Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance

by Kristen Proby

  “You were before in your father’s home.” My voice is deep and echoes in the foyer. Her eyes reach up to mine in shock as I continue, “Afraid to leave. Afraid to do anything without permission.”

  “I wasn’t afraid,” she whispers, and I know she’s well aware of the lie she’s spoken.

  “You let fear rule you. Don’t lie to me.” Unease trickles through me. The realization of what she truly fears could change everything.

  “How do you know what I did and didn’t do?” she asks weakly, denying the truth and deflecting her attention to something else.

  Since she lied to me, I present a lie to her in return. “When you were offered to me, I did my research. I have friends in your father’s army of men. Eyes and ears who offer information for a certain price. I know you spent almost all of your time alone in your room. Maybe that’s why it took so long for you to obey me. You’re used to cells.”

  Her mouth parts, no doubt with a rebuttal, but wisely she slams it shut before a word is spoken.

  Time passes as we move on. Both of us quiet. Both of us in our own world of denial.

  “Your things can be moved to my office, den, or the bedroom. The drawing pad and whatever else you want,” I offer her but still, she’s quiet. Her fingers fidget with one another throughout the tour of the two wings she’s allowed to enter. She doesn’t seem to look at anything or notice anything at all unless we pass a window, which, as I pointed out, have locks on them as well.

  “Why are there five wings?” she asks me as I lead her to the grand kitchen. She still hasn’t eaten and she needs to. There’s no reason for her not to and the threat of sending her back to the cell if she doesn’t, is so close to being spoken to life. I’d rather save it for something else, something more meaningful. But my little bird needs to eat.

  “I had four brothers and decided they should each have their own wing,” I tell her and step into the kitchen. The garden is just beyond the back wall, lined with black glass from floor to ceiling. The floors are a dark walnut and polished so smoothly I can see our reflection in them.

  Her eyes move across the sleek, modern kitchen, from the high-end cabinets to the white granite countertops. Everything is done in white. It’s clean and modern and balances the black glass perfectly.

  I anticipate her saying many things, but not the next words that spill from her lips.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My forehead pinches with a deep crease. “For what?” I question.

  “You said you had four brothers. I take it that one or more have passed?” She turns to face me and her hip brushes one of the stools to the island. I can tell she’s not sure if she should sit or not, and I leave her wondering. Just like I leave the pangs of regret and sadness to settle in my gut. Instead, I focus on how discerning Aria is. She’s a deadly combination of beautiful and perceptive. I need to remember that.

  “Carter,” Jase calls out from behind me and when I turn his steps slow. His eyes drift from where I am, almost blocking Aria from view, and then to her.

  “I didn’t realize you were busy,” he says to me although his eyes travel down Aria’s body. Even with her robe tied tightly with the sash and covering her décolletage, she looks like she was made to tempt.

  “What is it?” I ask him and again he looks at her. From my periphery, I watch her glance at the floor and those fingers of hers continue making tight knots around one another.

  Gripping the back of her neck, just slightly, she stops her fidgeting.

  They both want to know what she is to me. I can see it written on their faces as much as I can feel the tension in the air.

  It doesn’t matter what she is, so long as they all know she’s mine.

  Even more, I know Jase is questioning the way I hold her at this moment and why she’s out of the cell. Maybe he’s wondering how long I’ll keep her out here. Or how long I’ll keep her period.

  I make soothing strokes with my thumb along the back of her neck as Jase tells me something about a car. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. I don’t give a damn either. I assume it’s some update about the supply, but he doesn’t want to speak openly in front of Aria.

  My little songbird relaxes under my touch, peeking up at me every so often. I know she’s wondering what he thinks of her.

  “Aria,” I say her name in the middle of whatever Jase was saying and he falls silent. “I’d like you to step outside, so I can talk to Jase.” All I can hear is her breathing in this moment. The fear, the hope, the surprise of her surroundings. My poor Aria knows so little. But she’ll learn.

  She quickly nods but she doesn’t move until my hand slips down her back, leaving a trail along the silk. Jase stays by the island, his hands in his pockets as I lead her to the door. It’s black glass as well and blends into the wall, only opening when a verified print is pressed against the biometric security panel. Aria watches intently, but she wouldn’t be able to open it if she tried and with fifteen-foot walls around the garden and a guarded fence around the estate, she won’t be able to run.

  I can see it on her face when the realization registers with her.

  “And when I’m done with this conversation, it’s back to the bedroom.” I lean in closer to her and whisper in her ear, “I’m going to fuck you until I’ve had my fill.”

  The sound of Jase’s footsteps lets me know he’s coming as I watch Aria walk into the garden, letting the sun hit her face as if it’s the first time she’s ever experienced it.

  “I have Jared on the lookout at the club. We’ll have a list of the heavy buyers of S2L by the end of the week.”

  “Perfect,” I answer him although I watch Aria walking deeper into the garden to lie on a patch of grass. “Anything else?”

  “Talvery knows we have her.”

  A smile pulls my lips up. “It took him long enough. One of Romano’s men leaked it?”

  I turn to Jase, who’s watching Aria as he nods. “It couldn’t stay secret forever.” He turns to look at me before adding, “He’ll come for her.”

  “He’ll want to,” I correct him. “But which of his men would be willing to come here and die for her?”

  “She speaks highly of Nikolai,” Jase offers, and I can see the hint of a smile on his face. Aria’s first week in the cell gave me plenty of information as she talked out loud to nothing but brick walls, begging for help and companionship. Nikolai’s name slipped from her lips nearly every single fucking day.

  “Let him come. He can be the first of them to die.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aria

  The smell of coffee is what wakes me, and without thinking I roll over in the large bed, stretching before I’m even fully awake. The soothing ache of my muscles is comforting, as is the gentle fragrance of clean linens and the hint of a masculine scent that makes my core both ache and heat.

  And then I remember.

  It’s always like this.

  I’ve been out of the cell for three days, and yet when I wake up in Carter’s bed, it takes me a moment to remember. Maybe I don’t want to admit that it’s real. Maybe a part of my subconscious is far away from here. But each morning I have to remember.

  Slowly, I calm my beating heart and wait for a noise, any sign that he’s here. He’s a sinful addiction, creeping into my blood and fueling the lust and fire for the forbidden. I crave him, his acceptance, his dominance, and yet I’m so aware that’s all wrong. That small voice that whispers there must be a way out of here is getting quieter by the day. That’s what scares me the most.

  Three mornings I’ve woken up in Carter’s bed, and just like the last two, he’s not here.

  Not physically, but he’s watching. I learned the hard way yesterday, only the second day of being out of the cell. I thought I couldn’t waste another day, listening and obeying. I had to try to find a way out of here. The memory forces my gaze to the dresser.

  I was snooping. How could I not? He wasn’t here, and I still have no way out of his gr
asp. No one comes in and no one goes out. The place is a fortress and I its prisoner.

  And so, drawer after drawer, I slipped them open, hoping to find something. I’m not sure what. A gun or a weapon.

  I’m not sure he’d listen to me if I made demands and held him at gunpoint, or that I’d be successful in rushing him or forcing him to let me go. Somehow, I find it hard to believe, but still, I had to try.

  My eyes close and my body tenses, remembering his deep voice and how it shook me to the core. The drawer slammed shut as I screamed out and dared to look over my shoulder at Carter leaning against the doorframe.

  “Kneel.” The one word I’ve refused over and over from Carter brought me to my knees. My words tripped over one another as I tried to apologize or hide what I was doing.

  But I’ve always been a terrible liar and he knew better.

  “Open your mouth.” Hearing him give me the command made my pussy hot and clench with desire. He throat fucked me. A punishment, I suppose, but it’s not what it was for me.

  With my fingers digging into my thighs, my eyes burning, and my breath cut from me, he shoved himself down my throat. And I was nothing but wet for him.

  The fear was still present. It’s always present. The knowledge that when he was done using me, he could send me back to the cell kept that fear very much alive.

  He wasn’t done with me when he pulled away and allowed me to breathe again. As I heaved for air, he forced me to all fours. Shamefully, my face turned hot as it hit the rug and he slammed inside of me. My back tried to arch as I moaned a ragged, strangled sound of pleasure.

  I came nearly instantly, and Carter stilled deep inside of me. Gripping the hair at the base of my skull, he forced me to arch my back and whispered in my ear, “You fucking love what I do to you.” And I couldn’t deny it.

  I fucking loved it. But it was a punishment and I was reminded of that and what I’d done before he left me panting and sated on the floor.

  “Next time it will be the cell.” His words ring clear in my head as I glance at all the drawers I have yet to open.

  I may love the way he fucks me, but that doesn’t change much. I don’t fight the urges anymore. I want them, and they help me to survive, but it doesn’t make me any less ashamed, because I know very well I’m a prisoner here and Carter can do with me as he wishes.

  Although I crave my freedom, that doesn’t mean I don’t have desires in my captivity.

  The one thing I always notice is what Carter doesn’t do.

  He never kisses me. Never once. And he doesn’t talk to me the same way when there are people around. I’ve met two of his brothers and each time I anticipated being tossed aside or demeaned. But each time, Carter’s talked to me as if I’m a friend, maybe. Or a business acquaintance. As do his brothers, although their words are few.

  When we’re alone, it’s different. There’s a comfort in his voice I didn’t expect that’s only replaced by a heavy cadence of desire when he gives me a command.

  The combination of all of this is a whirlwind of chaos in my mind.

  But one fact remains the same: Another day survived is another day I’m Carter’s whore.

  My bare feet sink into the rug beneath the bed as I slink off of it and walk toward the cup of coffee on the dresser. It’s still hot to the touch.

  A million thoughts bombard me every waking moment. Why is he doing this is the one that’s a constant. Carter’s a man of intentions. Calculated and manipulative.

  Lifting the hot cup of coffee to my lips, I blow across the top and feel the heat caress my face.

  He could have slipped something into the cup. He could have left it on the dresser intentionally to remind me of yesterday. My feet are planted right where I was when he punished me.

  I go over every possible reason he could have had for putting a cup of a coffee within sight and leaving it for me. It’s flavored with enough cream and sugar that the bitter coffee flavor is less evident. Yesterday I made a cup for myself, my first cup of coffee since I’ve been here. And he must have watched.

  Maybe that was the reason he left this here; he wanted me to know he was watching. Maybe he just wanted me to wake up.

  Swallowing the sweetened drug, I decide it doesn’t matter. I could wonder all I want, but I’ll never know.

  The only thing that matters is that if I didn’t drink it, he would know, and I imagine he would be disappointed. Which is something I don’t want to risk happening after yesterday.

  I’m determined to be cautious and smart with every decision.

  To not go back to the cell, but also to help Carter. I haven’t forgotten his deal. He said I would help him and then he’d give me everything. I’m waiting, staying in his good graces. But something is going to change. I can feel it in my bones. All I have to do is obey and wait for the time to strike. Either for his plan to come to fruition or for another opportunity to make its presence known so I can escape and go back to the safety of my father’s home.

  Before I even realize it, the ceramic mug is empty in my hands and I leave it on the dresser to change into the clothes he left for me on the end of the bed.

  Another routine of his. It’s the routines that give me comfort. Knowing what to expect, and how to react. That’s something that doesn’t frighten me, if nothing else.

  The fabric is thicker today. Nothing sheer or delicate. I have to grip the shoulders of it and hold it at arm’s length to discover it’s a black cotton wraparound dress. It’s beautiful and as I slip it on, the soft fabric tickling just above my knee where it stops, I start to feel beautiful myself.

  The necklace, the dress. They’re classically elegant and hug my curves. I’m tempted to brush my hair and use some of the toiletries Jase bought for me.

  More than anything, I want to draw the image of the woman I used to be onto the new canvases I was given last night. A blank page begs to be covered in ink, and I feel and look so different now. Maybe not so much on the surface, but everything I think and feel is no longer a semblance of what once was.

  But first, I dress how he wants me to, I’ll seek him out, and then I’ll bide my time hiding in the art where I can remember what used to be and hold on to the last piece of the girl I used to know.

  I know I’m only playing into Carter’s hand as I thread my fingers through my locks and make a braid, placing it over my shoulder and then reach for the cosmetic bag. I don’t recognize myself.

  But the woman in the mirror is lovely. The kind of lovely that fills other women with envy, but as I drop the mascara onto the counter, I know that no one would envy me and all I am is a pretty fuck doll for Carter.

  For now. It’s what I have to be. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I try to dignify it by convincing myself that I have to in order to survive. But I can’t deny the thought of him commanding me to spread my legs for him sends a wave of heat and want to my core.

  Stepping out of the bedroom makes me nervous. It doesn’t make much sense to feel safe at all here, but there is a hint of safety in knowing that only Carter will come into his bedroom. I know what to expect. Outside of the confines of those walls are things I have yet to explore.

  I know where the den is, and I spent a good bit of time there yesterday. Photographs upon photographs and beautiful art lined every inch of wall in the den. It was easy to lose myself, and take in each one, imagining I had somehow slipped away and fallen into the art, away from here.

  Someone in here has a fondness for old trucks. Nearly ten photographs had trucks in them, rusted and worn down, the hoods covered in snow or blue flowers peeking out from under the tires. I’ve never felt so strongly that old trucks are beautiful until I felt the emotion from the photographs. Maybe I’ll draw that instead. Or both. I have plenty of time for both.

  I know where the kitchen is from Carter’s bedroom too.

  And I’ve ventured there on my own once, but the other times Carter’s brought me there.

  Yesterday he made me kneel in the kit
chen. The way he said it reminded me of the punishment in his bedroom, and I quickly fell to the ground to obey.

  The cold floors were smooth and unforgiving against my legs, but I stayed still and at his feet as he fed me bits of his meals. I think he truly enjoys doing it. Having me on my knees beside him and at his mercy. And I have to admit, I didn’t hate it, at least not until someone came into the kitchen.

  I could hear whoever it was walking in, but they didn’t say a word. I remember how I stilled, how I didn’t know what to do.

  Carter continued to place the chunks of salmon between my lips. And within seconds, whoever had entered, left.

  From what I know, there are four men living here. The only other one who’s talked to me outside of Carter is Jase. But I imagine it’s only when Carter permits it. And I have a mental note in the back of my head to befriend him. The more ammunition I have, the better.

  But I’ll be careful. I’ll be smart. And for now, that means obeying.

  I’m nearly to the right threshold of the grand kitchen when I see Carter leaning against the counter, an iPad in his hand and his attention focused on it.

  I can’t help the way I freeze. As if I could somehow blend into the rich hall and vanish before he could see me.

  Even if his touch lights every nerve ending of mine on fire, I still fear Carter. That will never change. Letting out a shaky breath is my downfall; Carter peeks up from his task and sees me. His gaze is lethal as he takes in my appearance.

  Slowly. Ever so slowly.

  Every inch of skin where his gaze lingers is instantly set ablaze.

  “Come.” It’s the only word I’m given. A command not to be denied, and that rapid hammering in my chest intensifies. One step after another.

  My life has become a series of careful steps.

  Before I’ve even come fully into the kitchen, he commands me to kneel and I hesitate. His voice is different. The reverence and desire are absent. Something’s wrong and immediately I feel defensive. My hands feel clammy as I wonder what’s changed. I nearly swear to him that I haven’t done anything wrong.