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ELEVEN
Iwake in pitch blackness. Even with windows in this room, it's so dark I may as well be blindfolded. I don't know if the moon is dark tonight or if clouds are covering it, but being out as far as we are, there are no street lights. And they've obviously shut off the outdoor lighting.
It only takes a moment to realize why I've woken. I feel him beside me in the bed. I don't mean physically—skin against skin. I just know I'm not alone. And I know it's Seven. I realize suddenly how I know. It's his scent. The clean, safe maleness of him. I've associated his scent with safety for so long, my brain can't rewrite the code now.
I let out a surprised gasp when he pulls back the blankets, exposing my body to the cool air of the room. I wonder if he can see me, if he's using whatever night vision assistance Declan used when he would come into the cell at night, switching out Seven's clothes and the roses on the bathroom counter.
My legs fall open without his command, and he begins to stroke me just like he used to do inside the cell. It doesn't take long for my moans and whimpers to fill the darkness and then only a short while longer for me to come.
“Sleep, Kitten,” he whispers. He covers me back up, and I feel his weight lift off the bed. The door opens, letting the smallest whisper of distant light drift in, then I'm alone again, still panting.
I've got a headache when I wake to the sunlight streaming in through the windows and balcony door a few hours later. Seven is already beside me with some aspirin and water. Then he's feeding me again in bed—a big plate of soft scrambled eggs and dry toast.
“How do you feel, Kitten?” he asks after I've eaten.
“Bad.”
And I must look it, too, because he doesn't get angry about the lack of title or punish me. He just takes the plate and glass away. He pulls the blinds and curtains on the window and balcony door, giving me as much darkness as the day will allow and leaves.
He returns a few minutes later and puts another glass of water on the bedside table then presses a kiss to my forehead before shutting the door and leaving me alone to sleep it off.
I lie in bed for a while, unable to fall back asleep, trying to figure out what his angle is. He seems so much like the Seven I thought I knew from the cell that it makes my heart hurt. It's so cruel that he would play with me like this—give me this lie when what's really inside him is cold, swirling darkness threatening to capsize my mind at any moment.
Why the fuck did I call? The words on the card repeat over and over in my mind.No going back now. I roll over, pull the blankets over my head, and drift back to sleep.
* * *
It's justpast three in the afternoon when I wake. There's a clock on the wall just across from me. I feel a thousand times better than I did this morning, but I feel gross. I use the bathroom and take a shower, feeling more human with each step into this routine of normalcy which distracts me from what could be coming as soon as I'm well enough.
The bathroom matches the bedroom more or less. It's weirdly not quite as nice as the one attached to the cell, but there's a shower and a claw foot bathtub next to a large picture window, so it's nice enough. Even if we weren't so isolated, being on the second floor, no one could see in, but I can still see the rose garden, at least when I stand looking directly outside.
I return to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around me, startled to find both Seven and Declan standing in the room waiting, arms crossed over chests as though they are my bodyguards rather than my captors.Captors I ran back to, I remind myself. With every minute of full sobriety, I realize my foolishness, how I've sealed my fate.
“Feeling better, Kitten?”
“Y-yes, Master.”
“Good, now drop the towel and kneel.”
The air goes out of my lungs, and both the fear and excitement I haven't felt in weeks is back in one sudden rush. And yet I feel self-conscious. I had gotten so used to being their naked caged animal, but now I've become used to the civilizing influence of clothing. I unconsciously clutch the fabric tight across myself.
“I don't want to start with punishment,” Seven says.
I take a deep breath and let the towel fall. Then I kneel on a soft pale rug in front of them.
“Good girl.” This time it's Declan who speaks.
Seven reaches behind him to pick up something from the bed. It's a round silver-colored metal band. There are glittering pale pink gemstones inlaid in the metal, which is probably platinum. He uses a key to unlock it, then puts it around my throat and locks it in place.
“The collar doesn't come off. It's safe to get it wet. Every day you'll be allowed to leave the property from eleven in the morning until six in the evening. The penthouse, car, and money remain yours.”
They're letting me come and go? How do they know I won't run if whatever this is becomes too much for me? It's possible this question is plainly readable on my face because Seven's next words are: “There's a tracking device in the collar. Don't make us chase you.”
So not really free, just a very long leash. I'm still confused by their generosity. I can't square it with what they've done to me. And I can't figure out where exactly they exist on the good and evil scale. I keep foolishly wanting to believe maybe they aren't that evil. But even I can't pretend they've only engaged in a little harmless coloring outside the moral lines.
“Let's take her to the dungeon,” Declan says. “We have more interesting things down there.”
“True, and we can finally play without the pretense.”
