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Wait, what? This is not how it works.
“You’re coming for dinner tomorrow anyway.” My father fiddles with a letter opener, ripping open an envelope he carries. Who gets letters anymore?
“Of course. Not sure if Morrigan’s going to be doing much eating, though.” Ryan runs his eyes slowly over my body, an eyebrow raised, lips pursed, and my throat fills with bile. If my appetite wasn’t lost the moment I saw him here, it’s lost now. He walks next to the staircase and picks up a weekender bag I didn’t notice before. “Shall we,darling?”
My parents’ gazes on me are enough to drag me down the steps, as Ryan extends his hand to me. What choice do I have? There is no escape for me here, not amongst them. Cillian’s words echo through my mind as Ryan’s eyes flare at me… “You’re strong enough…”
Am I? Everything that I am feels trapped in a tsunami, splashing violently around my axis, but when Ryan is around me… it dissipates, and breaks to the ground in an anti-climactic wave.
And I succumb…
* * *
“I’ve been busy,and made your illusion of freedom too real. We’ll have to remedy that, won’t we? No Holt woman gets so much unsupervised freedom.”
Those words have been playing like a broken record in my mind since we came back to the beach mansion that has been in his family for at least three generations. He forced me into his car, since mine offers a freedom he apparently doesn’t agree with anymore… for the most part. He said that the freedom he allows is an illusion, but I’m beginning to think that what we once were was one as well.
“I have a surprise for you.” His grin curves his top lip in a way that makes him look… sleazy. Has his lip always done that? Am I just noticing this? Or is it another new aspect of his new personality that even Jekyll and Hyde would be envious of?
A surprise?Nah… this version of Ryan doesn’t prepare surprises, not good ones anyway.
“Thanks, but I’m good.” If he’s waiting for my enthusiastic response, he’s going to wait forever.
I turn and begin to walk toward the library, the only place in this house that gives me a semblance of comfort. I’m not a huge reader, not of the books that lie on those shelves, but neither he nor his father ever spent time in that space. It’s not tainted; it doesn’t feel as if it belongs to them.
“It’s inourbedroom.” I’ve barely made it five steps. I don’t turn, though. “Come.” I take a deep breath and move forward on a shaky step. “NOW!” His voice changes its tune, booming through the grand space.
“Ryan, Morrigan, you’ve returned.” I’m startled by the sound of his mother’s voice, and turn to find her walking toward us from the living room. “Have you eaten? Should I get Pierre to prepare something for you?”
“Hello, Mrs Holt.” She hates being called by her first name, and even as a widow, when she should be called Ms, not Mrs, she still rejects it. At least she’s always hated me calling her by her first name. I think she just hates me… period.
“No, I’ve eaten and…” He swipes his eyes over me once more, lingering on my hips, as he does all too often “…Morrigan’s not hungry. Dismiss the chef. You can go too.”
Her gaze widens as she takes in those words, before she looks between him, the top of the stairs, and I. There’s a peculiar, all-knowing look in her eyes. “Very well. Have a good evening.” Then the woman looks as if she hesitates to move away. What the fuck is going on?
Involuntarily, I look at the top of the stairs as well, hoping that there would be some sort of indication of thatsurprise,which made even Mrs Holt wary. Suddenly I feel the need to make some excuse and bring her back. She’s a good buffer. Only it seems that since her husband’s death, she’s just another pawn in her son’s life. I wonder if she inherited anything from her husband. Somehow, I doubt it.
I know it’s not going to work, but I begin walking away again.
“Morrigan! I said… now!” His tone lowers, deepening, and shakes my insides.
I have no choice. I never have a choice with him, not anymore.
Sighing, I turn and walk up the stairs, then toward his bedroom at the end of the hall. At the thought of what could possibly await on the other side, I grip the handle much harder than necessary, the metal digging into my palm.
You can do this. You can do this, Morrigan.
I take a deep breath, attempting to force away a lump that made its way into my throat.
You’ll be okay. It will be okay. Just… just relax.
“Open!” His rasp startles me. So I do… I push that door open, ready to face the reality of my situation, the situation I’ve been trying very hard to avoid for the last two months, maybe. Only the image before me stuns me in a completely unusual way. I’m confused, irritated, shocked, and slightly relieved, all bundled into one emotion I cannot name.
“What the fuck is this?” Against the left wall, on top of a white fur throw that covers the whole of his super king-size bed, lies a naked woman—spread eagle.
“This…” He pushes me into the middle of the room to face the bed, then walks toward it, his eyes meeting hers as she smirks and licks her lips. “…is Jasmine.”
She’s the woman that was sitting next to The Serpent in the restaurant. The one attached to him… The one he kissed on the cheek. Oooh, she’s one of the escorts! Does Ryan know who she belongs to? No. He can’t. Unless Cillian said something… but I have a feeling this is more about pissing on The Serpent’s territory than anything else, since he saw them together.
