What’s even more startling, though, is when I come down for dinner and see a brand new iPhone and a slim leather wallet sitting on the dining room table in front of my usual chair, Cayde and Dean both watching the doorway for me to come in.
Jaxon is there, but he doesn’t look at me. In fact, when I look athim, he actively turns away, focusing on the enchiladas on the plate in front of him, even though he’s not eating. He’s just poking at them with his fork, but his face is set in tight, angry lines.
Just looking at him makesmeangry.
I need something else to focus on, and the very out-of-place wallet and phone are good enough targets for me. “What is this?” I point at them. “That’s a weird appetizer.”
Cayde smirks, but Dean just looks at me, the intensity in those ice-blue eyes reminding me all too starkly of what we did earlier today, of the feeling of him in my mouth and the salty taste of him in my throat.
“Your kidnapping made us realize some things, little pet,” Dean says calmly. “We took away a lot of your freedoms when you came here. At the time, it seemed ideal, even necessary. If you were trapped here, you would be forced to accept your new reality more quickly.”
Jaxon snorts but doesn’t say anything. Both Cayde and Dean ignore him, still focused entirely on me.
“Without money or a phone, you’re helpless if we’re not there for you,” Cayde says simply. “If you’d had a phone, you might have been able to call for help. The money wouldn’t have done much for you, but it’s come to our attention recently that you can’t so much as buy a coffee on your own. We didn’t really think of you wanting something outside of your usual necessities,” he admits, and he at least has the grace to look somewhat embarrassed about it—for Cayde, anyway.
I don’t know whether to be grateful or angry, to be honest. The idea that they’d thought so little about my personal comfort that they hadn’t even considered whether I want pocket money is infuriating, and they’re right. If I’d had a phone, maybe things would have been different. Maybe not, maybe I wouldn’t have been able to get to it, but they might have been able to track me. The thought that so much of that pain and humiliation and violation could have been avoided makes me want to start screaming and never stop.
But they’re trying, at least, now. Maybe it’s not enough. Maybe it never will be. Perhaps, as soon as I can get free, I’m still going to leave this town in my rearview and never look back.
At this moment, though, I can see them looking at me, and they seem sincere. Maybe they don’t deserve my forgiveness. Maybe I shouldn’t accept this. Maybe I should scream at them, tell them how their neglect led to all the awful things that have happened to me, refuse to touch them ever again, do anything with or for them ever again.
But I feel—grateful? Happy that they see the error of their ways, at least a little. And something else, too, a blossoming warmth through my chest that I know is dangerous. That I know, I shouldn’t feel for them.
I step forward and reach for the phone. It’s a matte black, and I wonder if they just decided that was my favorite color when they picked it out—or sent someone to pick it out for them—or if that had just been what they happened to grab.
Cayde clears his throat. “We asked Mia what color you’d like,” he says, almost sheepishly. “We asked her about the wallet, too.”
I stare at him, shocked. The idea of them approaching Mia to ask about my personal preferences seems so completely out of character for the guys I know. It’s hard to imagine, honestly. I’d almost be tempted to not believe them—
But for all the torments they’ve put me through, they haven’t lied to me. If anything, it’s only Jaxon I could ever accuse of lying, and he’s steadfastly ignoring all of this, focused on the food that he hasn’t actually taken a bite of. Besides that, I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character. And I don’t believe they are lying.
“There’s a credit card in the wallet,” Dean says calmly. “It doesn’t have a limit, but be judicious with it—unless you want a punishment.”
I could have sworn his eyes fuckingtwinkledat that.
“We’ll pay for the balance, of course,” he continues. “Everything will continue to be provided for you. But if you want to be able to shop, or text your friend, or just have a coffee, well—now you can.” He clears his throat. “We’re also lifting the ban on you leaving campus. If you want to go into town with Mia, you can. But never alone, am I understood?” He narrows his eyes at me. “If we catch word of you going into town alone, after what happened, the punishment you receivewon’tbe pleasurable. Am I understood?”
I nod, and Dean smirks. “That’s not how you answer us, pet. You know better.”
I lick my lips, giving him a stare right back. “Yes, sir,” I say, and I catch a glimpse of Jaxon rolling his eyes out of the corner of mine.
I’m going to have to address his issues at some point if my plan is going to work. But right now, I don’t have the energy. And I’m still blown away by what’s sitting in front of me—a freedom that I hadn’t expected. It’s strange how something I used to take for granted can feel like a privilege now.
It gives me a small glimmer of hope that they’ll be open to the other freedom that I want, given what’s happened.
I tuck my new phone in my pocket, sit down at the table, and scoop up a serving of food. I’m ravenously hungry; my appetite has doubled since I started working out again. Where Cayde or Dean might have said something in the past about how much I’m eating, neither of them says a word now.
“I had something to ask you,” I venture, poking at the rice on my plate. “I know you’re doing this to make me feel safer, and I appreciate it. But what’s really made me feel better is being back in the gym and getting stronger. And I think I can use that to help myself even more—and us.”
Dean narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I want to fight.” I lick my lips nervously. “Like Jaxon.”
Jaxon’s head snaps up, his attention suddenly on me for the first time in weeks. “How do you know about that?”
The menace in his voice startles me, and I flinch back, turning to look at him. I’d wanted to get his attention, but now that he’s focused on me, I’m not so sure anymore.
“My family was part of the Devil’s Sons,” I remind him, as calmly as I can. “I know all about the underground fights. And since I’ve seen you come home late on a Friday night bruised and bloody more than once, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together and come up with you being one of the fighters.”