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I closed my eyes, turning away.
• • •
I clenched the window frame on both sides, staring out into the vast, silent night high above the rest of the house.
Michael.
They’d sent her here. I knew it. But why? To motivate me?
It had to be them, and if they could get someone in, why not one of them?
I had my plans for her, but there were bigger things at play right now, and it wasn’t the time.
Fuck.
I squeezed the frame, hearing the wood crack in my fist.
Did they know what she did? They would’ve had to in order for Rika, Banks, and Winter to be on board with this.
It was kind of cool, I guess. I figured they’d find me, and never doubted they’d look, at least, even if it did take them forever.
Unfortunately, none of it was necessary. I knew exactly what I was doing, and even though it pissed me off, I couldn’t blame them for doubting that I was in control.
The stairs creaked, and I heard a voice behind me as someone entered my room. “Can you finish it?” Aydin asked.
I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him stand at the top of the stairs leading into my attic room. He walked over, carrying his shirt in his hand and holding my eyes like a snake.
Always like a snake, coiled for the kill, and when it struck, you didn’t even know what had happened until it was over.
I nodded, pulling off my T-shirt and tossing it on my bed. I grabbed my kit and joined him at the leather bench I had sitting against the wall.
Setting his shirt down, he laid on the bench and tucked the other arm under his head as I poured the rest of the black ink I’d siphoned into a small dish.
I sat down and picked up the needles I’d tied to a pencil and dipped it in the ink. I approached him, leaning down to his right shoulder.
“So, w
hat should I do with her?” he asked.
I faltered for a moment but then pressed the three-needle tool into him, breaking the skin as the ink seeped immediately into the wound.
I didn’t answer, because I knew better than to answer.
“You didn’t help her,” he mused, unfazed by the pain. “She clearly expected you to.”
I pressed again and again, redipping the needles into the ink every few moments as I tattooed the final line and colored it in.
His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, not missing a beat. I had some professional ink on my body, but a lot of mine was homemade like this, and I knew well it hurt.
Like Damon, though, it was the pain or it was nothing with Aydin.
“She’s a fighter,” he said.
He gazed up at the vaulted ceiling of my little hideaway that I’d moved into after my first night here. The white rooms and white rugs and white everything chilled me downstairs. I wanted my space, and I wanted it dark.
Plus, the windows opened up onto the roof up here. I liked the view.
“I love that about her,” he continued. “As long as she doesn’t hang herself with what little rope that I’m giving her. Did you notice that?” He looked at me. “It was like she didn’t actually realize the gravity of her situation. Trapped, with no way to survive if she leaves, and with five men who want to have the kind of fun we’ve been deprived of for so long, that a simple matter of money can make go away if she complains.”
