Page 74 of Chained

"Before you go, can I ask one more thing?" she asks, her voice as nervous as the way I feel.

I don't even give it a second before I'm answering. Jesus Christ.

"Sure."

"Would you really have jumped?"

Time suspends in the moment, her eyes catching mine.

"Would you?"

She smiles, but this time it’s different. This time it’s real. Silence spreads, but it isn't the kind that you desperately try to fill. It's the kind that leaves a warmth in your chest and that suddenly feels lighter than ever before. She didn't need to answer, I already knew she wouldn't jump. I'm just glad she finally knows it too.

Chapter Twenty-One

Amora

The sunlight spills into the room, but I stay motionless. My skin is raw from the hours I've spent scrubbing away the scent—the feel—of Vincent that he'd left behind. Every time I close my eyes, praying for the darkness to come and take me away, I see him. Hear the way he panted as he held the handle against my sex. The way it felt when he emptied himself on my thigh. I swallow, my own fingertips treading lightly across the space he'd tainted. I don't know how to move past it, or if I ever will.

Ace's presence helped. For the few short hours he'd stayed, we talked. And for a second, I forgot he was part of the reason I was here, that he'd delivered me to the devil on a silver platter. But there was something about him in the way he touched me with gentle hands, the way he never pushed for more than I was ready to give. That made it easy to forget that he was a killer, that he was Vincent's personal executioner.

I move out of bed and step out onto the balcony, the early morning air crisp as the sun beams onto my skin. I don't even try to stop myself from looking over to his balcony, a small part of me hoping that maybe he'll step out, too. I shake my head, curls dropping to the small of my back. He's a killer, I've seen the blood on his hands, heard the way the others talk about him. I can't trust him, I can't let myself forget, even for a moment. I'd been stupid last night, letting my guard down when I should have been building walls to separate us. I keep trying to convince myself that's what I should have done. But as my hands run along the stone, the same emptiness creeping back in from the night before, I can't stop thinking of his voice. Of the way he didn't hesitate to risk his life to save me. Or the way the sound of his laugh bought me a moment of peace in the hurricane of thoughts in my mind.

I stay there a moment longer, letting the cold seep into my palms, before the ache in my chest pulls me back inside. The room feels different in daylight—less like a cage and more like a room fit for someone who deserved elegance. The walls are painted a deep blue with gold floral patterns. The furniture is expensive, real oak wood. I try not to think about the fact it belonged to someone before me—more importantly, that the someone had been his own mother.

I'm still standing by the balcony doors when I hear it, the click of the lock that drags me from my thoughts. I hold a breath as the door slowly starts to creak open.

"Rise and shine, little dove."

Melina's voice slides into the room before she does, and my whole body goes rigid before I've even turned around. She's leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a black jumpsuit, her black hair in waves over her shoulders with something black and silk draped over her arm. My stomach sinks—a dress. The breakfast, I'd completely forgotten.

"Oh." My face falls as her bright green eyes pierce through me, Ace's warning still loud in my head. I don't need the reminder twice; not after what happened to John.

"Don't look so thrilled." She pushes off the frame and crosses the room unhurried, the dress swinging gently from her fingers. "Vincent wants you dressed for breakfast. I offered to help."

"I don't need your help."

Her smile doesn't move, but something behind her eyes sharpens. "Look at the state of you, you look ridiculous. You need all the help you can get."

My hands ball into small fists at my side that I force open, flexing my fingers. I'd love nothing more than to bite back, to tell her to go fuck herself, but I can't—the punishment is definitely not worth the small moment of satisfaction. Besides, she's Vincent's sister, and after last night…his hands…the handle. I shudder. No. Bite it back, Amora, she's not worth it.

She drops the dress onto the foot of the bed, the fabric pooling dark against the sheets, and something in my chest sinks low and quiet. I already know what this dress means before I've even touched it. Not warmth. Not comfort. Him.

I think back to the room with the mirrors, the small camera that hung above. Had she been watching? Searching?

"How did you know where I was? Before, I mean. In the ballet studio…" I whisper, taking a step closer to her while she sits, admiring the dress laid on the bed.

"You're not exactly hard to find. The manor is riddled with cameras. Vincent had Jarrod search for you and, well, that was my studio. My mirrors."

Her fingernail claws into the wood.

Her face switches for a second, almost like my words had hit something deep inside her. She shakes it off fast, plastering a wide smile on her face, enough to show the whites of her teeth. "Enough about that, anyway, it was a cursed day. Poor John and his wandering…eyes." She sucks her teeth, forcing me to ball my hands into a fist.

I can't bite back the question that's been haunting me ever since that courtyard, even though the answer terrifies me.

"Why did you lie?"

"Lie?" She tilts her head, eyes focused on me. It's a weird stare, like she is staring straight through me, like I'm a ghost. Or maybe because I am nothing. Either way, it's unsettling.