“Hey, you okay?” Maximus doesn’t touch me again, but he does bow his head to meet my gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Max, do me a favor?”
A furrow forms between his brow. “Name it.”
“Stop apologizing for touching me.”
“Er . . . yeah. I’m sorr—”
I reach up and press a gloved finger to his lips. “Stop apologizing altogether.”
A humorless laugh escapes him, and I pull my hand away. “Alright, no more apologies.”
I open the door to a gust of cold Hudson wind. The scent of snow and ice, and the frozen rotunda beyond my father’s back door sends a shiver down my spine. For a split second, I’m back in that greenhouse with Ares, and I’ve forgotten all about freedom, and Maximus, and the hell that is living without my Sir.
Maximus leans into my space to whisper, “Does your friend follow you everywhere?”
I don’t have to turn to know who he’s talking about. Christian’s presence is impossible to ignore. “Everywhere, and when I’m sleeping safe and sound in my room, he’s right outside the door, or his partner is.” I raise my voice so there’s no chance he won’t hear me. “Christian loves it when I torture him. He’s awfully fun to toy with.”
As usual, Christian says nothing. He merely eyes us disdainfully.
Maximus gives him a confident smile that’s all New York cop losing his patience. “Why don’t you take a load off, buddy?”
“I’m not paid to take a load off.” Christian doesn’t even look at him as he says this. He just continues scanning the tree line for any possible threat. “I’m paid to mind Miss Flynn. I go where she goes.”
“I’m a cop. I can protect her just fine.”
“I’m sure you can, but one hundred and twenty large means I’m not leaving her side long enough for her to even take a shit without my knowing about it.”
One hundred and twenty thousand dollars? Who knew my safety was worth that much to my father? “It’s fine. I’m used to him hanging around like a bad smell. So, what did you come to talk about? Because it’s a long way to go for a social call, don’t you think?”
“It’s not that far.”
“It’s a two-hour drive, Max.”
“Yeah well, I wanted to see you, but Agent Stahl also thought this might be better coming from me.”
I wrinkle my nose at the agent’s name. “What does he want now? To cut open my skull and peer inside?”
Max wets his lips. “They think they found the house.”
I pause and glance up at him. My blood runs cold. Oh god. Ares. My head spins. Do they have evidence? Fingerprints? How did they find it? How did they know where to find his house? Is he in custody?
I never told them where I came from, only that I ran. That I ran and ran until I ran right into Times Square, until Maximus found me. All this time, I’ve kept my mouth shut. I’ve protected him. Stahl had no idea who he was—at least that was what the file he left on the coffee table led me to believe. Do they have my Sir in custody? Will I have to testify against him?
I suck in a breath. A keening cry escapes me, and I sink down into the fresh, powdered snow.
“Shit, Camille. I didn’t wanna come here and ask you this. I told Stahl you weren’t ready, but he just kept pushing. He wants to take you through the house. He thinks it might trigger your memory, give us something more to go off.”
More to go off? Not more evidence to build a solid case against Ares, but more to go off. They don’t know who he is. They don’t have him.
A strangled sob escapes me. Maximus’ strong arms slide around my waist and lift me from the freezing snow. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do this. Fuck! I knew I shouldn’t have come here as Stahl’s goddamn lacky. You’re not under any obligation to go to that house of horrors, Camille.”
I clutch at his jacket and sniff. The cold bites my skin where warm salt water slides down my cheeks. “I want to see it.”
“What?” Maximus pulls away and scans my face. “You should take a minute to think about this—”
“I need to see it, Max. Please?” I sob. “Please take me there.”
“Are you sure? I’m not taking you anywhere that’s going to make you feel like this.”
“I want to go now. Now, I want to go now.” I pull free of his grasp and head toward the house.
Max follows. “Alright, just . . . just hold up a damn minute, will ya? I need to get Stahl on the phone.”
“Call him from the car.”
“Camille . . .” He peters off, and I stare at his tight jaw and even tighter expression. “You know he’s not there.”
“I know that,” I say through my teeth as hot tears track down my cheeks. “I know.”
“I just, I don’t want you rushing into this because you think there might be a chance that you’ll see him again. They have no leads. Stahl believes that bringing you in might spark your memory, but for the record, I don’t like the idea. I think you’re barely dealing with what happened to you as it is.”
“You’ll come with me, right?”
“Of course. I’m not leaving you in Stahl’s hands.”
“Then I want to go now. I have to see it, Max.”
“Alright.” He raises his hands in a placating gesture, and seems to search my gaze. I see the second he realizes how much I need this, because resignation is written all over his face. “Why don’t you get your things together while I call? I’ll be there in just a minute.”
“Okay.” I turn and head back to the house, glaring at a confused-looking Christian on the way.
“What did he say to you?” Christian asks.
“None of your fucking business.”
Christian shakes his head. “You know you really are a bitch. If you were my kid, I’d let you get kidnapped again. Hell, I might even organize the whole fucking thing just to teach you a lesson.”
I stop in my tracks and turn around, stalking back to the asshole. I reach up on my tiptoes and slap him hard across the face. He grabs my hand, his grip like an iron vise. The violence in his hands, the rage and fury his hard expression promises stokes a fire in me that Ares started but has left untended for too long.
I’m pushed out of the way by a furious Maximus.
“Get the fuck off her.” He shoves Christian, who stumbles back and then swings at Max’s face. The two men go down in the snow. Fists fly, blood spatters the white powder on the ground, and I can only stare at the violence and bloodshed. My insides tighten. I’m back in my cell. Glass walls rise up all around me. Red blots mar the gray concrete beneath.
“Come on,” Maximus says, pulling me from my reverie. I sway beside him, staring down at Christian’s inert body.
“Is he dead?”
“No, Camille.”
I stare at the red splotches on the snow.
Maximus shakes my shoulders, diverting my gaze from Christian’s bloody face to the bright blue eyes I’ve come to trust so quickly. “You really think I’d kill him?”
I shake my head, but I’m no longer sure. My definition of monster is a little skewed these days.
“I’m a police officer. Not a killer.” Max takes hold of my elbow and leads me toward his car. “Though I should be arresting his sorry ass right now.”
He opens my door and helps me inside. Then he stalks to the driver’s side and slips into the seat. Max turns the key, revs the engine, and peels out of the driveway at breakneck speed. Past the vultures with their cameras and the reporters looking for the inside scoop.
This is the first time I’ve left my father’s house in more than a week, and I feel strangely vulnerable and bold all at once. I glance at Maximus. He’s sporting a fat lip. A trickle of blood escapes the corner of his mouth.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’ll live.”
I reach out and collect the drop of blood on my fingers. Max winces, and frowns as he darts his eyes at me and then back at the road. “Why did you hit him?”
/> “He was manhandling you.”
“I like to be manhandled.” The words are mine, and I mean them, but my voice is thin and cracks before I can finish.
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”
I lower my gaze to the floor, and then remember I don’t need to do that anymore. I’m no longer submissive. I’m free, and I hate every second of it. Bile burns like acid in my gut. I swallow back the lump in my throat and cast my gaze around the vehicle. Max is a neat freak. There are no discarded wrappers on the floor, no takeout containers. Not even so much as a stray receipt. Is his house as orderly as I think it is? Does he leave dishes piling up in the sink? Does he own dirty magazines, or watch porn on the Internet while he jacks off at his computer? What would it feel like to be smothered beneath him?
“Don’t make a joke of this. Rape isn’t funny.”
“Neither is being free. Funny is the only thing that gets me through.”
“But you’re not getting through, are you?” He glances at me then pins his gaze back on the road. “You need to talk to someone.”
I need to be fucked, beaten, used. I need to be punished for touching myself without my Master’s permission.
“I need . . .” I let the words trail off, because I’m not brave enough to tell Maximus exactly what I crave. “. . . too many things.”
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have my father, a fiancé I never see, a housekeeper who drives me insane with her fucking hovering, and a bodyguard who wishes I’d get kidnapped so he doesn’t have to deal with me being a pain in his ass.”
“You have me, Camille.” He half smiles. It’s a barely noticeable tip of the corners of his mouth, but it’s there. Is he this stoic when he comes? “I know you don’t know me well, but—”
“I know you.”
He does smile this time, a brilliant flash of white teeth, and then he winces and presses his fingertip to the cut in his lip. “You don’t know the first thing about me. Not really.”
“I know you need to put ice on that before you’re walking around with a golf ball on the side of your face,” I say. “I know you just beat the shit out of a man for being mean to me. I know your face was the only constant I had every day for a week in that hospital. And I know you want to save me.”
His throat bobs and his eyes dart from the road to meet mine again.
I turn my gaze to the blacktop and lean back against the headrest. “What you don’t know is that I don’t want to be saved.”
CHAPTER SIX
Pet
Maximus pulls the car to a stop in front of an unremarkable brown building. It sits on a tree-lined street. It seems too quaint for a place so close to Times Square, though right now it’s full of cop cars, and FBI agents, its access is guarded by a man in uniform. A crowd of reporters with microphones and cameramen stand by the yellow police tape. It’s like being on the set of a movie, only this horror show is my life.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know the press would be here already.”
“It’s okay.”
Max surprises me by turning his palm face-up on the center console, and I surprise myself further by lacing my hand with his. He gives me a reassuring smile. “There’s still time to back out, you know? We can drive away right now. Just say the word.”
“No, I need to do this.”
He nods, but I can tell he isn’t thrilled with the idea. Truthfully, I’m not sure I’m ready for this either, but I have to do it. I have to see if it was all a dream—a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
“I’ll be right beside you the entire time.”
“Thanks,” I muster a small smile, but a part of me wishes he’d let me do this alone. I wish they’d all leave so I could walk those halls without anyone watching. I glance up at the stairs.
Run, Pet. If I find you, I won’t let you go a second time.
I can see his face as clear as a bell. I hear the last words he said to me before I did exactly as he ordered and ran.
While I’m watching the stairs, Max climbs out of the car and opens my door. He offers me his hand, and I stare at it, remembering all the times Ares made this very same gesture. I place my hand in Max’s, and his fingers fold around mine, firm, secure, and comforting. I let him pull me from the vehicle and then we walk up the sidewalk to the stairs. Max flashes his badge and says a few words to the officer standing guard. I don’t hear them. I’m too busy hearing Ares tell me to run.
I climb the stairs alone, one foot after the other, as if walking toward my execution.
Behind me, Max calls out. “Camille, wait.”
I don’t wait. He’s not my master. When the guard at the top of the threshold presses his hand against my chest to tell me to back up, I just keep going.
“Miss, miss, you can’t just walk in here.”
“Miss Flynn,” Stahl says from behind the guard. “It’s alright, Carl. She’s our victim.”
“I’m not a victim,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
Stahl gives me a tight smile. “I’m glad you’re here. We’d like you to take a look around, see if anything jogs your memory.”
I nod, but I’m not really listening. I don’t care what Agent Stahl, Max, or anyone else wants. I need to see my room. I need to know this really happened. That he really existed.
“So, we’ll start here at the beginning of the house and then I thought . . .” Stahl trails off as I shove past him, making a beeline up the hall, past the table where I broke the vase over Hermes’ head, and to the end of the house where I push open the door to my room. My cell. My home.
Everything is as I left it. The bed is mussed from sleep and my tussle with Hermes. The plush rug is in the center of the floor where I would taunt Ares by touching myself.
Everything is the same, and yet it’s all different. He’s not here. Just the ghost of the man who used to own me. My gaze catches on the gilt birdcage. I move closer, tears already springing into my eyes. The cage is no longer hanging from its frame, but instead, lies open on the floor. The door has broken off its hinges, the feeding tray and water bowl upturned, and their contents have left a sloshy, reeking mess on the hardwood floor. The birds, those sweet little creatures who got me through some of the darkest days of my life, are gone. Dead or set free—I don’t know. They vanished into thin air, just like him. Did he kill them, squeeze their tiny little necks until their bones snapped, their frantic wingbeats ceasing along with their heartbeats? Did he set them free, and are they out there now, waiting to get back in their cage like me?
I sink to my knees. A strangled scream tears free from my throat. Everyone is watching me. I feel their eyes judging, pitying. As if I’m a freak. They don’t know. They could never understand what it means to return to this place with no Ares, no Master, and no little birds.
I can’t breathe. Blood whooshes in my ears, drowning out the keening cry that I feel down to my bones.
“Jesus Christ, get her out of here.” Stahl’s disembodied voice lands on my ears, but I can’t see through the tears streaming from my eyes.
“Camille, come on.” Max’s strong arms lift me from the floor. I kick, and buck. I fight, and lash out with my fists against his head and shoulders, seeking to hurt him the way he’s hurt me. I want to destroy him. I hate him for turning me into a monster, and worse still, I hate him because he made me this way, and then he let me go.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s me, Max. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”
But I’m not safe. I’m far from safe. I’m broken, left bleeding with my heart torn out, my mind fractured, and my soul in tatters. I’m a slave without a Master. I’ll never be okay again.
My sobs turn to gut-wrenching wailing, and Max sets me on my feet, his strong arms banding around me and holding me upright. I beat at his chest, and he lowers his voice and whispers, “Enough, Camille. Enough.”
I press my face against his jacket and cry. Maximus holds me. For the lon
gest time he just holds me there in the hallway of the house haunted by my ghost. He lifts me in a honeymoon hold and carries me outside where the soft grey light of the New York afternoon burns my eyes the way it did when I ran from Ares.
Reporters rush forward, pressing in around the police barricade. They’re too much for the officers to hold back. We’re swarmed. They shout questions, shove their microphones in my face. It takes Max several minutes to reach the car because the press of bodies around us is so tight. I curl into him as more officers join us and attempt to thin the herd with commands that fall on deaf ears. The vultures are too busy pecking at me, hungry for any little scrap of news they can get.
They don’t stop once Max and I are safely in the car. They press closer, shoving cameras and microphones at the window. Flashes go off, momentarily blinding me. The soft cries filling the car are my own, but they sound alien and unreal. I can’t stop the desperation as it claws up and out of my throat.
“I’m so sorry, Camille.” Max honks the horn and revs the engine. Several daring reporters block our exit, but the officers don’t hesitate to remove them from the path.
We peel away from the curb with a screech of tires, but they’re already racing into vans, piling in before we can get away. Max reaches across my lap and opens the glove box, grabbing a single dome-shaped light from inside. He winds down the window and places it on the top of the car. The wailing hurts my ears, but it clears us a path through the thick New York traffic.
We’re on the Brooklyn bridge before he turns the siren off, and the silence in the car falls thick and heavy between us.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a tentative voice. It’s so strange from a man whom I’ve come to know as anything but timid.
I have no words, so I just shake my head.
I’m exhausted. I’m nothing. I’m left. Forgotten. Lost.
I close my eyes and lean back against the headrest. When I open them again, we’re in a parking garage, and Maximus is gently shaking me awake.
In the Land of Gods and Monsters, Part II (Gods & Monsters, #2) Page 3
