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It looks a bit like a fairy tale castle. Huge, imposing, and regal. But it's not the kind of fairy tale most of us dream about. There are all sorts of spotlights around the place, aimed up, illuminating it in the darkness, making it seem even more impressive than it might be in the day. There is an enormous fountain in the front with similar lighting, making already spooky gargoyles look all the more imposing. In any other circumstance, I might think the gargoyles were over-the-top, but there are several guarding the rooftops as well, and honestly? It works in a villain fortress sort of way.
“I forgot you haven't actually seen the house from the outside,” Seven says. Apparently he thinks the word house is just fine. “What do you think? Better than your penthouse?” he says with gentle teasing. It's that charming facade that falls so easily into place with him that it lets me forget for a moment what lies beneath.
He pulls the car into a circular driveway, then he takes me in the front door as though I'm a normal guest coming here for a normal reason. I don't know why, but for some reason, I thought he'd sneak me in through a back servant entrance as though there were people to hide me from. I know for sure there’s a cleaning service, even though I've yet to encounter them directly.
Declan is waiting on a sofa against the wall when we walk in.
He winks at me when I catch that gray gaze which seems the smallest degree warmer than I've ever seen it. Maybe I'm seeing what I want to see—something to convince me that this isn't crazy, putting myself back in the hands of these two psychos.
“Welcome home, Pretty Toy.”
My stomach does a little flip at this, and a longing I'd almost made myself forget comes rushing back to the surface, igniting the place between my legs with warm liquid heat.
“I'm going to get her settled,” Seven says. “Come, Kitten.”
I tear my gaze from Declan and follow Seven wordlessly up a grand staircase and down a long wide hallway. “This is your room,” he says, stopping in front of a large room halfway down the hall.
Gauzy transparent white curtains hang in front of the windows, and even from the doorway, I can see there are French doors that go out onto a balcony. It's a beautiful room. Blond hardwood floors, a king-sized canopy bed with that same gauzy fabric. With a canopy bed, it should look like a little girl's room, but it's the grown-up sophisticated version. The furniture is all natural light-colored wood, with a few gold accents like the full-length leaner mirror on one side wall. Somehow it doesn't look gauche. The walls are a pale cream.
On a table beside the balcony doors is a large vase of fragrant white roses. The room has an attached bathroom, but I can't see inside it from my vantage point.
“What? But I thought...” I stop myself before the sentence is out fully in the open air for us all to stare at it and ponder how idiotic it is.
“You thought you were going back to the cell?”
I look down, unable to meet his eyes suddenly. “Yes.”
“Do you want to go back to the cell?”
“N-no, Master, I just thought...” Again I stop because I shouldn't question it. If I don't have to sleep on a bare mattress—however nice—in a dark gray cell, I should not call attention to the fact that that's an actual option.
“Once the puppy is trained, it doesn't have to stay in the crate. And you are definitely trained,” Seven says.
Declan only chuckles at this. He must have followed us up the stairs. I was too busy being in awe of my gilded cage to notice.
Being back with them, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Seven is the real game maker. He's the one running everything, pulling all the strings behind the scenes. Declan is just as responsible, of course. He was a happy and willing participant, but this is Seven's game. It always has been.
I was always wrong about who had the power here. It's so much more obvious now that Seven isn't playing his role as my co-captive. He stands taller and broader than his friend and partner in crime. I know Declan can hold his own, but there’s a subtle deference he shows Seven. I didn't notice it the day I learned the truth, but it's so clear now.
Not only is Seven the one in charge, but I'm now sure he's the most dangerous of the two—and I slept trustingly inside the circle of his arms on that mattress for weeks while he stroked my hair, got me off, and whispered soothing words into my ear.
The tears come out of nowhere. Maybe not out of nowhere, but I'm sure that's how it appears to these men who have trained me to think of them as my masters.
“Kate?” Seven says. He looks concerned that I'm crying. He wears the mask so well, and it hurts even more when he plays this game with me. At least I always got the truth with Declan. That cold emptiness. But Seven still likes to pretend he has something inside.
And I still want so badly to believe it.
He steps closer to me, and I instinctively take a step back. He arches a brow. I called him after all. Nobody forced me to come back here, but it's hard not to take a step back. He seems so much taller now that he's not my protector.
He takes another step closer, and I fight the urge to run. A long shuddering breath flows out of me as he looks down at me and strokes the side of my cheek. I lean into him, my eyes drifting closed before I can stop them. He pulls me into his arms and strokes my hair.
“Shhhh,” he murmurs as though he actually cares. And I want to believe. I find myself leaning more heavily against him as a wave of dizziness washes over me. I'd sobered up pretty quickly after calling them—or I thought I did. But I did have a lot of alcohol. And I know it was just the adrenaline overriding everything else going on in my body, making me think I was okay when I'm not.
“Declan,” he says quietly, “she needs to eat. Will you bring something up?”
I don't hear an answer, only the receding of footsteps out of the room.
Seven undresses me and puts me in the bed, then he sits on the edge, watching me for several minutes. Finally he sighs and says, “It's late. After you eat, I want you to sleep. We'll discuss what comes next in the morning.”
