Declan’s eyes are closed, so he can’t see the offering, and he looks pale, like he might pass out, as Quinn inspects his wounds by pressing into them. He looks at and touches the makeshift bandage I made and mutters something in medical jargon. Then he glances over his shoulder at me. “You did good work,” he says into his headset, and the words are funneled directly into my ear. Quinn gives me a sideways smile and a thumbs-up. It’s absurd, but I give him one back.
Declan flinches when the fabric I stuffed into his wound is pulled free, and I don’t miss the way he glares at Quinn like he’s been insulted. But the faux doctor ignores him, focused on stitching, patching, wrapping.
Rian gets a strip of glue slapped above his eye. He doesn’t complain, just hisses and tightens his jaw. Kellan gets his shoulder wrapped and ribs checked.
When Quinn finishes with them, he does a once-over on me, gaze resting on my scraped arms and knees. “Need anything?” he asks.
I shake my head and strap into my seat. Using the mafia’s resources feels…wrong. My hands tighten around the harness straps. I glance once toward the door, then to the controls. Then I look down at my lap. It’s too late for escape now. We’re in the air. The only direction left is forward, and I have no idea what waits for me on the ground.
I don’t want to look at Declan’s bitter scowl or Rian’s unreadable expression or Kellan’s quiet guilt, so I stare out the window. The ground beneath us looks like the inside of a snow globe—miniature, bright. They can all pretend to have a plan while I just try to survive the next hour with a view.
As soon as we disembark from the helicopter, we’re huddled into a nondescript black car, one that’s obviously expensive, with red leather interior and gold accents. Still, it’s boxy and blends in with every other black car. As they shuffle me into the back seat, I can’t help but think that this is so far beyond a second location at this point. It feels like we’ve crossed the entire country. As we drive under a sign that reads “Welcome to Massachusetts,” I realize that we have.
We’re back at the beginning, where it all started. My body reacts as memories start to flood back. The blood, the running, the fear that infiltrated every cell in my body for weeks. I went into a hibernation of sorts, covering all my windows and ordering my food in. I stopped going to class, stopped talking to people, stopped doing anything that brought me outside, afraid I’d be assassinated in the middle of my day if I did.
This place brings back memories of murder, but it also brings back memories of loneliness and isolation.
The driver pulls up to a mansion, a giant structure on top of a hill that exudes masculinity—it’s all gray and glass and steel, much like their fake home in Washington. I can’t believe the size of it, but when I see Declan eyeing me with a curious expression, I make sure to keep my face impassive, bored. A smirk playsacross his lips as he looks away from me, and I’m disappointed that I didn’t hide my admiration as well as I’d hoped.
Declan helps me out of the car, his hand extended, and then stays close to me, his hand touching my back, as we walk toward the house. I’m too aware of his touch, too aware that if I make a move in any direction he’ll stop me. I don’t know what would happen if I made a break for it. I don’t know how I’d be punished—if I’d be killed.
The front yard is perfectly manicured with apple trees and lemon trees lining the cobblestone walkway, a touch of whimsy in an otherwise devoid home. The thick wooden door has barring over the front.
Once inside, Rian starts to give me a tour, like I’m someone visiting, and I’m struck by the difference between this and when I came to his “home” in Washington. I had thought it strange that he didn’t show me around there, and now I see why. That wasn’t his home.
He shows me to the kitchen, saying, “Our chef makes dinner promptly at six and throws away what’s uneaten by seven.”
Declan interrupts, “You’re not a guest. You’re a prisoner. I want that to be clear. Just because we didn’t kill you doesn’t mean you have the same privileges as us. You’ll eat in your room. You’ll stay in your room until we have decided what’s going to happen.”
He takes over the tour from Rian, pointing me to a restroom, to an office that is none of my business, to a pool room that I won’t be allowed to use, and then says, “Down this hall is your room.”
As we walk down the hallway, we pass plenty of rooms with closed doors, and I ask, “What are these?”
“Various guest rooms,” Rian answers matter-of-factly, “That one’s Kellan’s room.”
I glance into the cracked door of the room and notice that above the bed are hooks and hanging from the hooks is a sex swing. My cheeks burn, and when I glance at Kellan, he winks and looks at the ground, swallowing a smile.
Finally, we reach the end of the hallway, and Declan pushes open the door, revealing my room. I’m ashamed that my immediate reaction isn’t one of disgust or anger, but Ilikeit. The bed is large, larger than my bed at home—a four-poster bed with linen billowing down over the posts. It’s like a bed for a princess. On the opposite end of the room is the bay window of my dreams, with pillows and built-in shelving for books. Across from the bed is a projector screen. In one of the far corners of the room is a giant mirror from floor to ceiling, with an ornate gold frame. On the silky-looking sheets is a babydoll nightie on a hanger spread across the mattress, waiting for me.
For the first time in days, I don’t think of getting back to my sons or Alaina. I think about being covered in that delicious silk nightie and scooching under the quilt on the bed, pulling those linen canopy panels around me, and blocking out all the light as I starfish across the king-size mattress.
Then guilt creeps in. I glance over at Declan, who is watching me closely, his square jaw tense. “So you approve of your arrangements?” he asks.
Swallowing hard, I lift my chin up defiantly. “You can’t keep me here forever, but it’ll do for now.”
He leans forward so his nose strokes my cheek and murmurs, “I can keep you here forever, actually,a leanbh. I won’t, but that’sout of kindness and not because it’s outside of my abilities. I need you to know that. Tell me you understand.”
I meet the cruel glint in his eyes and divert to nod at the ground. “I understand.”
“Good,” he tells me curtly, places a hand on my chest, firmly pushes me into the room, and locks me inside.
For the first time since I stepped into that helicopter, I realize what a misstep I may have made thinking I had any upper hand.
20
KELLAN
“What are you doing with that?”Declan asks me, hunched over his plate like someone who has just escaped prison. Maybe, in a way, he has.
