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What’s Rose’s story?
Chapter 12
ROSE
* * *
It’s like trying to get blood out of a stone. Esther is impenetrable. I’m tentatively nibbling at the corners of a croissant as I watch her move silently and efficiently around the kitchen, an awkwardness hanging in the air. Three times I’ve tried to strike up a conversation, and three times I’ve been shot down with a simple yes or no. So I try something other than a closed question. I clear my throat and set down my croissant. “How is Danny’s father doing? I’ve heard he’s been ill.”
Her movements stall, and she looks over her shoulder at me like I could be a two-headed beast on the loose. It makes me sit up straight on my stool. “Mr. Black’s father passed away last week.” She doesn’t sound in the least bit sorry about that, turning away and carrying on about her business of scrubbing the burners. “It would be wise of you to avoid prying.”
His father died last week? I would hazard a guess that Danny’s dark mood could be a result of that, but I dismiss that notion quickly. Danny Black is dark, period. “Prying with you or Danny?” I ask, starting to pick at the pastry on my plate.
Esther sighs and turns to face me. “Both. It’s a sore subject, as you can imagine.”
“Maybe I could offer an ear,” I reply quietly, trying to keep the conversation going before it’s cut dead. “Try to ease his pain.” What am I saying? And how do I plan on easing his pain?
“Mr. Black isn’t interested in your compassion, child. He’s interested in what you . . .” She fades off, quickly turning away. She’s said too much. “Mr. Black doesn’t feel pain, so you have nothing to fear there.”
“Emotional pain or physical?” I ask, pushing my luck.
Once again, she turns to face me, giving me a look that could turn me to dust . . . if I could feel anything at all. “Both.” She holds me in place with her glare for a while before returning to her chores like she might not just have silently threatened me. “I think it’s time for you to retire to your room.”
“Right.” Like a naughty little girl for asking too many questions. I slip down from the stool and snag the remainder of my croissant from the plate, leaving the kitchen. “It was nice talking to you, Esther,” I say sweetly, with a little bit too much sarcasm. “Have a lovely evening.”
I hear voices from Danny’s office, but think better than to listen again, heading up through the otherwise quiet house to my room, finishing my croissant on my way. I shut the door behind me and strip out of the jeans I’ve worn for two days, tossing them on the chair in the corner. Unbuttoning the shirt as I pad to the bathroom, I shrug it off and drop it into the laundry basket, collecting the plush white robe off the back of the bathroom door and slipping it on. The marble counter is bare except for the toothbrush and paste that I found there this morning when I woke. There are certain things I need if I’m going to be kept here against my will. Cosmetics, for one. I head back to the room and collect the silver purse Danny gave me in Vegas, taking it to the sink. I pull out the compact face power and set it by the tap, followed by the lip balm and the miniature bottle of Viktor&Rolf perfume. As my hand reaches in for more things to decorate the counter with, just to make it feel a fraction like my own, I frown, pulling out a cell phone. A small disposable one.
Nox.
I don’t bother asking how he got this into my purse in Vegas. It would be pointless—the man has capabilities beyond my comprehension. My heart rate increasing isn’t avoidable as I stare at the cell. I turn it over and remove the back, looking for the final clue that’ll tell me Nox is responsible. The small chip looks back at me. He can track me with this phone. And the bug means I can’t use it to make calls or texts, other than to him and the random dummy numbers he’s saved to it.
I replace the back and switch it on, and the screen soon asks me to unlock it. I know what the code is. It’ll be the same code he programs into every cell phone he gives me. My fingertip punches in the four digits and the screen illuminates.
As expected, there are dozens of fake contacts and easy-breezy text messages, all for show, just in case it falls into the wrong hands. I go straight to Mom, dialing and bringing the cell to my ear, closing my eyes and bracing myself for the sound of the voice that’ll always remind me of my place in this world. How am I going to explain what happened in Vegas? He was there watching me. He knew the moment Danny Black took me.
