He’s pissed because it was my responsibility to make sure she was locked in her room, and I passed that on to Remi who got too caught up in her to bother. I notice he’s not here at breakfast to admit fault.
“Why? Because I’m your captive?”
A laugh, dark and ominous, rumbles through the room. It creeps up the walls, closing in around us. A shift in the air causes my muscle to tense.
“Captive? Is that what you are, Freya?”
She doesn’t say anything. Her hands drop to her lap, shoulders slinking forward.
“Does a captive get to leave when she wants? Get to attend school, college?”
“Is there a child in that box?” Her voice is so small, I find myself leaning in to hear her.
Father’s fist cracks against the wood table, making her jump out of her skin. “Never,” he states. “I’d never deal in children. You speak of things you know nothing about.”
“Then tell me. Please, just any crumb of information.”
“No.”
Scooting her chair back, tears glisten in her eyes. “I’m going out of my mind. It can’t be any worse than all the scenarios I make up.”
“I told you once I’m a doctor, but I don’t work for a hospital, I’m a freelancer.”
“Is that a thing?” She frowns.
“Yes, and not often, but sometimes, I need to bring a patient into this country through illegal means.”
“So, that’s who was in the box, a patient?” she breathes, lowering herself back into her seat.
“Yes.”
“Are they okay?”
“I have to sedate them to travel. When they wake, they’re disoriented and frightened. I can’t run the risk of allowing them out until they’re in a secure room.”
A choked laugh crawls up her throat, a hand going to her chest.
“Oh my god. Why didn’t you just tell me that, Noah?” She looks me over, shaking her head, the tears falling to her cheeks.
“Because I don’t have to tell you anything,” I say simply.
I feel my heartbeat in every corner of my body, thrumming as her glare pierces through me. She’s waits a beat, then two, for me to shake off the asshole attitude, but her eyes aren’t the only ones on me.
“Then don’t. Don’t freaking speak to me ever again. I’m done with your mood swings.” Turning to my father, she adds, “Thank you for telling me. And for breakfast. I will think about college. Preferably one far from here.”
My hands grip the arm of my chair, my nails digging into the wood. “Do you care to explain that?” Father croons, unamused.
“She’s a brat.” I shrug a shoulder.
“What are the bruises on her neck, Noah?” Anger roils in the air between us.
“Nothing.”
“I thought I made myself clear about you boys staying away from her.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have moved her in. What the fuck did you think would happen?”
His back straightens, jaw tightening. “What does that mean? Are you involved with her?” There’s something haunting about the way he’s looking at me, his face ashen.
“No, of course not. Why?”
Pushing his chair back, he thunders through the room. End of discussion.
Urgency thrums within me. I need to find her, touch her, taste her, claim her. I try to replace those thoughts with ones of her father, with why I stayed away from her all these years, but Remi’s right. I’ve been using it as an excuse—a shield to not get close, not let her in. That shield is fragmenting as her essence fills the gaps.
Father hadn’t been truthful with her. He fed her lies to protect her, himself, us. Would she be able to handle the truth?
Seventeen
Remi
Sitting in the chair next to Noah, opposite Dad’s desk, I adjust the cuffs on the shirt I’m wearing.
“Tell me more about the Ruin meeting,” Dad says, moving his fingers over his keyboard, bringing something up on his computer screen. The brightness dancing over his face.
“It’s been requested we host a party of sorts for some unsavory character from overseas. He’s a sadist from what I can gather and wants to use your ‘special room,’ or so they called it, to host his depravities,” Noah informs him, folding his ankle over his knee.
Leaning back into his chair, Dad steeples his fingers, watching us both with a discerning glare.
“Why us? Our house? Don’t they have their own accommodations, clubs that specialize in this sort of thing?”
“They’re being monitored by the feds. It’s too risky to entertain this high-ranking client at one of their clubs. I get the impression his kinks are secret and he prefers to keep them that way.” Noah plays with the cuff of his pant leg, appearing preoccupied, which is out of character for him. I know it has to do with what went down with Freya.
“They’re sloppy,” I add, using Noah’s word. “It would be a risk for us to host such a gathering. Not to mention, the contraband they’re involved in. We don’t fuck around with sex slaves. That’s for low-lifes and animals.”