“He’s not worth it.” His voice snaps me out of the trance he seems to have over me, like some voodoo magic.
“He was worth it to me,” I say. I know Malachi has never liked Jack, and maybe in his screwed-up way, this is him telling me I am better, but already I am on the defensive, because while Jack wasn’t crime free, he wasn’t Gage. He didn’t hunt people down to kill them, he didn’t sell women to the black market or have whore houses, he didn’t run drugs through London. He didn’t just watch the last of his family being lowered into the ground.
Taking a step back, I can see the confusion in his eyes, just like Hayden. They never understood my love and loyalty to Jack. He wasn’t a good parent—Christ, he wasn’t a good man, not really—but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help loving him, hoping that today would be the day he wakes up and sees the world he lives in, sees he has an illness and accepts the help. I left leaflets everywhere so he could find them. If he had gone to one meeting… It would have been hard, but I would have been there for every step. I would have helped him! Goddamn it, I would have helped him. But he gave up.
They all gave up, but I hadn’t! I never gave up on any of them. Standing here, facing the boy I loved, the enemy he has become… I’m messed up, royally screwed, because after everything, I still have hope that somewhere, deep down inside, Malachi can see me, that he’s fighting to get out, to break the darkness. He will be the one to set me free.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice Malachi’s lips lifting into a sneer. “I see your mind working, see the hope in your eyes. No one is coming for you. No one is going to save you.” He crowds me, looking down his nose at me, lip curled up in disgust—before he pushes past me, hands clenched into fists. Muscles coiled, ready to strike.
The pain of Declan’s hits hurt less as his words surround me, as if he’s still here screaming them. His voice is all I can hear, his face all I can see, encircling me, suffocating me. Then his face transforms into Jack, then Hayden, their voices distorted, unfamiliar yet like old friends. I drop to my knees, hands over my ears to block them all out.
“Go away, go away.” Tears burn down my cheeks fast and hard.
I blink, feeling the coldness beneath me, trying to work out my surroundings, realising I am on the bathroom floor, groaning at the pounding at my temples. I grip the sink to haul myself up, my legs shaky and unsteady.
A woman stares back at me, making me jump. She looks sad, truly sad. Invisible tears run down her cheeks, a silent scream escaping her, begging anyone to hear her, see her. Her eyes are dull, grey in colour, her face pale and dawn, hair limp around her shoulders. A red mark mars her cheekbone, beginning to form into a bruise. I lift my fingers and see her mimic my movement. I gasp, reaching forwards again, and see her do the same. Placing my fingertips on the smooth surface, I watch her do the same, looking like a stranger. But I know her, because she’s me. It’s my reflection.
Prince’s words slam into me, and instead of hurting, cutting me to the very soul, they make sense. They break me open, shatter me, bury their way deep inside and then tear me apart, make me at long last lose the weight that was holding me down like an albatross. Hope.
It has finally fled, not returning, not muted behind everything else. It’s gone, disappeared like sand in the wind. There is nothing, no one left. Only me.
He was right, hope has no place, not with people like me. This isn’t a fairy tale. My prince didn’t save me, he destroyed me. They forget to tell you that princes can be evil, can take your heart and rip it out of your chest.
I keep staring at the woman in the mirror, and everything clicks into place, the truth hitting so hard it steals the oxygen from my lungs, makes them ache. My fingertips turn white from the force of holding on to the unit to keep myself standing.
While I have been fighting for Hayden, Jack and Malachi, I never stopped to realise that no one had been fighting for me. Prince was right, no one was coming to save me. No ever had been. The princes in my story chucked me to the dragon. Sold and bought me.
But I’m not a princess either. I’m not this snivelling poor girl. My whole life I have had to fight, to survive, to work out the twisted rules of this world. This big fight I had always fought, thrown punches and not hit anything, while life's punches kept coming, tearing me down, leaving me bloody and bruised. I had gotten up, stood on shaky legs, sometimes crawled, but I made it, survived.
It’s time for the final round.
A plan starts to form, and a wolfish grin pulls at my lips. I’m not going to let them choose my future, my death. I’m taking back control.
23
Lilliana
The more I think, the more I grab on to all the pieces. Some are muddy pieces, some slip through, others stick like clay. The plan becomes clearer.
I run over everything millions of times, the way to break their chain around me, claim back my freedom, my soul. I go into the bedroom, searching the draws full of lace, grabbing a deep purple lacy set and a matching sheer baby doll. I run my fingers over its delicate material. I have never worn something so small, so sensual. But it’s part one of the plan.
I take a seat at the dressing table for the first time, looking over all the makeup, body lotion and perfumes, all branded and expensive. I place on some concealer, trying to hide the circles under my eyes, and a swipe of mascara. When I see the blood-red lipstick, I smile and paint my lips crimson. Running a brush through my hair, loose dark curls fall over my shoulders and down my back.
I have given Prince my body over and over, but this time, I’m going to take his. I’m going to steal his kisses, map his body with my lips, have him writhing beneath me as I watch the hunger grow. I’ll let him pull me into his gravity, take me into his own orbit and drag us away from all that surrounds us, divides us. Let the waves of ecstasy sweep us away, fill our veins.
Let the pain and pleasure clash together, drown us, until there is nothing left. Just us and the goodbye we never had. The final goodbye.
I take a deep breath before I bottle it, gathering the courage and backbone I had when I was younger, before life had thrown its punches, pushed me against the ropes, before the punches kept coming, leaving me shaken, bloody and bruised.
Marcus jumps up, his eyes wide, the first real emotion I’ve seen on his face in the months I’ve been here. The mask he wears soon slips back in place.
“Take me to him.” No names need to be mentioned. Marcus knows who I am referring to. He hesitates for just a second, a moment in time, before he uses the tip of his gun to lead me.
We walk to the right wing of the house, passing doors I have no clue as to what is hidden behind them. When I notice the double doors in front of me, I know they lead to Malachi’s room. I stop, watching the doors as if I can see him already, standing in a pair of silk black pyjama trousers, bare torso, ripples of muscles, a crystal glass filled with amber liquid in his hand as he stands at the window, looking toward the lights in the distance. London. His kingdom. The city that one day he will rule with a ruthless iron fist, full of crime, darkness and debauchery.
The tip of the gun in my side reminds me that I'm not alone. Not looking at Marcus, I continue to walk toward the door. I raise my hand to knock but stop myself and instead grab the handle, pushing the doors open.