquid chocolate and surrounded by delicately carved fruit, so beautiful it was almost a shame to eat.
I surveyed the banquet laid out before us and stumbled to a halt. Beyond the chocolate fountain flashing silver eyes collided with mine and my knees gave out so fast, if Damien hadn’t been there to catch me, I would have hit the floor.
“Careful there.”
“I’m sorry.” Regaining my wits, I righted myself and smoothed out the material of his jacket sleeve. “These heels. I’m not used to them.”
“That’s alright, my Star.” Soft, smooth, well-manicured fingers stroked my cheek, pausing to play with a loose curl, and my stomach knotted knowing Elijah witnessed it all. “Just means you won’t be able to stray far from me this evening. Come, pet. Everything seems to be in order here. We need to greet our guests.”
Head bowed, I followed obediently out of the room, resolutely refusing to so much as glance in Elijah’s direction. I would have collapsed all over again. With longing? Relief? Terror? All three.
Damien Cross was not a man to be trifled with.
Rock Bottom Page 20
