by S. L. Scott
Oh God.
I wiggle my legs, and they’re free. When I spread them wide, I discover I’m on a large mattress covered in soft and silky sheets, the luxurious kind that covered my bed in Paris.
Closing my eyes, I try to focus on something happier—Bennett’s handsome face and great laugh when I stole his fry—and regulate my panting breaths to calm my heart before it explodes from my chest.
“You can relax,” a female voice says with distance between us. “You’ll be fine.”
I’ll be fine? Fear sprints through my veins. My mind ticks through what happened while I was out. Soft fabric stretches over my breasts, but bra straps don’t cut into my skin. The sheet slips over my legs with ease, but I can feel a pair of underwear covering me. I try to remember what I was wearing when I was awake last.
New York.
Night.
Yoga pants. Sports bra. T-shirt.
Bennett’s face before the door closed and I passed out.
Drugged . . . Kurt.
I’m careful with my words, not sure who or what I’m dealing with. “Where am I? Who are you? Why am I tied up?”
“I expected something more original. Those questions are boring.”
“Not to me.” I try to sit up again. When that’s too hard to do, I rub the side of my head against the pillowcase to get the mask off to no avail. “Let me go. Please.”
The mattress dips beside me, sending my pulse to skyrocket through the roof. A hand lifts my mask, but I don’t find the relief I was expecting. Her smooth hair is shinier up close, her eyes greener, her skin tanner. “Chelsea?”
“We’ve not officially met.”
I glance down at my chest, suddenly feeling more exposed than before. A vintage Blondie T-shirt I bought on the left bank is covering me. That’s when I look past her and around. My apartment . . . Paris. Oh my God! My heart picks up the pace again. I never woke up on the plane this time. I don’t know why that bothers me. I should be happy to be alive, even if only long enough to beg for more time.
My thoughts turn, and I focus on every part of my body, taking inventory of any unwanted sensation. I exhale, closing my eyes, thankful that I don’t feel violated beyond my current situation.
“I dressed you,” she says, “but you even make street clothes look good.” I’m not sure how to respond, so I stare at her, waiting for the ambush. She removes the mask altogether and runs her fingers through my hair to the very tips letting it fall gracefully down around me. I can’t read her eyes. The pupils are large, but they’re void of emotion, maybe resigned. Drugged? She adds, “I’ve heard enough about it to want to feel it for myself.”
Angling away from her, I say, “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” Sitting there, she appears to contemplate her next move. “I’m never enough for him.” She walks across the small one-room apartment and looks at herself in the mirror. I recognize her dress as the Agostino I bought out of spite last month. It was five thousand dollars, and I didn’t bother having it fitted. I never intended to wear it because it could walk the line between evening and wedding, and I never wanted to give Kurt the wrong idea. I just wanted to burn through his money. He never said a thing.
She says, “I can appreciate a beautiful woman.” Turning back, she looks at me. “But how do I compete?”
The dress doesn’t fit her properly, the small cap sleeves keep dropping. “What are you talking about? Why am I restrained?” I yank at the chains again, my wrists beginning to burn from the tight cuffs rubbing against them.
With my head lifted, I watch her open her clutch and pull out what appears to be a tube of Chanel lipstick. When she starts to apply it, slowly, so she doesn’t color outside the lines, I realize it’s the same color I wear. My gaze flicks to the vanity where I always kept everything organized and notice the empty space. Holy shit, she’s a psycho. Is she single white female-ing me? “Please let me go, Chelsea.”
“I didn’t like this idea, but you know Kurt.”
“What idea?”
Without missing a beat, she continues, “He’s always such a drama king.” She snaps the lid closed and drops it back in her purse. “I won’t be the one who kills you, Winter.”
My head bolts back up. “Kill me?”
“I may be second best, but I’m willing to stick this out until I’m first.” Waggling her hand, she displays a huge diamond ring on her finger. The one that gutted me the first time I saw it on the society page. “I got the ring. Eventually, I’ll own his heart.” She stands and comes to the side of the bed to gaze down at me. “In the meantime, we have dinner plans.”
“We do?”
Laughing, she pats my arm and then turns away. “No, silly.”
While she’s walking to the door, she looks back after snapping up her purse. “I see why he’s fixated on you. Maybe we can spend some time together when I come back to study your personality.”
“Study?” Is she . . . trying to become me? “Chelsea, don’t leave. Let me go. Please don’t leave. Who’s going to kill me?”
The psycho stops and turns around. “That is for you and your god to decide, not me.” She walks out of view, and I hear the door open. “Please,” I shout, tears stinging my eyes. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me like this.”
Then the door slams closed, and I drop my head, tears sliding over my temples into my hair. Kill? Someone is going to kill me?
I won’t welcome it. I’ll fight until my last breath is ripped from my chest because for the first time in my life, I have something to live for. Someone to live for. I squeeze my eyes closed and let thoughts of Bennett meander through my veins to settle my mind so I can think clearly.
Looking up at each wrist, I tug once more to see how hard it would be to break from the bed. The posts are at least five inches thick. My wrist will break before those will. I’m stretched too far to reach either cuff with my head or teeth.
“Fuck!” I shout frustrated, digging my head into the pillow and kicking the covers off.
That’s it! “Help me! Help! Help! Help!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Help—”
The door opens and my words and breath stall in my throat. Kurt comes around the corner like he lives here. “Winter, shhh. You’re going to get us in trouble.”
“That’s the point.”
He smiles, and it actually appears genuine. When he sits next to me, some kind of strange emotion invades his dark eyes. “Oh, God.” Happiness. That can’t be right. He’s happy to see me? I remember that expression from when we first met. My body shrinks away as much I can when he reaches to touch my face. What the fuck is happening?
“Yes, I’ll be your god, Winter. I’ll be everything. For you.” He looks down at my shirt disapprovingly. I find an ounce of pleasure in his displeasure.
“What are you doing with me?”
“Such a loaded question.” Running the tip of his finger up the middle of my belly and dragging the shirt with it, he stops just before he exposes my breasts. His gaze flicks up to my eyes. “It was good having Chelsea by my side and you in my bed—”
“That was never my choice.”
He laughs humorlessly. “We see things differently. I remember a woman with potential in her eyes asking for a job. Who gave you that job?” When he runs his hand under my shirt, my body recoils from his touch.
“Joyce in HR.”
“I did!” he snaps, pressing on my bruised ribs. The rejection apparently stings, despite me thinking he couldn’t feel anything but contempt. He stands to examine my face and then frowns. “The bruises are healing, but I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.” Grabbing my face, he squeezes enough to cause pain as his thumb digs into the bruise on my jaw. “You make me crazy, and I lose myself.”
“There’s no denying who you really are anymore.” I try to turn away from him, but he holds me there. “Why am I here?”
“Because I miss you,” he replies, leaving me exposed on the bed.
“You have Chelsea.�
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“I don’t want Chelsea. She’s predictable.” Ironically, I got the exact opposite vibe from her.
I shoot daggers with my eyes. I hate everything about him, even the way he walks across the room like he’s actually the god he believes himself to be. “What do you want?”
Unscrewing the top from a bottle of scotch that he always keeps stocked here, he glances at me over his shoulder. “You.”
Everests and me. I don’t dare utter their name, hoping he’s been sidetracked enough to forget about them. I’ll take the hit for all of them, and for Bennett, I would do anything. “You didn’t want me. That’s why you proposed to Chelsea.”
He pours the liquid into a crystal glass and turns around again. With his eyes locked on my body, he swallows, drinking me in with the liquor. Running his thumb over his mouth, he catches the extra drop that escaped the glass and licks it.
Setting the glass down, he moves to the other side of the bed and lies next to me. Staring up at the fabric canopy, the back of his hand rests against my hip. I would move, but I have no doubt he’d find me again. “I made a mistake,” he says, rolling to face me. “If I apologize, will you take me back?”
“What?” I spit that response before I have time to compose a less violent reaction. “This is coming out of the blue, Kurt.” I’ve never seen this side of him. He’s almost . . . human.
“I know. It disappointed me as well. I think I might have a heart, after all, and I’m willing to give it to you to care for. That’s romantic. You like that, right?”
I’m stunned. I even raise an eyebrow in disbelief. Kurt McCoy is a narcissistic psychopath who’s more deluded than his crazy fiancée. I need to outsmart him, which means staying calm and sounding strong . . . Take control of this situation. This is life or death. “What about Chelsea?” I ask, trying to sound unperturbed as if I’m glad he wants me and not her. Play the game, Winter. Play the game. But don’t acquiesce or he’ll know. “Chelsea loves you, Kurt.”
“She has no spine. She doesn’t have an original thought in that head of hers. Not like you. No, she doesn’t have your spirit, the fight to survive, or a soul that’s tainted like mine. I knew you were made to be mine when you took that first step into my office. Darkness attracts darkness, ma princesse ténébreuse.”
I prefer Bennett’s sweetheart to Kurt’s princess, Bennett’s light to Kurt’s dark.
“You’re confused,” I say flatly. “You don’t love me, and I don’t love you. That’s not what we ever were. I used you to get back at my father. I stole your insider secrets to win back his love.”
“You think you used me, but I won. I outplayed a player. I can respect that you tried, and it doesn’t matter where you are in life, you’ll always be mine.”
“I’m not now, and I’ll never be. I’m not yours. I’m not even my own. You threw me out as bait in the middle of Paris but never told me who to lure. No, you don’t love me, Kurt, and I don’t love you.”
“I do, and you do. You always did.”
“No, I just didn’t know any better.” Now I do. I don’t know why I’m confessing this to him, but it seems like maybe he needs to hear it.
“You now love an Everest?”
Yes. Flutters fill my tummy, but I hold down any sign that will give away how much I love Bennett. I hope to see him again one day, so I must lie better than I ever have. “Love was never meant for me. I’m buried under too much darkness.”
“I want to scrub you clean of your sins and his fingerprints from your skin. I will own you again, Winter.” His hand clamps down on my throat, and he starts to squeeze, fear shooting through me as I yank at the chains.
My eyes begin tracing the pattern in the French fabric above to find a safer place in my mind, but he finally releases. “No one will ever own me again,” I say, coughing.
“I can give you everything you ever dreamed of.”
There’s no malice in his expression when I glance his way. He seems to believe what he’s saying. He’s playing his best game yet—the human one—but I’m too wise to fall for it this time. “You can’t give me a real family, and you will never love me like I deserve.” I close my eyes and the words you aren’t Bennett float through my head. “You tried to kill me. How is that love?”
“Your nine lives prove your pussy is mine. We’re meant to be together. And I can give you your family back. I can make them love you. You will have me. You’ll want for nothing.”
When I see how hopeful he is, I know there’s no real question being asked. Only a demand. Some things will never change. If I refuse him, he’s never going to let me live. I’m never going to walk out of here. So I do have a choice, but both of them end in my death—body or soul.
It doesn’t matter how he tries to pretend we’re friends, lying on the bed next to me like I’m here by choice. I pull at the chains binding me to the bed, a reminder to him of what this really is.
He sits up, turning his back to me. He knows how I feel about a future with him. Once I left, I only looked back when I was forced to. He’s incapable of accepting the truth. A heavy sigh falls across his shoulders, and he stands, straightening his shirt. “I must go, or I’ll be late for dinner.”
“With your fiancée.”
“She might be my fiancée, but you could be my wife.”
Lose-lose is what that is. There’s no other way around it. He’s never actually said the word love because he has never known it. I can play his game to live a little longer or die trying to get the answers I need. “Why did you kidnap me?”
Returning to where he left his drink, he lifts it to his mouth but pauses. “This is your last chance, Ms. Nobleman.”
“Last chance?”
“To live.” With his back to me, he finishes the liquor in one swift go and sets the glass down. He looks back at me, and says, “You have until I return. Then I want an answer.” The room is left ripe with his anger in his absence.
And I’m left to decide if I want to live or die.
33
Winter
Curling onto my side, I try to go back to sleep, but when I realize I’m free, my lids fly open.
Chelsea sits in the chair with her legs tucked under her, the white evening gown flowing over the side and pooling on the floor next to her sparkling shoes.
A puff of smoke fills the air above her, causing me to look down at her hand. The cigarette needs to be tapped, but her eyes are on me with black streaks staining her cheeks. “Who’s Bennett?”
I don’t reply, but since I’m unchained, I get up cautiously. She doesn’t seem to mind. She’s a mess, and my gut tells me that’s not good for me. An empty bottle of red wine sits on the table and what looks to be the last of it in a glass next to it.
She repeats her question and then takes another long drag of the cigarette, her eyes never blinking or leaving mine.
“A friend.”
“A special friend if he’s worth mentioning in your sleep,” she adds, ash falling on the dress and burning the silk fabric. The black dots meld with the red wine she’s already spilled. “Did you know that you can’t buy happiness?”
She’s a woman on the edge of a breakdown, so I proceed cautiously. “I learned the hard way.”
“So did I.” She smiles as if we’re bonding. “I didn’t know you were here until today. I didn’t know . . .” The smile falls away and takes a sip of wine. “As soon as you arrived, he was on edge. Anxious to see you. When I confronted him, he slapped me.”
Moving closer to the large wardrobe, I reach for a long yellow skirt on a hanger dangling from the corner, and then move slowly like we’re friends spending time together. I’d prefer jeans or pants, but I’m not pushing my luck and stick to the closest option.
“That was before dinner,” she says, leaning her head back on the golden velvet wingback. “Kurt ended us right before the third course was served because you agreed to be his again.”
Oh, no. My stomach tightens while my breathing picks up. I keep
my eyes on her while slipping on the skirt. “That’s not true, Chelsea.”
“What is the truth, Winter? Tell me how you got entangled with the man I’m supposed to marry.”
“We were dating, and I fell for him.” The words are sour on my tongue, but the truth isn’t always tasteful. “I thought he loved me, but then he met you.”
That brings a lazy smile to her lips, and her lids drag down and slowly back up. “I fell for him, too. I love him.” She eyes me.
A row of flats are tucked under the wardrobe, the lavender suede pair that tie around my ankles are the closest. I won’t have time to wrap them up if I can get to them. “Your love is true. He should value that.” I step closer and start to toe them out from under the dark space.
“He values a challenge. That’s not me. You’d be surprised how many men are afraid to approach a beautiful woman. He walked up, and I begged him to take me with him.” She scoffs and then takes another drag. “I’m pathetic.”
One shoe is close enough to slip on. “You’re not.”
“That’s his word for me.” She picks up the glass and finishes most of the wine.
“You deserve better.”
My actions catch her attention, and her eyes dip to the shoes. “Do I?”
“Yes. I was where you are now, but I got out. You can, too.”
She swivels her legs down, and her feet touch the ground. “There’s no getting out. Women like us are used and tossed away to age ungracefully while the men we love find a younger, prettier model for their arm.”
“You will only get what you settle for, Chelsea. You can do so much better than Kurt.”
She throws her glass and it shatters under the window. “Is that what you did, Winter? You turned him down because you didn’t want to settle? You’re a liar! Everyone knows it. You were begging him after he chose me.”
“I wasn’t.”
Raising her voice, she says, “You did,” pointing a finger at me. “He would tell me how you were so desperate that you would let him fuck you anywhere. You’d beg him.”
