Author: Skyla Madi
Category: Contemporary
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He didn’t have to come back for me. He got what he came for—his brother—and he was free. I’ve never had a family, so to see that, somewhere along the line, I’ve become as precious as family to him…it means the world to me.
“We don’t need the Twisted Sons,” I tell her, closing my eyes. “We can rescue ourselves.”
She ceases to draw soft circles on my forearm, opting for a quick, nervous tap instead. It might have driven me insane prior to all this nonsense, but I easily fall asleep to it this morning and I dream of nothing.
***
Thuds and bangs echo through my ears, stirring me from my sleep. I shift on the bed, bringing my knees up and tucking my head into my chest. I don’t even want to think about starting a new day. If I could skip this one—just this one—I might have the energy to keep pushing myself through this hell.
I doze off.
The sounds of coat hangers being slid against metal draws my eyes open. The hangers click together, and I blink. Sleep eludes me, my mind becoming clearer with every second that passes, and I know there’s no falling back into it. What the fuck is going on?
“Come on, sleepyheads. It’s almost noon.” Laura’s sugary tone sends ugly chills down my spine.
I remain still, refusing to start my day to the sounds of Laura humming as she lays out her smorgasbord of beauty torture devices. Beside me, the mattress dips and the blankets slide, allowing cool air to blow against the small of my back.
“The party isn’t until eight,” Monique says, her voice gruff from sleep and irritation.
“Beauty takes time, ladies.”
I scoff, pulling blankets over my head. If looking beautiful takes eight hours to achieve, then I better come out of this looking like Angelina Jolie.
I feel Laura grip the end of the blanket and pull. My weak grip fails, unsurprisingly, and Laura manages to tug the blanket clean off the bed.
“Get up,” she orders. “Or I’ll have one of Skull’s men make you get up.”
I lift my head to look at her. She stands so perfectly at the end of the bed, her blonde hair shiny and strong, her posture straight and somewhat intimidating.
Without complaint, like always, Monique moves from the bed, her blonde hair a bigger mess than mine, and grabs a red satin robe from Laura’s rack. With grace, she slips into it and wraps it around her slim, lingerie-clad body.
Exhaling, I roll onto my back, ignoring goosebumps as the cold air sends them breaking out all over my skin. “Monique can go first.”
“No. I need to prepare both of you, so I have time after to work on me.”
“Here,” Monique says, extending a black satin robe to me. “They’re surprisingly warm.”
I hold out my hand with a yawn and she tosses the robe at me.
“Great, so, normally I start my preparations with a nice facial mask. Neither of you are allergic to charcoal, are you?”
Monique and I shake our heads as I shuffle to the edge of the bed and swing my legs over the side. I slip into the robe and pull it tightly around me, securing it in place with the tie. While Laura takes off her cream shift dress, I cross the floor to one of the smaller red armchairs that she’s pulled to the center of the room and I lower myself onto it, placing my feet on the wooden coffee table in front of me.
I don’t know how long Laura has been in the room, but holy shit, she’s done some damage. I glance over racks of gowns and cases upon cases of makeup. There’s a case for everything—shoes, jewelry, head pieces, beauty products. What she’s brought could fill a drugstore. How can one woman possibly need so much stuff? Has she even used half of it?
Stepping around open suitcases, Monique joins me in the center of the room and lowers herself into the armchair next to me.
“I’m hungry,” she grumbles, swiping a small hand over her face. “Are you?”
I shrug. “Hardly.”
We watch, silently, as Laura unclips her strapless bra from behind and tosses it onto the bed. Grabbing the last black robe, she puts it on and rummages through the case on her left. I observe her as she pulls out all kinds of pastes, creams, and tubes, searching for something in particular. She finds it with a happy gasp just as a knock raps against the door. I glance sideways at Monique as Laura rushes over to it on the tips of her toes.
I smell it first, when she opens the door.
Bacon.
Eggs.
Toast.
Everything a good breakfast consists of.
My mouth waters, pooling under my tongue. I’ve made it my mission not to eat most of the food they provide. A show of rebellion, I suppose. Plus, I figured if I die of starvation then at least I die on my terms, but how long has it been since I’ve had bacon? How is anyone in their right mind supposed to deny themselves that?
“Are you hungry now?” Monique teases, licking her lower lip.
I swallow, unable to take my eyes off the large breakfast platter one of Skull’s staff brings into the room. I don’t see them often, the people who work for Skull behind the scenes. The people that work without guns or metaphorical whips to their back. The old lady in front of me doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would work for a criminal like Skull. I wonder if she knows about his line of work? I wonder if she knows we’re prisoners here?
My stomach is loud, a roar in the silent room, as the mature aged woman in a white shirt and baggy, black slacks brings the plate toward the oak coffee table before me. I pull my feet back, placing my aching soles on the plush carpet instead. She sets it down without making eye contact, or at least I think she does. To be honest, I’m not paying much attention to her. I can’t. Not when long, thick strips of greasy, glistening bacon are staring up at me, begging me to eat them. It’s a strange phenomenon, when the craving for food takes over your entire system. I need it like I need air. If I don’t get it, it just might be the end of the world. I don’t pay the woman much attention as she straightens her spine and turns away. Laura exchanges brief conversation with her while I pick the platter apart in my head, trying to decide where I’ll start first.
Laura locks the door after the woman leaves and turns to us with a tight smile. “Damien thought it would be nice that you two have breakfast. He doesn’t want you skipping meals and passing out early at the party.”
Laura’s tone is clipped, disappointed almost. She flicks a slender hand at the plate, gesturing for us to eat, and that’s all it takes for her to disappear into the background. The platter itself is enough to feed a small tribe and still I don’t want to share it with Monique. Judging by the sound of her churning stomach, I’d say she feels the same.
Sitting forward, we both swipe our palms against our thighs and pause. There are no plates or knives or forks. Did they expect us to eat off our laps? Like dogs? These strips of bacon are no joke.
Monique is the first to move. She slides off her armchair and sits on the floor right against the coffee table. I watch to see how she does it, how she eats breakfast when denied basic cutlery, and she does it well. She reaches for the toast first and pinches the small triangle of golden bread between her thumb and index finger and uses it to grab the scrambled eggs. She opens her mouth wide and stuffs it inside with a dreamy sigh. She can barely close her mouth around it. A tiny piece of egg falls from her lips and lands on her robe, but she doesn’t care.
A painful bubble pops in my belly as the most delicious smells fill my entire being. I don’t waste another second before I join her on the floor. While she sits chewing her way through the eggs and toast, I start on the bacon and the breakfast sausages. Opening wide, I bite into both at the same time. I can’t withhold my moans of pleasure as the hot meats touch my tongue. If there was only one food group I could choose to survive on for the rest of my life, it would be meat.
“I take it the bacon is good?” Monique mumbles through a mouthful of food.
I roll my eyes and groan. I’ve always loved breakfast foods. They’re my favorite.
We don’t notice Laura a
pproach until she sets a bottle of black cream on the table in front of us and a small tube of…of…well, whatever it is, it’s pink. Crossing her legs at the ankles, she lowers herself to the floor across from us and watches as we shovel food into our mouths.
“When you two are done stuffing your faces, we can cleanse, exfoliate, and moisturize them instead.”
I nudge the platter toward her, and instead of politely declining, she screws her face up and gags dramatically. It actually fucking offends me.
“Do you have any idea what all that oil does to your stomach and your intestines?”
I stuff some more bacon into my mouth and move a hash brown closer to my end of the plate. My next victim.
“Bacon is bad for your heart and your hips, bread bloats you, and anything deep fried is…” She inhales through her nose. “Whatever. It’s your funeral.”
“And what did you have for breakfast?” Monique asks between chews, challenging her to say something better than bacon.
Laura straightens her slender shoulders with pride and pokes out her chest out. “An organic acai muesli bowl.”
Wow. Never thought I’d pity someone else, given my situation, but that sounds awful. It’s not even as fun to say as “bacon and eggs.”
I smirk and grab my crispy hash brown. “Sounds awful.”
She frowns. “It was delicious.”
The door opens then and in steps my walking nightmare in a black, well-fitting three-piece pinstripe suit, one hand stuffed into his pocket. I wonder if he knows his vibe is less like Scarface and more like Jack Skellington.
Laura jumps to her feet and storms over to him, her voice quiet and clipped. He shifts his weight onto his right leg and tilts his head on an angle as she chastises him. Without glancing in our direction, Laura points an angry finger at our breakfast. If she has this taken away from me, I will cut her.
“You know how I feel about greasy foods and meat,” Laura snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “How am I supposed to get them ready when all I can smell is—”
Skull presses his hand to her mouth and her entire body goes rigid, her hands falling to her sides.
“Today isn’t about you,” he simply says before stepping around her.
I swallow the food in my mouth as Skull approaches, towering over Monique and me like an oak tree. “How’s breakfast?”
Monique continues to chew her food so she doesn’t have to speak, but I don’t think Skull is asking her anyway. No. His black stare is on me. Only me.
“Fine.” Pursing my lips, I flick my tongue across my front teeth. “Thank you.”
“Jai told me breakfast foods are your favorite.” He steps around the coffee table and perches on the corner, threading his fingers together between his knees.
“And why would he tell you that?” I ask, unable to mask the sass in my tone. “Why would he tell you anything?”
“It’s not hard to force milk from a nursing cow, Kitty-Cat. All I had to do was squeeze him a little.”
I screw up my face, equal parts confused and disturbed. What does that even mean?
“I told him I was worried about your health, that you feel bonier in my arms at night than you once did. I must say, you’ve really done a number on him.” Skull smirks. “I can goad that guy all day long and he’ll fight me until the bitter end, but the second I mention your health and well-being in a negative way, he turns soft, like butter, giving me the answer to any question I pose.”
I put my half-eaten hash brown back on the plate as my stomach turns, my appetite leaving me. I don’t know why he torments Jai the way he does. The things he says to him…they hurt me more than any physical injury I’ve sustained at the hands of Skull. Joel is the one he really wants. Joel is the one who started this whole thing.
I drag a subtle inhale through my nose and smooth out my face. I told Skull I wouldn’t cause any more trouble, and until I find a way out of here, I’ll stick by my promise even if that means giving in to the salacious things he wants from me.
“Breakfast foods are my favorite,” I utter, swiping at my mouth. “I also like pizza and anything with pumpkin.”
Skull watches me closely as I brush my palms over my robe, removing bread crumbs that Monique has somehow managed to cover me in. He leans forward and I still, my heart thundering, as he tugs my robe slightly off my shoulder, exposing the skull tattoo he gave me when we were underground.
“Enjoy your day,” he says, swiping an index finger over it. “I have some errands to run so don’t give Laura a hard time while I’m gone. I don’t want to come back and find my men have beaten you both within an inch of your lives because you’ve done something foolish. I need you looking your best for tonight.” I peer at Monique and Skull snatches my chin in his strong hand, forcing my attention back to him. “You, especially.”
Skull swallows the distance between us and plants a heavy kiss on my mouth. His eyelids are closed, but I keep mine wide open. The black circles around his eyes have sucked me in and I can’t help but feel like I’m falling down a rabbit hole that leads straight to a terrifying kind of hell. A quick flick of his tongue along my lower lip is all it takes for me to wrench my head away and sit back against the armchair.
Opening his eyes, he smiles and it’s devilish and predatory, enough to make my blood run cold. Slightly angling his body, he turns his smile on Monique.
“Your turn.”
Swiping her hand over her mouth, Monique pushes herself from her ass to her knees and leans over me, her face void of any of the emotions I feel before kissing Skull. What’s her deal? How does she do it? How does she keep herself from sneering? Her skin from turning a pale shade of green?
“Always the good girl,” Skull mutters to her before touching the side of her face and kissing her softly on the mouth.
Their kiss lingers longer than ours did and she doesn’t pull away until he does. Satisfied, Skull pushes himself to his feet with a content exhale. He doesn’t utter another word to us as he turns around and saunters back toward the door where Laura stands, her shoulders square, her eyes narrowed. It’s common knowledge that Skull and Laura have a unique relationship. Up until recently, she’s never had a problem with Skull and me—shudder—but even I’ve noticed she doesn’t sleep in the bed anymore.
“Look after my girls,” he tells her, planting a small peck on her cheek. “Matt’s downstairs if you need him.”
He steps past her and she deflates with disappointment as she turns around and watches him leave the room. She stares at the door for a few seconds after he leaves and as each second passes by, her posture becomes more and more rigid and, when she turns around, I see the jealousy burning deep down in her stare.
The last thing I want is to come between Skull and Laura. They’re both psychos who deserve each other, but…plots begin to stir in my brain as possibility bubbles to the surface.
I could use that, her jealousy. If I can exploit her weakness until she implodes…
It could very well be our ticket out of here…
FOUR
Emily
Mascara
The skin on my face has been exfoliated, oiled, stripped, pinched, wiped, and moisturized so much I can no longer feel it. Everything about Laura’s beauty regime is awful and I think she’s taking Skull’s earlier visit out on us on purpose.
I sit in the armchair, watching as Laura towels off Monique’s face for the one hundredth time. When she’s done, Monique presses the tips of her fingers to her raw, pink skin and blows out a sigh of relief.
“Oh, thank God my face is still there.” She giggles, waving her hands to cool her skin. “Jesus Christ. That was horrible.”
I snicker, but Laura isn’t amused. Since Skull’s departure, her mood has done nothing but plummet and plummet.
“Beauty is pain,” she snaps, tossing the towel over her shoulder. “But you two wouldn’t know that, would you?”
I roll my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
S
he whirls on her heel to face me, her expression the perfect picture of superiority. “It means you’re basic. You’re plain. I bet no one has ever looked at you twice.”
I simper. Of course, no one looked at me twice, but it has never been a goal of mine to be fawned over, to have the opposite sex dropping to my feet as I walk by. I’ve never craved to be envied by other women or lusted over by married men. I’ve only ever wanted to survive.
Almost every cent of my paycheck went to food, rent, and electricity—and sometimes I didn’t even have enough for that. I rarely wore foundation or eyeliner. In fact, the only makeup that touched my face on a daily basis was the only item I had in my makeup bag—mascara. Other than that, I spent most of my days wearing scrubs that often ended up covered in someone else’s blood, spit, and piss. Despite that, I took pride in the fact I was alive and I was making it on my own. No buttery eyeshadow or blinding highlighter could ever make me feel as good as being a strong, independent woman does. I am basic, and I am plain, but that has never been a bad thing.
And Jai.
Has she seen him? He’s tall and broad-shouldered. His body is finely tuned, wrapped in thick ropes of muscle. His dark hair is cropped short, his eyes a captivating, dark ocean blue. To say he fell from the pages of a romance novel or the cover of a men’s fitness mag would be a cliché—it also doesn’t do him any justice—but he is, hands down, one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever laid eyes on. Sculpted from marble by God himself, each rise and depression carefully thought out. Jai can have any girl he wants, but he wants me, and if that’s what being basic gets me, I’ll take it.
I open my mouth to agree with her, to validate her opinion, but it happens quickly. She’s yanked backward, her eyes going wide, her hands flying to the metal chain around her throat. I jump out of my chair, and gawk, dumbfounded, as Monique wraps more of her leash chain around her fists and pulls Laura harder against her.
“Don’t just stand there,” Monique snaps at me, her laboring coming through in her tone. “Hit her with something.”