My schooled features remained calm as he smiled once again and left, latching the door behind him. The moment I was alone, I let my true thoughts paint my face.
Frustration, anticipation…but most of all, disgust. Not at the implied gratefulness Pimlico would feel toward me. But at the reasons Michaels urged me not to do this.
He’s right.
I should heal her and let her go.
I should hand her back to the life she’d been stolen from.
Then again, what I should and shouldn’t do had always been my biggest downfall.
I wasn’t qualified to cure a mind, and I sure as fuck wasn’t capable of keeping my own desires from clashing with what was acceptable.
She’d been lucky I saved her from that hellhole. Although, she wasn’t lucky I’d been the one to steal her.
Pim was no longer in a tragic situation with Alrik.
She’s in one with me.
DEAR NO ONE,
I’ll rip this up the moment I’ve finished as I have no safe place to hide you, but I had to tell you what happened.
I have to give you the good news.
The best news.
The news I hoped to write for two very long years.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
Oh, God, I’ll never get tired of the thrill and pleasure of writing those two words.
He’s dead.
They’re dead.
Every single bastard (apart from Monty) is dead.
I pulled the trigger on Master A.
Are you proud of me? Happy for me?
I want to keep talking to you, but I don’t know how much longer they’ll leave me on my own. I don’t want to be caught. He stole our previous conversations, but he won’t steal anymore.
Perhaps, in a few weeks when I heal, I’ll be able to whisper my confessions to you instead of scribe.
Maybe then, life will be normal.
I’d just finished shredding my latest note into tiny fragments and scattering them in the drawer when the door opened. I hadn’t budged from the single mattress with its overly starched white sheets and the drip feeding drugs and who knew what else into my system.
I expected the doctor again.
I wanted it to be the doctor again. I wanted more time on my own before I had to face my new future.
I didn’t get what I wanted.
My first peace in so long vanished the moment he prowled into the room.
Our eyes met.
The world once again stopped spinning and flipped upside down. Whatever power he’d held over me in my white room still lingered—stronger and more intoxicating now I was in his home and under his authority.
Elder paused a few metres away, his gaze dropping from my eyes to my chapped and sore lips then to my stark skeleton beneath the yellow nightdress someone had dressed me in.
The cheery buttercup fabric ought to bring light into my dark existence, but it only amplified the greens and browns of my ugly, ugly bruises.
I wanted to be free.
And if I couldn’t be free, then I wanted to be naked. Like normal. I didn’t like the confines or the mind-twisting conditioning I’d been subjected to where clothes were my nemesis and not to be trusted.
Plucking at the yellow gown, I did my best not to wrinkle my nose. I looked juvenile in lemon while he looked distinguished in midnight. If I had to wear clothes, I craved to don black like him. Black would hide my discoloration and give me a refined power that nakedness and white could not.
His black eyes, almond shaped and regal, trapped mine. His body exuded tightly reined power with simmering lethalness. His strong jaw clenched as I studied him the way he studied me.
My lips tingled, remembering the way he—with all his masculine violence—had slammed to his knees, cupped my face, and kissed me as if whatever drew me to him drew him to me with equal strength.
A shadow fell over his eyes as he crossed his arms, highlighting ropey muscles and hands ready to inflict danger or death. “I see you’re just as opinionated here as you were there.”
My eyes flared; my jaw jutting out in question.
What the hell does that mean?
“Don’t cock your chin at me, silent mouse.”
Don’t use my dad’s nickname.
The name Mouse did not belong to him, even if my body did for the time being.
He didn’t notice my annoyance.
His graphite dress shoes clicked on the white tiled floor as he strode forward. His dark grey t-shirt and faded jeans didn’t match the formal footwear.
My eyes drifted to his muscular legs then to the floor where the grout lines and colour were a little too reminiscent to Master A’s. I knew it was due to sanitation rather than personal preference, but it still made me queasy.
“I feel the same way about white as you do.” His voice borrowed whatever power his body had over mine, slipping through my ears. “It’s a disgusting colour and will be abolished from my home.”