Page 23 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
Gabriel’s power, both in the business world and his physicality, makes me think of an older man. His vitality makes him younger. I don’t know exactly how old he is, but how is it possible he’s never had a serious girlfriend? Why would he be talking about Hannah when he’s drugged if she didn’t mean something more?
Anders shakes his head. “I told you once that Gabriel was dangerous for you. You didn’t believe me then. I don’t really expect you to believe me now.”
“I thought you said you were wrong about me.”
“About you, maybe. Not about him.”
“Then Hannah—”
“Forget about her. I don’t know who she is, and I don’t fucking care. The person you need to worry about is lying right in front of you, unconscious. If you’re smart, you won’t be here when he wakes up.”
I blink, uncertain what he’s implying. “Gabriel wouldn’t hurt me.”
A rough laugh. “What does he call you? His little virgin? I’m pretty sure he already has.”Chapter ElevenI drift off with my arms on the sofa, my knees curled underneath me. There’s a bed upstairs, another sofa across the room. And I can’t make myself leave his side, not when he’s vulnerable like this.
In my dream the earth crumbles to dust, only to form again in the shape of the woman. Soft grass covers her body, delicate white flowers dusted over her lush curves. She’s made of dirt and vitality, darkness come alive.
Water laps at her skin, nourishing at first. Surrounding her. She’s an island, alone.
The water keeps rising, rising, creeping over her skin before she realizes what’s happening. By the time she’s submerged, it’s too late. She can only press her mouth to the surface, one final gasp.
And then she drowns.
I come awake with a painful intake of breath, my lungs burning.
It takes a second to orient myself—to the sleeping man under my arms, to the strange sounds coming from the hallway. My limbs still heavy from sleep, I stand and peek out the doorway. It sounds like rain. Like thunder. Like a wild battle.
The heavy oak door to the Den stands open, dark slashing rain a grim backdrop for Damon Scott. I’ve seen a hundred different smiles from this man—the mercurial enigma, the joyful deviant. Never have I seen the features of his handsome face etched into grief.
Rain darkens his suit, dampens his black hair around his temples.
He holds a girl in his arms, her skin sickly pale, almost blue, kicking the door shut.
I gasp. “Is she—”
“Dead?” Damon asks, his voice tighter than I’ve ever heard him. He auctioned off my virginity to a roomful of sadistic billionaires with ease, but he looks like he’s about to crack. Whatever he’s just come from has nearly broken him. “She’ll wish she was.”
I can’t tell whether that’s a threat. He isn’t going to hurt her, is he? She looks bad enough. “What can I do?”
“Blankets,” he mutters. “Every single one you can find.”
A breath of relief fills me. He’s going to help her.
I follow him upstairs but continue to the end of the hallway to a closet. There are plush down comforters and creamy knitted throws. With my arms full I find him in a bedroom decorated with antique cherrywood. A high bed sits on a platform in the center of the room.
The girl lies on top of the sheets, her legs bare. As I watch, Damon tears away sodden blue fabric from her skin. I can see the blue veins in her breasts. She must be freezing. What happened to her?
Part of me is horrified, but the other part springs into action. Taking one of the throws, I approach and use it to dry her skin with invigorating strokes while Damon yanks away the rest of her clothes.
Her hair is a limp mass, turned pitch-black from the rain. I wrap the blanket around it and squeeze. She doesn’t stir, even when I accidentally catch a lock around my pinky. She feels like ice to the touch.
I glance back to ask what happened, only to stop, my mouth open. Damon’s suit jacket lies in a wet heap behind him, his shirt half-unbuttoned. As I watch, he pulls the soggy fabric apart, ripping the rest of the buttons. His hands move to his belt before I can speak.
“What are you doing?”
He gives me a dark look. “Fucking her limp body. What do you think?”
I look back at the helpless naked body on the bed. I have no idea who she is or what she’s been through. Was Damon Scott the one who did this to her?
He isn’t really trying to have sex with her. I see the line between his eyes, the tension in his body, rippling through muscles I never guessed were under those finely tailored suits.
That doesn’t mean she would want his naked body around hers.
