Merciless (Merciless 1)

His hot breath tickles the crook of my neck as he whispers, “Because you lied to me.”

I can’t respond because he immediately slams inside of me and fucks me exactly how I wanted him to.

Chapter 21

Carter

* * *

“There are five wings in the estate. And each has their own lock.” I glance down at Aria, listening to her bare feet pad on the marble tile as we enter the foyer. The double-doored entrance is only feet away and I know she’s resisting the urge to look at it.

“There are locks everywhere, inside and out.” She chances a peek at me and stills when she meets my gaze. “I often invite those who I don’t consider friends here and sometimes I don’t want them to leave.”

She’s silent as she considers what I’ve said. Nervousness trickles down her body. It’s in the way she swallows, the way she holds her hands in front of her. The way she almost trips over her own feet. And I love her nervousness.

“The front door, for instance.” I motion toward it and she turns stiffly as if she wasn’t dying to look at it. “That box there, to the right of it. You need a code to open it, from either inside or out.”

“I thought you said it was one or the other.” Her soft voice is questioning. Her hazel eyes peer up at me as if I’ve wronged her. As if I’ve hurt her. “You said a bird can be tethered or caged, not both.”

A smile tickles my lips as I reply, “Haven’t you learned that all you need to do is ask?”

Her lips turn down into a frown, but she stays quiet. She knows she’s caged. Wherever she goes, she will go with me, caged and protected just the same.

“I’m a prisoner,” she says as her voice cracks, and she looks longingly at the front doors. The architecture foreboding in a way that seems to forbid a guest from leaving.

“You were before in your father’s home.” My voice is deep and echoes in the foyer. Her eyes reach up to mine in shock as I continue, “Afraid to leave. Afraid to do anything without permission.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” she whispers, and I know she’s well aware of the lie she’s spoken.

“You let fear rule you. Don’t lie to me.” Unease trickles through me. The realization of what she truly fears could change everything.

“How do you know what I did and didn’t do?” she asks weakly, denying the truth and deflecting her attention to something else.

Since she lied to me, I present a lie to her in return. “When you were offered to me, I did my research. I have friends in your father’s army of men. Eyes and ears who offer information for a certain price. I know you spent almost all of your time alone in your room. Maybe that’s why it took so long for you to obey me. You’re used to cells.”

Her mouth parts, no doubt with a rebuttal, but wisely she slams it shut before a word is spoken.

Time passes as we move on. Both of us quiet. Both of us in our own world of denial.

“Your things can be moved to my office, den, or the bedroom. The drawing pad and whatever else you want,” I offer her but still, she’s quiet. Her fingers fidget with one another throughout the tour of the two wings she’s allowed to enter. She doesn’t seem to look at anything or notice anything at all unless we pass a window, which, as I pointed out, have locks on them as well.

“Why are there five wings?” she asks me as I lead her to the grand kitchen. She still hasn’t eaten and she needs to. There’s no reason for her not to and the threat of sending her back to the cell if she doesn’t, is so close to being spoken to life. I’d rather save it for something else, something more meaningful. But my little bird needs to eat.

“I had four brothers and decided they should each have their own wing,” I tell her and step into the kitchen. The garden is just beyond the back wall, lined with black glass from floor to ceiling. The floors are a dark walnut and polished so smoothly I can see our reflection in them.

Her eyes move across the sleek, modern kitchen, from the high-end cabinets to the white granite countertops. Everything is done in white. It’s clean and modern and balances the black glass perfectly.

I anticipate her saying many things, but not the next words that spill from her lips.

“I’m sorry.”

My forehead pinches with a deep crease. “For what?” I question.

“You said you had four brothers. I take it that one or more have passed?” She turns to face me and her hip brushes one of the stools to the island. I can tell she’s not sure if she should sit or not, and I leave her wondering. Just like I leave the pangs of regret and sadness to settle in my gut. Instead, I focus on how discerning Aria is. She’s a deadly combination of beautiful and perceptive. I need to remember that.