The Castle

by Skye Warren

  He licks and tastes and bites me, a man starved. There seems to be no end to his persistence, his patience, as he builds the spiral ever higher. I’m helpless on the journey, drawn by his mouth and his will. Taken to the peak again and again, glimpsing the light around the mountain only to be dragged away. Tears leak from my eyes, frustration and anguish rising to match my arousal. It’s a storm inside me, a blizzard. I can’t see anything. Even sound is muffled here. There’s only the hard, wet bite of him, lashing me, breaking me down.

  “Gabriel,” I gasp. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for until he murmurs, soothing, “I know, little liar.”

  For lying, that’s why. And as if to show mercy, he finally stands up. My muscles spasm, desperate to come. He lifts me like I weigh nothing—as much as a single chess piece instead of sixteen. He turns me over so my hands clasp the cold edges of the marble chessboard, so my face presses to the center, where it’s wet with my own arousal, salty and sweet. I’m too far gone to mind, my cheek pressed into the mess he made of me.

  He takes only a moment to test me from behind—two fingers, three.

  Then he slams inside, a rough claiming thrust that makes my mouth open on a silent scream. That’s how he fucks me, bent over the table, eyes wide, a primal cry welling up in me, until I can do nothing but come, nothing but spasm around his cock. Nothing but melt around him, sending long drips of arousal down my legs and onto the balcony floor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning I wake up to a bloodcurdling scream. The sound rips through my body like a tangible cut, jolting me from the bed in a sleepy stumble. A crash pulls me into the hallway, where a broken shell of china rolls drunkenly across the walnut floors.

  Inside Penny’s room I find her huddled under the covers, only her eyes peering over.

  Mrs. B stands at the foot of the bed, her round face a mixture of worry and frustration. A silver tray hangs loosely by her side, dripping with something that now darkens the rug.

  “What’s going on?” I ask mildly even though I know perfectly well what’s going on. It happened early on. Ever since then I made sure to bring Penny her breakfast.

  After last night I must have slept in. My body needed the rest.

  “She needs to eat,” Mrs. B says, gesturing to the shivering girl. “She’s skin and bones.”

  I can’t argue with that. Even with me force-feeding her every day, she’s painfully thin. The alternative is a feeding tube, probably with rubber walls to match. I can’t do that to her, not knowing how terrified she’d be. I feel like that’s the final straw that would break her.

  “Can you please bring another cup of broth?”

  Mrs. B gives Penny one last long glance before bustling from the room. There’s something in that gaze I can’t quite decipher. Pity. Compassion. And maybe also accusation?

  That doesn’t make sense.

  I climb onto the tall bed, tugging the sheet away from Penny’s grip. “Why do you fight her? She wants to help you. Like me. We only want to help you.”

  No answer. At least she lets me pull the sweaty sheet from her body. One of my nightgowns hangs loosely on her body, no curves or solidity left to give it shape. Her bruises have healed, the ones with fingerprints that revealed what was done to her in startling horror.

  Most people would rather be dead. That’s what Gabriel said, and I’m not sure he’s wrong.

  “One cup of broth,” I say, softening. “Then you can rest.”

  She doesn’t answer, but I can tell by her silence that she accepts. I’ve come to read the subtle shifts in her body language, so maybe it isn’t only that she’s comfortable with me. I’m comfortable with her. After having my father lie to me, after wondering whether Gabriel told me the truth, it’s a relief to have someone I can read. There aren’t any words or artifice to fool me. Only herself, raw and pained and hopelessly lost.

  Mrs. B returns with the broth, sighing once at Penny before leaving us alone. The dishes are a perfectly white porcelain with a green ivy inlay. Probably something priceless and unique, the poor broken teacup that met its demise earlier never to be replaced.

  I scoot closer on the bed. “Ready?”

  A shake of her head.

  My lips curve in a smile. “It smells delicious. She’s a little loose with the salt shaker, not that I’m complaining. And once you get a little stronger, she has a hollandaise sauce that’s ridiculous.”

  A scrunch of her nose.

  “Not a fan of hollandaise? I don’t know…this one might change your mind.” I dip the spoon into the dark liquid, stirring gently before lifting a spoonful. I blow across the top, sending ripples through the nutritious broth.

  Penny only eats liquids—tea, broth.

  The occasional cup of pudding. It reminds me of taking care of my father after he was beaten.

  I’m not sure I could have left him to die, even knowing he left my mother to fend for herself, even knowing he sold me to Gabriel Miller, but I’m relieved that I don’t have to worry about it anymore. He’s in the best nursing home money can buy. It’s more than he deserves.

  I hold the spoon to her lips.

  She gently drinks the liquid from the spoon, reminding me of a baby bird. Her lower lip is cracked, and I make a mental note to ask for Chap Stick. If we have to be trapped in a castle, at least it’s a well-equipped one. Whatever I can think of, I only ask and it appears the next day.

  Penny drinks another six spoonfuls without any fuss.

  Once we reach the bottom of the cup, she turns her face away.

  I suppress a sigh, understanding the frustration on Mrs. B’s face. How can a body survive on so little food? The alternative is like torture to a girl who can’t stand to be touched. How far should we go to keep her alive? How far would she want us to go?

  Setting the cup down, I smooth her hair back. “I’m going to go for a walk. Don’t get excited, just inside the house. Gabriel’s still paranoid about the outside world. Only when he’s here, even with all that security. What does he think is going to happen, hmm? A military air strike over Tanglewood?”

  A blank stare at the wall. Still nothing.

  I use the silence to text Harper, more somber than last time.

  Are you around?

  She texts back twenty minutes later. Just got out of class. What’s up?

  I’m kind of freaked out about something.

  Should I call you?

  No, it will be harder to say it out loud. And besides I don’t want anyone to hear what I’m saying. What if one of the guards overhears my conversation and tells Gabriel? They work for him, not me. I can’t forget that.

  Harper’s reply pings my phone. Are you pregnant?

  What??? No.

  STD?

  Good Lord. No.

  Cheated on Gabriel with the sexy pool boy?

  Okay, I’m going to stop you right there.

  Tell me, already.

  I took a deep breath and typed out a long message. I’ve been having these dreams. Weird dreams where I hear voices. Except sometimes the voices seem…real.

  Three little dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again, as if Harper starts saying something and then deleted it. In the end all she says is, Keep typing.

  There’s a man’s voice. He’s a little bit threatening.

  He threatens you?

  No. I mean not really. It’s more like I feel threatened when I hear him.

  Is it Gabriel?

  At first I thought it might be, but no. It’s not him.

  What does he think about it?

  I’m afraid to tell him.

  Girl.

  I know, but voices… that’s what my mother heard. And no one believed her. My father thought she was crazy. Even her best friend hadn’t believed her. A whisper of worry works through me. What if Harper calls me a liar?

  You need to tell Gabriel, she says. He’s not going to dismiss you.

  And then
I’m left with nothing but the truth. The real reason I’m afraid to tell him. What if he should dismiss me? What if I’m really going crazy?

  No way.

  Relief fills my lungs. I appreciate her vote of confidence even if I don’t share it. I still don’t want to tell him without knowing it’s more than a dream.

  Have you ever heard the voices when you weren’t asleep?

  Always when I’ve drifted off or something. I’m just not sure.

  Well, there’s your answer. As long as you don’t hear the voices when you’re fully awake, you’re fine.

  There are a hundred other things I want to tell her—how I’m afraid that Penny is stirring up dark shadows in my memories, that I might have more in common with her than I think. How I’m afraid to be trapped in this castle, while at the same time afraid to leave. But that would require telling her about the shooting, about the dangers outside. She would come in a heartbeat if she knew, and I can’t let her miss a semester of work for me. She’s taking a lot more than two correspondence classes. And though her focus is art history, that involved enough actual art class to require her presence.

  How are the frat parties? I type. It’s kind of a code for asking about how classes are going. The better the parties, the worse her grades will be.

  Horrible, she replies. I have more fun alone in bed than I do in a frat house.

  I set down my phone with a small smile.

  My amusement fades as I see Penny watching me, blue eyes unblinking.

  “Come for a walk with me,” I whisper as if someone can hear us. “I want to find out where the voices are coming from. Will you help me?”

  With a furtive glance around the room, I lean close. “You don’t hear them, do you?”

  No answer.

  And if she does, why doesn’t she freak out like she does for a flesh-and-blood man? I’m honestly not sure which thought is scarier—that there might be an intruder in these walls or that I’m going crazy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  West appears at the door to Penny’s room, his gaze sharp as he takes in the room. For a moment I sit up straight, hoping, praying that he somehow heard the voices. Maybe he’s following them through the house, finally confirming that I’m not crazy.

  “Someone’s at the gate.”

  Disappointment sinks in my gut, but I force a blank expression. “Who?”

  “He says his name’s Justin Walker. He’s advisor to Senator Clark.”

  “He’s—” I have to stop and think. What is he? My ex-fiancé. My friend. “He’s an old family acquaintance. You can let him in.”

  “We already put a call in to Gabriel Miller. He isn’t responding.”

  My eyes narrow, more concerned about that little fact than the presence of Justin at the door. “Isn’t responding? Do you know where he is? Do you have GPS on his phone?”

  He gives me a kind smile. “It’s normal for him to be out of contact for periods. We’re more concerned about the unexpected visitor.”

  “He’s not dangerous or anything.”

  “The senator doesn’t have the best reputation.”

  Is he one of the men who works with Jonathan Scott? Is he one of the men Gabriel is looking for? If so I might learn something useful. It would be a relief to participate. And I could warn Justin.

  “I’ll meet him downstairs.”

  West hesitates, his silent thoughts echoing through the air, You aren’t my boss. I don’t pay his check. I don’t make the rules. “I’m not sure that would be wise,” he says, apparently a diplomat.

  I get out of the bed, lifting my chin. I can spend my days cowering in my room, terrified of what’s outside these walls, scared of what’s inside, too.

  Or I can make a stand, demanding what I’m due.

  A pawn with ambition. Or a queen with chains.

  I can’t control West’s answer, but I can control my command.

  “I’ve known Justin for years. I trust that he won’t hurt me. Physically at least. But you’re welcome to wait outside the door. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  His eyes widen at the tone of authority. Any man with military bearing would recognize it. Most would balk at it, not wanting to take orders from a woman. He looks merely uncertain, more concerned about what Gabriel will say when he gets back.

  Which accepts my authority, at least, over himself. He’s the knight on this chessboard.

  And Gabriel may be his king, but the queen has power too.

  “I’ll stand outside the room,” he says finally. “With the door open.”

  It’s a compromise. Not complete power. Not complete powerlessness, either.

  “Thank you,” I say softly.

  It still takes thirty minutes until I’m escorted downstairs. I imagine that Justin has been thoroughly searched, both his vehicle and his person. He’ll be puffed up and indignant. Don’t you know who I am?

  Except the boy I find in the front parlor isn’t radiating pride. He’s watching the dark fireplace thoughtfully, hands behind his back. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s filled into his suit. He’s always been muscular, always active—a jock. Now he seems to have lost some of his bulk, but made up for it with a lean intensity that I find appealing.

  He looks up as we enter. “Avery.”

  My smile is genuine. This is a Justin I’ve never met before—mature and genuine. The one I had hoped to grow old with. “You’re looking well.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Thank you. And you’re stunning. But then you always were.”

  Surprise stops me, halfway seated on the sofa. The shock must show on my face.

  Justin gives me a rueful look, sitting opposite me. “I know I didn’t tell you enough when we were together. I guess I took it for granted. Or I thought you’d realize you were too good for me.”

  “Seriously, where is Justin Walker and what have you done with him?”

  A quiet laugh. “I’ve had some time to grow up.” His amusement fades. “Or maybe it wasn’t time that I needed. I’ve seen some things that helped me grow up. I think you’ve seen some, too.”

  The auction. The fire. “Yes.”

  “I’m relieved that you look healthy. And maybe even happy. I know Gabriel Miller has a reputation as a hard-ass, but I hoped he was treating you well.”

  “He does,” I say, those two words taking on an unexpected sexual connotation as my mind flashes to our nightly chess games. My cheeks flame.

  Justin gives a small cough. “I’m also a little surprised he let you see me.”

  “He doesn’t control me,” I say.

  A dubious look.

  “Besides,” I add, “he’s not here right now.”

  “Ah. Well, I’m glad we have the chance to talk.”

  “Yes.” I hesitate. “Actually I’ve been worried about you, too. The stuff you said before, about working with men to steal the seat from your father. I’ve been worried you got yourself mixed up with a—”

  His eyebrows rise in question.

  “With a—with a dangerous lot,” I finish lamely.

  “Nobody’s as dangerous as Gabriel Miller.”

  Except for Jonathan Scott. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “You aren’t that far off the mark. I got in deeper than I expected. Lost some. Won some. I don’t regret it because it’s the only way I could have become a man—breaking away from my father.”

  “Do you see him?” I know how close they were.

  Sorrow flashes across his eyes. “Not since I left. I’m sure he won’t speak to me again.”

  “You’re his only son,” I protest.

  “What’s the point of a son if he betrays you?”

  Is that how Gabriel’s father felt? Then again, what’s the point of a father if he betrays you? “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t come to commiserate. I came to help.”

  I blink. “Help with what?”

  “I know you’re looking for Jonathan Scott.”

  Air rushes from
my lungs. “Um.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not working with him. In fact we’ve been looking for him, too, but we have bigger fish to fry at the moment. Entire governments, as a matter of fact.”

  My eyes narrow. “What exactly have you got yourself into?”

  “Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. But I don’t want you caught up in it any more than you already have been.”

  “Well, that’s very cryptic.”

  “Look, your father—”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “He was in over his head.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Oh, I definitely am. That’s not the point.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  “The point is that Jonathan Scott hasn’t left Tanglewood.”

  My lips press together. I don’t want to tell Justin anything, but Gabriel already knew that. At least he suspected. That’s why through all his searching, he’s always returned to me each night. “If you knew where in the city he was, that would help.”

  He laughs. “Does it matter? He can be anywhere he wants in a second.”

  “You make him sound like a ghost.” Dread sinks in my stomach.

  “Isn’t he? That’s why you need to leave the city.”

  I shake my head. “If he’s really after me, won’t he just follow me?”

  “Even ghosts have their limits. He only haunts the west side. The farther away you are, the better.”

  “Ghosts aren’t real,” I tell him, but a part of me wonders. Those voices. I can’t explain them. They feel too real to be a ghost, too terrifying to be a dream. I don’t know what they are. Could they be connected to Jonathan Scott?

  Could he be causing them somehow?

  My stomach clenches, and I know I can’t keep my secret much longer.

  “Well, Jonathan Scott is definitely real. And he has a price on your head. Everyone connected to the underground knows about it. Kill Avery James and get two million dollars.”

  Two million dollars. I feel faint. A grim humor overtakes me, and I can’t help but laugh. Justin is looking at me like I’m crazy, which only makes me laugh harder. At least my price is going up. I’m twice as valuable now than I was as a virgin, but only if I’m dead.