Chapter 13: Twisted Devotion: Chapter 12

The hum of a moving vehicle vibrated in my ear.

I eased my eyes open, blinking when the darkness didn’t brighten. My body sunk heavily into a hard surface and I moaned as a sharp pain sliced through my skull.

I remembered the bottle of red that I’d sucked down in record time, trying to force my aching limbs to move.

Bringing my hand to my face to rub my blurry eyes, I flinched. A hard strip of plastic bit into my bound wrists.

Everything that’d happened tonight came rushing back.

I jerked up and struck my forehead on something hard. Kicking out my feet only for them to hit another hard surface, too close.

“No. Fuck.” I rolled onto my back, pressing my feet against the interior of a small, enclosed space. It smelled of exhaust and old rubber and must.

A ball formed in my throat.

I banged my bound fists on the roof of the trunk, shouting as loudly as I could, my voice hoarse and cracking.

How long had we been driving?

Where was he taking me?

I shuddered, remembering the tattooed man with the devil in his eyes. The one with bloodied hands in the Brioni suit.

His rough fingers around my wrists. My nipple between his teeth.

Oh god.

There was no way this was happening. No matter how hard I blinked, I wasn’t waking up. The hum didn’t stop. I didn’t stop moving.

How the fuck…

What the fuck was happening?

My heart slammed mercilessly in my chest. My brain short-circuited. I wanted to wake up. I needed to wake up.

Breathe, Em, I urged myself, squeezing my eyes shut. Breathe.

My thoughts slowed, the staticky, frayed edges of them coming into sharper clarity.

I was at home. Drinking, watching a movie, waiting for Carlos.

My throat seized and my eyes flew open.

Oh my God. Carlos.

I’d been so pissed thinking he’d stood me up, but now I hoped he did, because the alternative was too terrifying to imagine.

I pulled my knees to my chest, squeezing them tight as I remembered his words in my ear.

The more difficult you make this, Emily, the more I’ll have to punish you for your insolence. And you aren’t the only one who’ll pay for it…

My shoulders shook with silent tears. He knew who I was.

You aren’t the only one who’ll pay for it…

That’s what this was, then? Blackmail. This monster took me because of my father. Because of what they were doing in the mortuary basement.

Rage burned through me, hotter than the betrayal trying to pump ice into my veins. So, this was his fault. If he didn’t get mixed up with the goddamned devil I wouldn’t be here.

A sob grew in my chest, burning my throat on its way out as I pressed my palms hard into my eye sockets until the tears ceased. They wouldn’t help me. Neither would Dad. What could he do? Call the police? Ha. Yeah, right.

I’d have to get out of this myself.

I patted down my body on the off chance my phone was on me. It wasn’t. I didn’t even have shoes on.

Craning my neck, I squinted into the dark, trying to see if there was anything I could use.

A short cry burst from my lips as the car lurched to a stop, making me have to press my bound hands against the solid surface in front of me to stop from hitting it face first.

Footsteps echoed outside. Short breaths flared my nostrils as every muscle braced for attack, my vision sharpening, heart pounding in my ears.

The trunk popped open.

Bright light flooded my vision, blinding me.

“Rise and shine.”

A pair of strong arms dragged me out of the trunk. My feet touched the cold floor. Around me, an enormous garage filled with vehicles was only a backdrop to the main event as I whirled on the man, trying to jerk free of his grasp.

But he wasn’t my ghost. Not the monster who’d subdued me in the dark. This was another devil. One with dead eyes and a menacing set to his jaw.

“Let go!”

His grip tightened.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Miss Snow.”

The chill of his tone iced over my resolve, recognizing his words for what they were. Not an idle threat but a promise.

“Where the hell am I? Where have you taken me?”

The man, one hand still clutching my arm, slammed the trunk of the car shut.

“Walk,” he deadpanned, shoving me forward.

I stumbled without the balance of my arms, throwing a dirty look over my shoulder at him. At least a full head taller than me, the man was bulky across the shoulders with neatly slicked-back blond hair. Not the ghost, but cut from the same cloth.

There was more than one of them.

He shoved me again and I stumbled forward, shivering at the chill radiating up into my bones from the cold concrete.

The man led me toward a door and I jerked back from it, knowing that nothing good awaited me on the other side.

My gaze darted to the open garage door.

“Don’t even think about it.”

A loud chirp sounded, making me jump, and the mechanical whir of the garage door shutting behind us stole away my only chance at escape.

The man opened his jacket. The overhead lights glinted off the shining silver surface of a gun holstered on his hip. I swallowed.

“Move.”

Inside the door, I was swallowed up by a high-ceilinged foyer, my feet meeting smooth marble floors. A soft umber glow radiated from a chandelier bigger than my bedroom overhead, the crystal shards like jagged stars on a ceiling painted in a mosaic of angels and devils. Fire and frost.

This couldn’t be a house.

It looked more like a museum.

…Or Dracula’s castle.

Heavy Victorian-style doors and elaborate wooden carvings adorned the space.

“Upstairs,” the man barked and I scuttled across the floor with him at my heels.

We passed an endless stream of closed doors and domed archways.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked again, knowing better than to hope for a response.

He said nothing, herding me up another, smaller staircase until we finally stopped.

The man pointed to the space next to him, bidding me to stand and stay like a dog while he drew out a single brass key, fitting it into the lock on a wide mahogany door.

My stomach twisted, picturing what might lie on the other side.

A prison cell. A torture chamber.

A bedroom?

My lips parted, taking in the space on the other side of the door.

It was huge, with another chandelier dripping jewels over a lush carpet. The walls were flat black edged in gold, and aged paintings hung on every wall. The artworks dark and somehow sensual in their abstract silhouette style.

A four-poster bed took up the majority of the space, draped with lavish fabrics, topped with enough pillows to drown in.

A chaise lounge and other furniture filled the rest of the space, upholstered in a sumptuous plum color that matched the curtains. An enormous gilded mirror sat above the fireplace, reflecting the warm light.

I was stunned silent, the whiplash of my capture and this room warring against each other in my head. Next thing I knew the beast of a man who’d corralled me in here would tell me never to go into the west wing.

What. The. Fuck?

“The bathroom is in there,” the man drawled, pointing to the door at the far side of the room. “So is the closet. Everything you need is already here. Meals will be delivered three times a day.”

His speech clarified nothing.

“What am I doing here?” I asked, trying again with a question he hadn’t answered before. He huffed an exasperated sigh.

“This is your home for the next… well, until he tires of you.”

He…

“Who?” I demanded.

He slipped something out of his pocket.

“Arms,” he commanded, flicking a knife open, rolling his eyes when I recoiled, jerking my arms away from him.

“Fine. He can unbind you himself, then.”

He slid the small, compact knife back into his pocket and I was able to breathe again.

“Am I supposed to just wait here until he shows up?”

The man pushed a hand through his hair, clearly wanting to be done with this conversation. Done with me.

“Do whatever the fuck you want until Ruarc gets back.”

Ruarc. So he had a name. The identity didn’t give me anything but something to call him.

“This door will be locked and there are cameras everywhere so don’t get any ideas. And we’re on the third floor so if you’re gonna jump… good luck.”

He gripped the door, stepped out onto the landing.

“Wait.”

His shoulders rose and fell in a tired sigh.

I swallowed to wet my dry throat and held my conjoined arms up.

“I changed my mind.”

His lip curled into a smirk. “I don’t make offers twice, pet.”

My eyes jumped behind him. He noticed, following my gaze out into the hall. I took the opportunity to bolt, darting around him and into the corridor.

His powerful arms dragged me back, stopping me cold before I could get more than five feet. I screamed, thrashing in his arms. He lifted me easily into the air and I lost the air in my lungs to his hard shoulder before he tossed me unceremoniously onto the bed.

“He warned me you were a fighter,” he muttered.

I screamed at him, the sound raw and primal, a roar from a crazed animal that took all my air, all my energy with it.

His brows lifted, watching me with amusement in his eyes as I fought to regain my breath, fists in the embroidered blankets.

“You think I’m taking off the zip tie after that?”

“After what?”

That voice.

The temperature in the room dropped. The man backed off of me and I struggled to my feet, freezing when I saw him.

The ghost leaned against the frame in the doorway of the room, his head tipped to one side.

The tiny hairs on my neck and arms rose. The man, Ruarc, looked even more fearsome than he had in my cabin, appearing out of thin air in the dark.

“I’ll take it from here, Nixon,” he said.

The other man left the room silently, leaving me alone with the monster who took me.

He closed the door behind him, his cold gaze never leaving me as he stood perfectly at ease in the center of the room.

…with dried blood like a river down one side of his crisp white dress shirt.

“How are you finding your quarters?”

“My… my what?”

Confusion sparked into an indignant fury at his measured calm.

This devil took me from my home. Held me down. Suffocated me.

And now he wanted to ask me how I liked my fucking quarters?

He sauntered up to me slowly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, his brow pinched in mock-concern.

Up close, he was bigger than I remembered. With long limbs, wide shoulders, and enough height to dwarf me in size even at five-seven.

“You seem upset.”

I seem upset? I clenched my teeth, speaking through them, needing him to answer me one thing before I would offer him any level of cooperation.

My gaze dropped to the blood on his shirt. “What did you do to my father?”

I watched him carefully, looking for any sign he may be lying as he replied.

“Nothing. Your father is alive and well.”

He caught me looking at the blood on his shirt and glanced down at himself, seeming to notice it for the first time. He pinched the soiled fabric between his fingers with a frown.

“It belongs to a friend of yours,” he explained in a chilly tone. “An ex-boyfriend, I believe.”

“A what?” My mind scrambled to catch up and I almost choked when I finally understood.

“Carlos.”

He smiled then, full lips pulling back over white teeth.

My chin quivered and my eyes burned, imagining Carlos cold and still. In a ditch somewhere. Or worse, buried in an unmarked grave.

My lips parted, registering the ugly truth. Carlos wouldn’t be found in either of those places. He’d be ash in my father’s incinerator.

“What did you do?” I breathed, my chest aching.

“He’s gone.”

His casual words fell like boulders.

No. Carlos wasn’t gone, he was… he couldn’t be.

I talked to him tonight. Just hours ago.

“Why you were with him at all, I’ll never understand.”

“You killed him.”

I lifted my gaze to him, to Carlos’ murderer, seeing him through blurry eyes.

“Accidentally, as fate would have it. A waste.”

Numbness sept into my bloodstream, leaking out from the marrow in my bones.

He killed Carlos. He said he didn’t kill my father but it was only a matter of time. This monster would kill him, too, but not before killing me.

I wouldn’t be the next corpse Dad had to load into the cremator.

I made a run at the door, yanking the doorknob violently. It opened and I ran, sprinting down the stairs with my heart in my throat. Trying to retrace the path to the front door.

The ghost stalked after me, the even cadence of his slow, sure steps, somehow worse than if he’d sprinted after me.

I caught myself on the bannister, looking over it to the parquet floor below and the front door, tall with frosted glass panels, so close.

Making the mistake of peering back over my shoulder, I found him there, steps away, and threw myself down the stairs. My shoulder ached as I picked myself up from the floor, legs tangling in my too baggy sweats as I struggled to my feet with wrists bound.

Someone grabbed me from behind, lifting me from the floor. I screamed, kicking my legs back, feet knocking against unyielding bone.

I groped helplessly toward the locked door as I was dragged backward.

“Basement,” Ruarc commanded from the stairs, the single word cutting through my terror. I thrashed against the man’s hold, making him grunt in my ears as he worked to keep his hold on me, twisting a fist in my hair until my scalp burned and I could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling with tears streaming down my face as he led me into the bowels of the mansion.

My soft cries echoed in the dark cavern. A door opened and the fist in my hair released, my body thrown onto the rough ground. Dust kicked up, filling my nose, scratching at my throat, making me cough.

I lay in a heap on the floor, deep exhaustion settling in my muscles, turning them to puddles against sinew and tendon.

Desperate defeat kept silent tears flowing from my eyes as a shadow loomed over me.

I didn’t cower as he bent to my level, didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching away as he pinched my chin between his rough fingers, forcing me to look into his cold slate eyes.

“You will live, sleep, and eat here until you can learn to control yourself,” Ruarc said.

“Fuck you,” the words fell weakly from my lips.

“Once you do,” he continued as though I hadn’t spoken, his deep baritone expanding in the cavernous room. “You may earn the privilege of returning to the bedroom upstairs. If you’re a good girl—”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You belong to me, now, little lamb,” he snarled, his grip on my chin tightening until I whimpered. “Forget about everything outside these walls.”

“I’m going to get out of here,” I promised him. “And when I do I’m calling the police.”

He scoffed derisively.

“Do it. Tell them I said hi. They’re not coming to save you. Neither is your boyfriend, and neither is your father. You’re mine.”

I spat in his face, shocking myself more than him. Ruarc barely registered the slight, wearing the pitiful spatter on his cheek like an adornment.

He cocked his head at me, releasing my chin in favor of taking my wrists in his hands.

“I want to make something very clear,” he began, rubbing a thumb over my knuckles, making my fists clench. “You will give me anything I want from you. Anytime. Anywhere.”

He pulled a small knife from his pocket. Looking into my eyes as he cut the hard plastic, his grip on my hands tightened.

“Anything.”

The alarm bells in my head rang with deafening volume and my thighs clenched.

“And you will take what is given to you.”

My hands came apart, falling uselessly to my lap.

“If you don’t, you’ll be punished. If you don’t learn from these punishments, I will punish someone you care about instead. Perhaps that’ll be your father. Or perhaps… Tessa?”

I gasped before I could stop myself, clicking my teeth closed, grinding them together.

His hazel eyes burned dark in the low lighting of my cell, watching me, knowing he struck just the right nerve. He traced a burning path down my body, undressing me with a predatory hunger that stole all the air from my chest.

Without warning, he pressed a palm to my chest, right over my heart, where the fabric of my shirt was torn. I recoiled, but he only pressed harder, bending his head, shutting his eyes, feeling me. Reading my pulse beneath skin and bone.

“Don’t pretend it’s only fear that has your heart pounding, little lamb. In the deepest parts of yourself, you crave this. You crave me.”

“I hate you.”

He opened his eyes, pulling his hand back as he unfurled to his full height, standing over me with the regal grace of a lion mid-hunt. “We both know that’s a lie.”