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“Drop dead, Jericho St. James. Just drop dead.”
I close the door and walk away with a smile on my face because this has just shaped up to be a hundred times more fun than I imagined.
12
Isabelle
I glare after him while buttoning my clothes. I swear it feels like his hand is still on my skin. Inside my panties. Rough fingers rubbing my clit.
Me liking the sensation.
Me fucking liking it!
“Fuck you, Jericho St. James,” I say, my face hot with humiliation as I tuck my shirt back into my jeans and go into the bathroom to wash my face. I can’t help but catch a glimpse of my reflection, though. The streak of blood smeared across my cheek. His blood.
I stop. Look straight at myself.
His blood.
He bleeds. He’s human.
Which means I can hurt him.
I press a finger through the red streak. I did this. I bled him. And I don’t know what he expected in taking me, but this will not be a one-way street. I will hurt him back every time he hurts me. I will not just take it. He’s a bully. A kidnapper. Probably more and worse things.
But then I see Angelique’s little face at the breakfast table. Her well-loved bear in her lap, two fingers rubbing the ear as she stared at me like she’d never seen anyone outside of her family before. And I see his face as he watched her. As he tucked her hair behind her ear with the gentlest touch of those giant, menacing hands. As he kissed the top of her head.
This is like two different men.
Her father.
My devil.
I shake my head, adjusting the water as hot as I can stand it in the sink and scrub my face. I tell myself how much I hate that he touched me. That he laid his hands on me. I don’t remind myself the point he was trying to make. The point he proved. And I quash the thought that I enjoyed it because I did not.
I switch off the water and grab a towel to roughly dry my face. I glance to the clock on the bedside table. It’s a little after nine in the morning.
My toiletry bag is here on the counter. I rifle through it, grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste to brush my teeth as I search through the drawers beneath the sink. I find my razors, tampons, shampoo, and conditioner. Everything from my bathroom at home. Well, most things. My scissors are missing. Probably doesn’t want to take a chance I’ll stab him.
I switch off the electric toothbrush and rinse, then dry my hands again and hunt through my makeup bag. There I find the little plastic package of birth control pills. Carlton made sure I was on them as soon as I moved into his house even though I told him there was no need. Now I wonder if there’s going to be a need. I pop the next pill in the cycle, swallow it with a handful of water. I’ve always been lax about taking them, but now I’ll make a point to do it right. Because I know what just happened is only a prelude. I have no doubt Jericho St. James plans on having me in his bed.
I return to the bedroom and take a quick look inside the small interior pocket of my backpack to confirm two more sets of pills are still there. I always get them from the pharmacy in three-month increments.
After zipping the pocket, I look out the window. I must be at the back of the house and from what I can see, the large garden is bordered by dense woods surrounded by a wall that seems to go on for miles. There are a few areas where the trees thin out and far to the east of the house, I see what appears to be a crumbling stone structure. Or maybe it was once a structure. It’s too distant to tell from here. I don’t see the house on the other side of that wall. Only more trees. The Bishop and St. James properties stand back-to-back, a wall the dividing line between them. This place is like a fortress. Why does he need a fortress?
The Bishop house is probably as large, but the garden doesn’t look nearly as well kept as this one below with its large, turquoise swimming pool, the beautiful furniture along the wide, curved patio overlooking it and the neat garden with what seems to be miles and miles of roses along the walls. It’s beautiful. Like a fairy tale.
A knock comes on the door, and I’m startled. I turn but I know it’s not him. He wouldn’t knock so I tell my heart to slow down.
“Yes?”
“Isabelle, it’s us. Leontine and Angelique. May we come in?”
I walk to the door, picking my way around the shattered lamp to open it. I see Leontine standing there with her hand on Angelique’s head. Angelique is holding her bear and a very large book with a beautiful binding that looks like it may weigh more than she does.
“What happened?” Leontine asks as she looks down.
“Oh, I um dropped a lamp.”
