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“What’s the girl to you?”
Cilla draws her hand out from beneath the covers, rolls over onto her side and closes her eyes, this time to sleep.
Dirty girl. Doesn’t even wash her hands.
“What’s the girl to you?”
I don’t fucking know. A distraction? Why did I take her to Rockcliffe House? Why did I open the house again? I haven’t been there once since Ginny. Since my uncle. I always knew I’d have to go back. To face the past. Face my failing. Answer to the ghost of my sister.
Too many ghosts in that house. Hell, everyone’s a ghost but me.
9
Cilla
I wake up to sunshine pouring in from the bedroom windows. I hadn’t closed the curtains and after so many consecutive days of rain, I turn my face toward the bright light and, despite everything, it makes me smile.
At least for a minute until I move and am reminded of the night before by the soreness between my legs.
I sit up, drawing the blankets to my chest and remember how, after dragging myself to my feet and out of the library, I’d hurried up the stairs when I’d heard Helen moving around in the dining room. Shame had burned my face and I couldn’t imagine anyone seeing me in that state. I’d wanted to lock the door but there wasn’t a lock on it. At least not from the inside. I noticed, however, that while I’d been out of the room, someone had installed a sturdy latch to the outside. Nice.
But after all of that, after the fucking, the humiliation of coming, after scrubbing my skin raw, I’d lain in bed and, at the memory of Kill fucking me, I’d slid my hand between my legs and made myself come again.
I push the covers back to get out of bed, and go into the bathroom to shower again. As if I could wash away the shame I feel. I don’t look in the trash can where the heap of soft violet silk lies. The ruins of the dress. Like the ruins of my dignity. Is this what he wants from me?
After the shower, I go directly into the closet and choose a pair of jeans, a sweater and a pair of boots. At least I have my own bedroom. At least I’m not expected to sleep in his bed. I go to the door, half expecting it to be locked, but it opens and there’s no guard outside. He gave me the rules yesterday. My room, kitchen and library. I guess he’s testing me so he can have that opportunity to show me how he’ll punish me.
Not yet, Killian Black. I won’t give you that satisfaction yet.
I head down the stairs and into the dining room. I want coffee. And I want to go outside. Sit in the sun, even if the temperatures are freezing. Helen must hear me because she comes through the door carrying a silver coffee pot and wearing a smile.
“Good morning, Miss,” she says.
It feels strange that she’d call me Miss but I leave it alone. I make myself remember she’s part of this, of his world. She’s not my friend.
“Good morning. Where’s Kill?” I clear my throat. “Killian.” To say his name feels so strange, especially the abbreviated version of it.
“He’s not back yet, but he did send a package for you. Would you like me to get it now or after breakfast?”
“A package?”
“Yes, Miss.”
I shake my head, eye the pot of coffee. “Now, please, and some coffee?” I wonder about Kill not being back yet. Does that mean he went out last night? After what happened in the library?
She nods and pours coffee into an elegant cup. The table is set for breakfast for one.
“Would you like something warm to eat?” she asks.
I see the toast on the table and shake my head. “No, this is fine. And I...” this feels so weird, like I’m asking freaking permission. “I want to go outside.”
“After your breakfast, I’ll call someone to take you.”
So she knows I’m a prisoner. She knows the rules he set for me. She’ll probably report back to Kill. “Thanks.” I don’t mean it.
I sip the coffee and butter a piece of toast. A few minutes later, one of the girls from the night before enters carrying a large-ish box. She sets it on the table and leaves.
Setting my toast down, I look at it. Read the return address. It’s from the Apple store. I open the package and inside, I find a brand-new laptop. Suspicious, I pick up the envelope on top and open the flap to read the note.
You earned this last night.
Rage boils in my gut.
Fuck. You. Killian. Black.
I slap the note back in the box and stand, close the lid and call Helen. I’m fuming.
“Yes, Miss? Changed your mind about breakfast?”
“No. Here. You can throw this away.”
