Page 27 of Chained

Block it out. Just block it out.

Chapter Ten

Ace

The sun spills in through the balcony doors, the wind blowing so loud and heavy it knocks over a stack of letters left on my set of drawers. The noise causes me to stir from my sleep. Another morning. Another day in this fucking hell.

I groan, stretching in bed as I grab my phone from the bedside table. 10:00 a.m. Fuck, I've slept in. What did I expect? I'd been stuck babysitting three sleeping fucking girls until 6:00 a.m.

My fingers slide over the screen, the shattered glass scraping across my skin. Luckily after hitting the wall, it had been easy to fit back together, unlike me. I spent the whole night spiralling, my mind out of control as every inch of those cells forced memories I'd long tried to forget. I scroll through the notifications, the ten unread texts from Jarrod—unbothered by his anxious ramblings about this morning's Order meeting, like we don't do this every month. My eyes only stop to read his last two messages, and a small smirk forms on my lips.

JARROD

The girls we brought here are mental, they threw their cups at Percy.

He was drenched in orange juice. Can you believe it?

I laugh, shaking my head as I drop my phone onto the mattress and move to the bathroom. I knew that girl would be trouble from the minute I laid eyes on her. I'm glad to see she hasn't lost her fight just yet—she'll need it to survive. I turn the shower on and step in, letting the warm water flow over me. I still have the way she looked at me burned into my mind, the way it made my chest ache as she looked at me like I wasn't the monster I am.

Time is moving quicker than I anticipated. I'm still exhausted after the events with Melina, making it impossible to sleep for hours after. I keep replaying her words over and over.

You're nothing. Her voice is cold and vicious, as she always is now. I swallow hard. I am nothing, I always have been. It just hurts more that others see it, too, but somewhere deep down, her voice echoes again from another memory—memories I've tried for so long to suppress.

I'll always love you, Jax. Her voice is lighter, more youthful. I sigh, crossing the room to the door and pulling it open, shaking the sound of her voice from my head.

She didn't love me. She never has. She doesn't know the meaning. All Melina has ever loved is herself. I just wish it hadn't taken ten fucking years to realise it. I guess that's what happens though when you're trapped in the same space as your first love; everything you once admired turns into something you hate.

I move through the halls of the manor, the silence almost uncomfortable. I'm so used to staff buzzing around and the sound of music and laughter coming from the parlour at all hours that the quiet is almost eerie. You'd think after living this way and walking the same halls for the last fourteen years, I'd be used to how it sounds when it's empty—when Vincent forces the staff into their rooms on the day of a meeting to ensure his members have complete anonymity from anyone outside his trusted circle.

I walk into the main lobby; Jarrod stands with his back leaning against the banister of the spiralling stairs. He's wearing one of his overgrown hoodies, two sizes too big, his dark curls drifting over his glasses with a laptop tucked firmly under his arm and his other hand at his mouth as he chews against his thumbnail. He hasn't noticed me yet.

"You're gonna have no nail left," I say as I approach him. He startles for a moment, his face flooding with relief when he realises it's me.

"Fuck, Jax, you gave me a heart attack." His breathing is quicker, his shoulders relaxing slightly as I stand beside him and wait.

A thought comes to mind, one which takes me by surprise. I want to ask about the girl, the one with all the defiance—and I don't have a fucking clue why. I knew she was alive—well, she was when I'd left her and the others asleep in their cells, but still. She's buzzing in my head like a fucking fly that won't piss off.

"Hello, Earth to Jax?" Jarrod's elbow connects with my side as he digs in hard, trying to draw my attention back. Turning swiftly, I throw a punch into his arm, punishment for his elbow.

"Ow!" he groans, his hand moving to rub the area I've hit. I roll my eyes. "You're such a girl."

He frowns. "You were lost inside your head again. No surprise there, though—it's always been a little empty." He lets out a nervous laugh, waiting for me to find humour in his childish joke. But before I can respond, the main doors spring open, the cold November air blowing leaves and other debris into the manor, guards holding either door open as Vincent strides in, his face unreadable as he passes us. He doesn't acknowledge us, and I don't know why I'm surprised.

Fucking prick.

Jarrod locks up instantly at the sight of him, his shoulders tense and his eyes fixed permanently on the marble floor. I clap his back gently, hoping it'll comfort him and remind him that I'm here. He doesn't need to be scared. We trail behind Vincent and his guards—I like to call them his little rats, all of them disgustingly loyal to the monster that holds our lives in chains. We reach the large wooden doors of the meeting hall, and Vincent slips inside, letting the doors slam behind him. It's quiet, the only sound filling the silence is our breathing. None of us attempts conversation—fuck, none of us want to, either. My hands are slung in my pockets as I lean back against one of the walls, the rats all giving me filthy looks like I couldn't kill each and every one of them with my eyes closed. A laugh threatens to escape as I think how easy it would be, followed by a darker thought—how much I'd enjoy seeing each one of them bleed.

Footsteps echo back in the main hall, boots thudding against the marble. I turn my head for a second and spot Adrian approaching, his hair a mess and still wearing last night's clothes. He doesn't acknowledge the rats either, he just glares at them as he moves next to me and Jarrod, us all patiently waiting for Vincent to let us in.

"He's taking his sweet time," Adrian whispers as he inspects the paintings, like he hasn't seen them hundreds of times before.

"I wonder what today's meeting will be about." Jarrod's voice is quiet against the hush, his eyes never moving from the floor.

"I think I have an idea," I reply, voice flat as the image of the four girls from the warehouse pops into my head. The girls in their chains—three of them compliant, and the last one the most defiant girl I've ever seen.

"The girls?" Jarrod whispers, finally looking up for a moment. I can see the fear in his eyes, the way he swallows roughly at the thought of this being another meeting for punishment—a lesson for the girls to understand their place and a lesson for the members to show how little Vincent gives a fuck about anyone's life except his own. The doors open and we're welcomed in, the room smelling of candle wax and old paper. I push past the guards and walk in, the circle table already full of The Order members, their faces concealed by masquerade masks—proving again that the three of us are excluded from the circle of trust.

"Afternoon." I nod to one of the older ones. He has a huge scar on his cheek, but never tells the story of how he got it. He's always been one of the nicest, and by that, I mean he doesn't involve himself in the women Vincent brings in or the auctions he holds monthly for the ones he doesn't wish to keep.