Captive Beauty

by Natasha Knight

  I study him. He’s so calm. So sedate. I’ve always known Jones to be manic. Maybe he was high all the time and I just never knew it. Or never wanted to see it.

  “Okay. I’ll let you get some sleep.” But that’s not what he means. I know that deep inside.

  “You shouldn’t come here every day.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not good for you.”

  “Jones—”

  “I’ll be out soon. You can see me then.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” I’m joking, but I know that’s exactly what he’s doing the minute the words are out. “Jones?”

  Panic makes me clench his hand, but he’s already pulling away.

  “No. Never that, Cilla.”

  It’s a lie. I know it. I hear it.

  Jones smiles and stands. “Killian Black will protect what’s his and I don’t know if either of you know it, but I think you’re his. You’ll be safe now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “Just remember that sometimes the beasts aren’t what we think they are. Or who we think they are.” He looks so at peace and so knowing that I can’t help but watch him as he draws the covers back and lies on the bed. He closes his eyes and I think he’s already fallen asleep.

  I look at him and I start to cry and can’t stop. Just tears falling, falling without sound. I seem to have a never-ending supply of them. I can’t help but feel like this is it. This is the last time I’ll see him.

  “No.” I wipe my eyes and shake my head then tuck the blanket up to his chin. “I’ll see you soon, Jones.” I walk out the door and down the stairs. When I step outside, the air is freezing. It makes me shudder. John, the driver, pulls the car up to the front steps when he sees me. I get in and as we drive away, I glance up to my brother’s window where we’d just been. I wonder what our faces looked like up there.

  Two lost souls.

  Ghosts, really.

  * * *

  Helen delivers a garment bag to me on Saturday afternoon. I haven’t seen or heard from Kill in three days now but I guess I’ll be seeing him tonight.

  Apart from going to the facility to see Jones, I’ve spent these days in my room with the window open, breathing in chilly air. All I can think about is my brother and how he was before I left the last time. How he fell asleep so quietly. So quickly. How strangely knowing he sounded just before that.

  I think about what he said about beasts not being what they appear to be. Who we think they are. I think about his question to me but push that away. I can’t think about Kill that way—not as protector, not as lover. I’m his for one month. Just two more weeks to go. That’s all. As far as Callahan, I can’t think about that either because I don’t know what Kill’s done, if anything.

  Helen tells me the time John will pick me up to drive me into the city. I have an hour so I reluctantly get up and drag myself into the shower. I feel like I’m on auto-pilot as I get ready, putting on makeup, lining my eyes more thickly than usual in darkest black, blow-drying my hair and pinning it into a twist, sweeping my bangs to the side. With fifteen minutes left to go, I unzip the garment bag to find the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen inside. It’s the color of ashes of roses. I take it out of the bag. It’s strapless and floor-length with a high slit on one thigh. Tender flowers and delicate pearls adorn one side of the dress from breast to hip.

  I take off the bathrobe I’m wearing and put on the dress. It’s a perfect fit, the material hugging my body in the most flattering way. I open the shoe box next, momentarily forgetting my troubles, momentarily feeling like a princess. Inside is a pair of pointy-toe pumps in a shade of champagne to complement the dress. I sit on the bed to put them on and wrap the pretty straps around my ankles. The heels are thin but I stand comfortably and with the additional four inches, the dress just touches the floor.

  The last box is gift wrapped in a shade of blue with a white ribbon any woman will recognize. Carefully, I undo the bow and set it aside. I take the lid off the box and find a second box inside. I take it out, brush my fingers over the velvet, open it to find a pair of platinum drop earrings with three diamonds on each.

  I put my hand to my mouth. These probably cost more than I make in a month. I take one out, handle it gently as I put it on. I repeat with the other and, keeping my gaze down, I walk to the full-length mirror.

  A knock comes on the door. “John is here.” It’s Helen.

  “I’ll be right out,” I say, before raising my eyes to my reflection, not allowing my gaze to linger there. Not allowing myself to dwell on thoughts of what can’t be.

  22

  Kill

  I’ve been in New York for the last day and a half, but I haven’t been able to go back to the house.

  Cilla lied to me.

  I know the real truth. And it all makes sense. It all makes perfect, sick sense.

  But I meant what I said—I’m no hero. I slew her dragon, but I’m not her hero. I can’t be.

  I step off the elevator and survey the club. It’s Mea Culpa’s anniversary party. Tonight, the guest list is by invitation only. But it’s not the anniversary I’m celebrating. There’s a meeting tonight too. An important one. Fuck my timing.

  “Killian,” Mrs. Borgado lays her hand on my forearm. She’s the wife of Bennie Borgado, cousin to the boss of one of the Detroit mob families.

  I force a smile, but my eyes are on the door. I’m waiting for Cilla, who’s late.

  “Mrs. Borgado, you look enchanting.” She’s in her mid-forties and attractive, but I’m not interested in her.

  “Thank you, Killian. It’s quite the party you’ve put on.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Borgado.”

  “Layne. I told you to call me Layne.”

  “Layne,” I say, sipping my drink. The door opens and, just like it has every time it’s opened in the last half hour, my heart rate picks up. But it’s not her.

  The door hasn’t quite closed when it’s pushed open again. My jaw tightens. I glance at Hugo who sees him at the same time I do. Benji. Fucking Benji crashing this party.

  Chrissy runs in behind him.

  “Excuse me,” I say to Mrs. Borgado, frankly relieved for the excuse to walk away. I meet Chrissy’s eye to let her know I’ve got this and greet my cousin just as he’s taking a drink off a passing server’s tray. “Ben. What are you doing here?”

  “You’re having a party and didn’t invite me? I’m hurt.”

  “You’re not hurt. You’re drunk.”

  Hugo walks over. “Boss?”

  I shake my head. “I got this.” I turn Ben away from the group. “What are you doing here, Ben? You knew the club was closed for a private party.”

  “I got scared. What I told you the other day. What if they come after me?”

  I exhale and it takes all I have not to shake my cousin to death. “I told you I’m not paying off this debt.”

  He swallows the contents of his glass, glances around nervously. “I need another drink.”

  The lights go down and the music changes. I check my watch as spotlights illuminate the stages. It’s almost time for the meeting and the entertainment has begun. I need to get this idiot out of here.

  “No drink. Club’s closed tonight.”

  I signal one of my men over. “Get Ben a taxi.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I have to physically take hold of Ben and walk him toward the exit. “Why? Why’s tonight such a big deal?”

  “Because I said so.” I check my watch. The guest of honor will be here soon.

  “Christ, I’ll go,” he says.

  Hugo’s beside me in the next minute. Cilla’s still not here and I see a couple of men walking into the meeting room.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Hugo says, relieving me of my cousin.

  “Kill, what the fuck. We’re family—”

  I don’t bother to answer. Just as Hugo opens the doors to escort my cousin out, Cilla steps into view with John a few
steps behind her. I swear every eye in the place turns to the doors when she sweeps in wearing the dress I bought her, looking stunning, more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. Her hair is swept off her face and her makeup is heavier than usual and fuck if I don’t want to go to her, wrap her in my arms and steal her away. Never let her out of my sight again. Never leave her alone again. Not after Florida.

  Her gaze finally falls on me. We stare at each other from across the room and it’s so fucking cliché and stupid but something shifts inside me and it’s like this instinct to protect, to guard, to rescue—fuck, maybe to be her hero—it’s like they take over every fiber of my being and she’s all I can see, all I can think about.

  I go to her, stop just a foot from her. Her eyes are searching mine, and I know the question she wants to ask. But I don’t want to talk about Callahan right now.

  Drawing her to stand beside me, I address my comment to John, the driver. “You’re late.”

  “An accident, sir. I took the fastest route I could.”

  I nod. Dismiss him. Turn to Cilla. “You look beautiful.”

  “Is it done?” she asks.

  I nod once.

  She doesn’t say a word, just keeps staring up at me and I want to know what’s going on in her head because I can’t read her eyes. She’s too guarded. Too careful. She’s had to be.

  A waiter passes with champagne. I stop him. “Get me two whiskeys.” I don’t want champagne. This isn’t a celebration.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cilla puts her hands over her face, rubs it, then her neck. The waiter returns and I take the tumblers, hand her one. Her hand is trembling when she takes the drink and I watch her swallow it. All of it.

  “Easy, Cilla.”

  “Why?” she looks around, locates a waiter with a tray of full champagne glasses and signals him to come over. I watch her. “Get me a bottle,” she says, then points to me. “On him so make it a good one.”

  “Cilla.”

  “Sir?” the waiter asks me as my cell phone rings. I ignore the call and the look I give him dismisses him, but not before Cilla swallows what’s in the glass and takes another from his tray. She turns to face me and gives me a ridiculous smile.

  “I’m celebrating,” she says, holding the glass up. “To justice. Cheers.” She swallows what’s in there too.

  People are looking now. I take her by the arm, turn her away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” My phone starts up again. “Jesus!” I take it out and, without looking at the screen, silence it, shove it back into my pocket.

  “What’s wrong with me? Nothing. I’m the happiest woman in the world tonight. Look at me. All of this?” She spins around, stumbles. I catch her. “A very expensive gift from my dragon slayer.” She turns in search of a waiter. I force her attention back to me. “My hero,” she adds on, the sarcasm in her tone biting.

  Hugo walks toward us. “Santa Maria’s here.” He gestures to the entrance. It’s Giovanni Santa Maria, Dominic Benedetti’s cousin, and the second most powerful man on the east coast. He’s standing in for Dominic tonight. This is why Ben had to go. This meeting tonight, it’s secret. A new alliance is being formed. One that will rock organized crime in North America.

  Giovanni scans the room. I’ve only seen him once before. He’s a big guy, as big as me. He’s dressed elegantly in an expensive suit and two men flank him. Soldiers. I get the feeling he can handle whatever the fuck comes his way, though.

  I give him a nod when he sees me.

  The phone starts to vibrate with a call again. “Fuck.”

  Cilla tries to pull free. “Let me go. I’m here, like you want. Dressed up like you want. I’ll even spread my legs for you later, just like you want.”

  I tug on her arm. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Cilla.” I dig the phone out of my pocket.

  “I don’t care what these people think of me so I must be embarrassing you. Let me go home and you won’t have to worry about me doing that ever again.”

  “I’ll take her upstairs,” Hugo says.

  I look at the screen, not expecting what I’m seeing.

  “You won’t touch me,” Cilla spits back, trying to free herself from me.

  When I release her, she stumbles backward, but Hugo catches her. I turn my back and swipe the green bar to answer.

  “What?” I bark into the phone.

  “Don’t fucking turn your back on me!” It’s Cilla, but I’m not paying attention to her. Not now.

  “When?” I ask. Shit. Fuck. Shit. I take a deep breath in, nod, turn to face Cilla. “We’ll be right there.”

  Hugo’s holding her back, but she’s not fighting anymore. Her expression changes as she watches my face, watches me disconnect the call.

  It’s like she knows before I say a word because her big eyes fill up with tears and her lip is trembling.

  “Cilla,” I start.

  A tear rolls down her face. “What?” it’s barely a whisper.

  I signal to Hugo to release her. “You need to take care of the meeting,” I tell him.

  “What is it?” she’s more panicked now.

  I rub the scruff of my jaw. “It’s your brother.”

  “What?” She knows what I’m going to say. I see it in her eyes.

  “He tried to hurt himself.” Hang himself. Like Ginny. My gut twists, and seeing Cilla double over with an unnatural sound, I know exactly what she’s feeling. Fucking exactly. It’s like the fucking past just catapulted itself into the present because it’s not done with me yet. It’s not done with either of us.

  “He’s alive,” I say, but I don’t know if he’s okay. “Let’s go.”

  She straightens, nods. Her face is the color of ashes and there’s a strange look in her eyes, a resignation almost. I think this is worse than hysteria.

  We’re almost out the door when Cilla stops, grips my arm. I look down at her. I already know what she is going to ask. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  23

  Cilla

  I remember what Jones said to me the last time I was here. How he acted so strange. It was as though when I told him that Kill knew about Callahan, that he’d murder him, he was freed of something, something too heavy to bear. Like he could finally rest.

  All these years I’ve thought I’ve been watching out for Jones, but maybe he’s been watching out for me. I don’t know any longer who’s on more shaky ground, me or him. I don’t know who was—is—more damaged.

  Maybe there aren’t degrees of damage, though. Maybe we’re all just clinging to the buoy, any buoy, just managing to keep our noses out of the water. Maybe it’s a matter of who went under more. Who took in too much water, too much for there to be any room left for breath. For life.

  Jones is lying in a hospital bed in a different room than the one he was in. He has too many tubes attached to him to count. His skin is pale and his lips have lost any color. He looks like a ghost under a sheet. How much weight has he lost these last weeks? The beeping of the machines is overwhelming, they seem to muffle everything else, the other machines, the doctor talking to Kill. Kill’s angry words.

  I pull the chair closer and sit beside my brother’s bed. It’s a clear night and the moon shines its silvery light through the large bay window. It’s an almost unnatural light. It feels like we’re in a space between worlds. Like he’s already left this one.

  His arms are above the sheet and, with my hand trembling, I reach out to touch his fingers, slowly gather them into mine. I feel the tickle of a tear sliding down my face but I don’t move to wipe it away. Instead, I look at him, his face. Feel his cold skin beneath mine.

  I knew this was coming the other day.

  I knew it the moment he took my hand. It was the first time we’d touched each other since we left Callahan’s house. I’d been sixteen. Callahan arranged for Jones to have legal guardianship of me. That was part of the deal. Do as we were told and in time, we would be free. Don’t and Callahan would ho
ld on to me once Jones was out. Jones wouldn’t be there to protect me anymore. And if Jones told, who’d believe him when Judge Callahan was an upstanding citizen? A man who took in those no one else wanted?

  I moved out of Jones’s apartment when I turned seventeen. Got a job, supported myself. I think we were both relieved to be apart, although we were never far from each other. Jones tried to put more distance between us with all the moves, but I always followed with the excuse of watching out for him. Saying that he needed me. He didn’t need me, though. He needed to be away from me because I know every time he looked at me, he saw what we did. That was one thing I was better at than him. I could block it. I did it while it was happening. I did it when I left. It’s like it wasn’t me at all.

  “Cilla,” Kill’s hand is on my shoulder.

  Startled, I look up at his face.

  “One of the nurses forgot something in his room and returned after giving him his medication. It’s lucky for him that she did because she found him quickly enough and they were able to cut him down before it was too late.”

  “So he’ll be okay?” The question doesn’t fit. I know Jones will never be okay, not like other people.

  “He’ll survive this without permanent damage, yes.”

  There’s more in the way he doesn’t say things than in the words he says. He knows it too. He knows Jones will never really be okay.

  “He was lucky,” Kill continues. “This time.”

  I look at him when he adds on that last part. “I’ll stay with him. He won’t do it again.”

  “Are you going to watch him 24/7?”

  “I can’t abandon my brother.”

  “He’s heavily sedated, Cilla. He may need to be—”

  “I won’t abandon my brother,” I repeat more slowly.

  “He needs a different sort of care than you can provide.”

  He’s right, I know, but it still feels like abandonment, and I can’t face that right now. Instead, I rise to my feet. Face Kill.