Bastard!
He grips my elbow, pulling me toward two black wooden doors with intricate carvings and brass gargoyle heads as doorknobs. It's an unsettling sight, as if the doors lead to hell itself, its burning furnace hidden behind the ebony oak. Maybe that's it; he truly is the devil and he's taking me to the belly of the underground, into hell itself, to burn for eternity in its flames.
I draw in a deep breath as he pushes the doors open, revealing a dining room just as luxurious as the hallway; warm golden walls, long black dining table with matching velvet high-back chairs, and a dark wooden floor with a luxurious gold rug that takes up most of the space. Not what I was expecting. There is a large open fireplace burning on the back wall. He walks over and grabs a poker from the rack beside it, fuelling the fire, before reaching for the amber liquid sat on top. He grabs a glass and fills it.
The sight before me is that of the devil himself standing with a raging fire dancing behind him, its orange and red flames reaching outwards, as if trying to touch him, to bring him home. It's almost symbolic of who he is now.
A smile pulls at his lips as he watches me.
3
Prince
Now we are alone, I let my eyes take her in. Nothing of the young girl I remember remains. She is all woman now, cheekbones defined, lips full and pouty. Her mane of raven hair is in a ponytail, a few stands escaping, and it makes my fingers itch to wrap it around my wrist and open her neck to me. The last of her youth is gone, leaving behind an hourglass figure, heavy breasts, a tight waist and hips that flare.
Little Lilliana has grown up to be a beauty, just like I always knew she would. I watch her eyes as they take me in, everything that is around me, and I know she sees it:
The monster I have become.
4
Lilliana
Malachi pulls my seat out, as if he’s a gentleman and this our first date, trained in etiquette and manners. Lies. Before I can remark on it, a waitress appears from nowhere, carrying two trays with silver domes on top. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she stops in her tracks. What shocks me is how normal she looks; petite, with blonde hair tied in a low ponytail, big blue eyes, and heart-shaped lips. I would say she is around my age. Could be someone you pass on the street, hold the door open for, which leaves me wondering how she ended up here. Is she a prisoner, just like me? Or did she want the darkness, crave it?
“Clara.” He breaks her stupor, and she hurries over to the table, almost dropping the food in her haste. “Lilliana will be staying here from now on.” Clara gives a tight smile as she places the domed silver trays in front of us. I don’t miss the way she constantly watches Malachi, running her tongue over her lips. I guess I got my answer. I’m not surprised. He always had this effect on women. He is good looking, but it was the edge that drove them crazy. I know because I used to be one of them.
A waiter appears beside me, making me jump as he pours red wine in our glasses, leaving the bottle on the table before disappearing again. Malachi removes the lids, revealing juicy steak, chips and peas. The smell is wonderful, making my stomach growl, reminding me I haven’t eaten in hours. Working a double shift leaves little time to eat. I’m so hungry, but I bypass the food and grab the stem of the glass, taking a large gulp.
The taste explodes on my tongue; blackcurrants, unsmoked cigar tobacco and something floral, like flowers. It’s rich and full-bodied. That's when I notice the bottle. Even with it being made in 2000, it cost upwards of ten thousand pounds. I only know because the hospital had a fundraiser last year and it was up for auction. ‘Chateau Mouton Rothschild’ will forever be etched in my brain. Yet here Malachi is, serving it with dinner.
I finish my glass in two mouthfuls and fill it again. His brow arches as his eyes track the movement of the glass, the purple liquid coating my lips.
“Eat.” It's not a question but a command.
“I’m not hungry,” I growl back at him, the alcohol swirling in my veins giving me more courage.
He places his cutlery down, sits straighter in his chair, and the air around us changes. His hand slams on the table, causing a splinter to run through the wood. “You will eat! Marco, the chef, made this for you. Stop being ungrateful.”
I keep my eyes on his chest and away from those black orbs. “I seem to have lost my appetite. Who knew that being sold, held prisoner, and having a gun held to my father’s head would do that?” My voice is dripping in sarcasm as I spit out every word.
He lets out a deep breath, his patience wearing thin. It’s like poking the lion, but there’s only so much poking you can do before it pounces, attacks. I should keep my mouth shut, play his game to survive before coming up with a plan, but I can’t help it.
I keep taunting him. “How much? How much is my freedom worth?”
He's taking a sip of his own wine, staring at me over the rim of his glass, looking downright bored by me. “One hundred thousand pounds.”
My breath catches at the amount. That’s all my life costs? My freedom? It’s like rubbing salt in an open wound. They all put a price on what I am worth.
“Why the hell would you lend Jack that amount of money? You know he would never be able to pay that back! It’s insane.”
His fingers play with the stem of the glass, and he studies the purple liquid as he swirls it around, before lifting his eyes to mine. “Business.”
Bullshit is what it is.
“How long until his debt is paid? One year? Two? Until you get bored?”
Malachi smiles, showing off his perfect white teeth, and suddenly I feel like Little Red Riding Hood sat in front of the Big Bad Wolf. “Forever.”
I stand without warning, the chair falling behind me as I place my hands on the table. I watch as he cuts into his steak, bringing it to his lips before removing it from the fork, chewing leisurely before he swallows. All the time I am watching him, I’m seething, so angry I’m finding it hard to breathe. I watch as his neck moves with the motion and the movement makes me frown as something in my stomach twists. A stab of something shoots through me. Is it fear? Because there is no way it could be desire!
“Look at me! This is bullshit!”
He stands, tension growing at the corner of his eyes, all the muscles in his body bunching together. His fist clenches, scrunching the material of the napkin into a ball. “What’s bullshit is that Jack can’t pay the money he owes. You didn’t have to be here. That was your choice.”
I shake my head. How does he not understand? How does he not have a heart, a conscience? “If I didn’t agree, you would have killed Jack!” Taking a deep breath, I add, “After Hayden, you would kill my father, leave me without anyone?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I close the distance between us. “You may take my body, my soul, and you may keep me here as a prisoner, but I will never be yours.” Each word is slow, full of anger and hatred.
He moves so fast, wrapping my hair around his wrist, forcing my head back and exposing my neck. His fingers stroke my throat as he drags his teeth over his bottom lip, watching the base of my neck flutter like a trapped butterfly. When his eyes return to mine, it’s like he’s drawing me into a black hole from which I’m unable to escape. I can do nothing but stare into his eyes as he lets them consume me, devour me.