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I frown. What the hell is up with him? The last time we were in the library we played truth or lies. Is that what he wants again? We still haven’t talked about what happened the last time we slept when he made me come. He vanished afterward.
I hate following orders, but right now it seems necessary to get my answers.
I run my hand through my long black hair that now reaches almost to my butt. I could really use a haircut. But why does it matter what I look like? I’m a prisoner. He wants me locked away, even if I won’t stay hidden much longer.
I’m wearing jean shorts and a spaghetti strapped shirt. The same type of outfit I was wearing the first time I saw him. I thought my life was devastatingly horrible then, but I didn’t realize how tragic my life was destined to be.
I carry my iced coffee to the library doors, which are closed surprisingly enough. I raise my hand to knock but stop myself. This is my home—at least for now. And Enzo invited me to the library. He’s expecting me.
I push the heavy door open and step into the dream-like room. I’ve never been a big book lover. I’ve never had time to read books; it was hard to find the time when I was focused on finding enough food to fill my belly. And I never had money to spend on lavish things like books. But being in this room makes me want to get lost in the spines. I want to go on an adventure and never return. Books might be the only way for me to do that.
Enzo is the only silhouette I see in the moonlit room, but with every second that passes, light continues to pour in as the sun rises in the sky. We will only be veiled in darkness for a few more minutes.
I walk and notice the chairs we sat in before are gone. Instead, there is a small table with two chairs at either end. This is business. Whatever he brought me here for, it’s not casual.
Neither is he. He’s dressed in a suit. Usually, when he arrives home, he loosens the tie or kicks off his shoes. He doesn’t today. His tie is still done up to his neck. His jacket still buttoned. The only hint that he’s already put in a day of work is the scruff of shadow on his chiseled jaw.
Enzo notices me. His eyes take every drop of me in from head to toe. He notices the clothes and the way they still hang loose on my body. He notices that I tried to brush my hair and that my skin has slightly more color after spending a few hours sitting out in the sun. But he doesn’t speak. Words are reserved for the meeting.
Instead, he sits in one of the chairs. I mirror his movements and sit in the other. I expect now that I’m seated he will start explaining why I’m here. He doesn’t.
The door opens, and Westcott enters. I cock my head. He never enters when it’s just the two of us.
He carries in a large tray with what looks like orange juice in tall skinny glasses, a tray of fruit, and cheese and crackers. He hands each of us a glass and puts the food on the table before leaving. I watch intently as he goes.
Enzo holds out his glass, and I clink mine to his before sipping. It’s bubbly as it goes down. There isn’t just orange juice in the glass; there is also champagne. It tastes nice going down.
“Since it’s morning, I figured mimosas would be more appropriate than wine or liquor. Even though we will both be going to sleep in a couple of hours.”
Mimosas, that’s right. That’s what these things are called.
“Stop stalling. What am I doing here?”
His lips thin as he cautiously sets his drink on the table. “Isn’t that the question you’ve been dying to know the answer to?”
I bite my lip. Is he finally ready to talk? Will he tell me why I’m here? Why he was sent to kill me in the first place?
“Want to play a game?” he asks.
My lips part in anticipation. Do I? More than anything.
I clear my throat. “Stakes?”
“The usual, winner asks all the questions. All of them, until they are satisfied.”
I nod. I feel like this is a setup. Like he’s going to lose on purpose in order to tell me his truth. But do I want him to win? Because after he made me come, I realized I want to tell my own secret.
I want to spill all of my secrets. I want to tell Enzo what truly happened, every painful memory. I want to tell him why I don’t like being touched. Why as much as I’ve healed, I will always be broken too. My secret could change everything. How Enzo feels about me. How he treats me. How he looks at me. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that. But I’m not sure I’m ready to hear his truth either.
Because I care about Enzo, I’ve learned to hate him less, and knowing the truth will probably cement his place in my send to hell list.
So I’ll play the game as always. I’ll do my best to deceive and figure out his truth. This time, I just don’t know if I want to win or lose.
“I’ve never been sold.
“I’ve never been raped.
“I’ve never been tortured,” I say.
