Captive Beauty

“Let’s sit down,” Kill says. He doesn’t wait for me to reply but walks us to the chairs down the hall.

I don’t know how long we sit there, but I can hear the beeps come regularly now. If it was a bad sign, they’d come to tell us. They’d come right away. I just keep my eyes on the door of Jones’s room for I don’t know how long until, finally, a doctor steps out.

“He’s stable again,” he says. He’s watching us cautiously.

I breathe a sigh of relief, try again to pull free. “I want to see him.”

The doctor and Kill exchange a look, before the doctor turns to me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Ms. Hawking. Your brother can hear what’s going on. I’m certain of it. And he’s in a very delicate state right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he can be upset very easily. I think it’s best if you go home.”

“Go home?” I turn back to find Kill watching us. I realize he moves his hand so he’s no longer gripping my wrist but holding my hand. “I don’t understand,” I tell the doctor.

“He’ll be okay, we’ll pull him through this, but he needs some time to heal.”

“Without me.” It’s not a question. I’m Jones’s poison. What happened…he sees it every time he sees me.

“Cilla,” Kill starts. “I’ll bring you back in a few days.”

“I think that’s best, Mr. Black.”

“You’ll call me with hourly updates,” Kill says.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Kill turns me to face him, takes my shoulders, rubs them, squeezes a little until I look up at him. “He’s going to be okay. Let’s give him some time. Space.”

I shake my head, but I’m powerless.

“Come on, Cilla.”

I let him walk me down the hall, out the front doors. He doesn’t speak as he sets me in the SUV, straps me in. He doesn’t start the car right away but checks messages on his phone, talks to Hugo. I’m not really listening, though. Instead, I look out into the fields Jones and I were watching just a few days ago. There’s no traffic on the lonely road beyond.

When he hangs up, we pull out of the parking lot.

“Where are we going?”

“I need to stop by the club. Pick something up. We can stay at the penthouse tonight so we’ll be closer.”

I lean my head back, close my eyes for a minute. “He wouldn’t have done this if I hadn’t told him what you were going to do to Callahan.”

“You can’t know that. Jones is in a bad place. He’s detoxing and maybe for the first time in his life, he’s facing what happened. Or being forced to.”

The unspoken fact that he knows everything sits in the car with us, taking up too much space, not leaving any for me.

“This needs to end,” I say, facing him.

“You’re upset. We’ll talk about it later.”

“No. Not later. Now.”

He sighs, turns to me, squeezes my knee in warning. “Later. And we’re not talking about ending anything. We’re talking about what I learned.”

I swallow. He studies me and his eyes, it’s like they penetrate to my core. He knows everything. I shift my gaze to my lap. I can’t do this. I can’t talk about what happened. I need out. I need away from him.

Traffic picks up as we near the city, take the turnoff to the club. The parking lot is empty but for one car. I check the time and realize it’s been hours since we left the party. I thought it had been minutes.

Kill makes a sound when he sees it. It’s a low, displeased growl. He parks beside the car, switches off the engine, turns to me.

“Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Are you afraid you won’t have the remaining weeks you’re owed?” I ask.

He blinks, looks confused. “What?”

I have to say it. Enrage him. Wound him. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’re afraid you won’t have access 24/7 to the pussy you’re owed? That’s why you won’t let me go?”

He fists his hands and I can see the anger creeping into his face.

“I’ve hit the nail on the head, huh?” I keep going, goading him, because it’s the only way I know how to deal with this.

“No, Cilla, that’s not it.”

“Then let me go.”

He shakes his head, rubs his jaw, runs that hand through his hair. It sticks up when he does, dark spikes on top of his head. “It’s been a really long night.”

“For me too. A long two weeks.”

He takes the key out of the ignition and opens his door. “I’ll be back. Stay here.”

I climb out too, follow him, my heels echoing in the empty night. “You don’t hear me, do you? You don’t hear anything but what you want.”

We reach the side door and he chooses a key from the ring in his hand, turns to me. “I heard and saw plenty at Callahan’s,” he says.