Alone, with just the last few rays of the sun visible as they cast a glow through the gap in the curtains, I lift my hand, wiggling my fingers through its warmth. My heart is tearing but not a single tear falls. Rage fills me but no scream escapes.
I take the pin out of my hair and my locks cascade over my shoulders and down my back. Bringing it to my wrist, I pop the smooth metal. Stupid mistake—Malachi knows I can get out of handcuffs and zip ties. He and Hayden were the ones who taught me. I rub at my bruised wrist, a red mark circling my pale skin. His mark. I smooth my thumb over it, as if I can massage it away, before I start to savour the burn, the way it kisses my skin, as if the pain is my rope, holding me to reality.
I get up and move the curtains apart a little. The view is breath-taking. Acres of fields with a rolling landscape of hills, as if someone has painted them. The sun is just setting behind them, casting warm oranges and pinks into the sky. How can the world look so pretty with so much evil in it?
As if summoned by the word, I watch as Malachi walks out with a slight limp, bending his head, causing his raven hair to fall into his face as he sparks up a cigar, blowing out the smoke. He stands there, looking across the fields, but I can tell he’s preoccupied, lost in thought. I can see it in the small furrow creasing between his brows, his lips pulled into a scowl. He takes another drag before chucking it on the floor, crushing it under his shoe. Just as he turns around, our eyes meet. Neither of us blink. Even from here I feel the force of his stare, those black eyes pulling me in, his gravity pulling me into his orbit.
I shut the curtains, breaking the spell. I wish it was as easy to shut him out.
8
Lilliana
I wake to warmth across my face, blinking a few times as the fog lifts and I remember where I am. My father sold me, and not to just anyone but to Malachi Kingston, London’s Dark Prince. In the seven years I’ve been away from the compound, I’ve still heard the rumours, the way people speak in hushed whispers, almost as if they’re afraid to speak his name in case it summons him. I’ve been told of the illegal fighting matches that have gone on, bouts that are called death matches. Then there’s the illegal gambling. I know more is hidden, like the drug smuggling, human trafficking and weapon transportation. All of them are rumours burning through the back alleys of London, but then there’s never smoke without fire.
Malachi has so much blood on his hands, they should be stained scarlet.
My life ended in that flat, and a new one is beginning on the rise of the sun over the hills. I can’t hide from the truth.
I am his.
He owns me.
There was a time I dreamed about him saying those words to me, a time when I still believed in the good I swore my innocent heart and eyes saw in him. You can’t love evil, and I had loved him, so much.
I remember how my heart jumped when he was near. It took off on a wild gallop whenever he’d point that half smile, half smirk in my direction. Goosebumps would cover my skin at his gritty voice, which vibrated through me. One look from him and the whole world blurred into one, into muted colours of greys, leaving him standing in front of me in full colour. I was unable see anything but him.
I dreamed of him saving me, bringing me to his castle and making me his princess.
Of being in a room just like this one.
Just as Oscar Wilde said: “They've promised that dreams can come true — but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.”
And I am stuck in mine.
The compound doesn’t have much use for a woman, leaving my fate to two things: become one of the women they use for entertainment, to share between them, use to their disposal, or become Malachi’s slave, submissive, bow to his every wish and command. Both carve a bleak outcome. I don’t know which would be worse; to let the men, those who would want to, use and abuse me until my shattered pieces broke like jagged glass on the floor, or become a slave to the man who used to hold my heart, hand my soul over to the devil, become his puppet.
I’m not sure which one is the lesser of two evils: to die in the hands of strangers or by the man I once loved. It all comes down to that one six-letter word: choice.
I made a choice to accept my fate, made the choice to save my father.
Now it’s Malachi’s choice on what happens to me.
I lift my head and capture sight of a vase filled with roses I hadn’t noticed the night before. I walk over to them and run my fingertips over their soft petals, the beautiful scent wrapping around me. I pluck one out, bringing it to my nose.
“Ouch!” I frown down at my finger, seeing a spot of red appear on my fingertip from the thorn that was protecting the rose’s beauty.
I watch as the rose falls, the petals exploding on the floor, and a memory crashes into me.
9
Lilliana, aged sixteen…
I am rushing around the flat. Jack has been leaving me on my own for years now and Hayden moved out, even after all his promises he would stay. I couldn’t blame him, though. Every time he saved money and hid it, Jack would find it. He’d wanted to take me with him—I could see it in his eyes, the pain of leaving me—but he couldn’t do any better than Jack did. He was twenty-five. He didn’t have a clue how to raise a teenager. He’s out just as much as Jack, and I can’t ask him to give it all up for me. Hayden deserves to be free of Jack. He’s never liked him. With me, it’s different; my screwed-up heart loves Jack no matter how hopeless he is.
Tonight, is the Valentine’s ball at school, and I have on a red, fifties-style dress that I bought from the charity shop. I had spent more time than I ever had curling my hair and trying to put on makeup. As I stare in the mirror, I think I look like a princess. I’m over the fairy-tale stage I had been in for years, but that little girl inside of me squeals when she sees my reflection. My raven hair hangs over my shoulders and down my back, and the chubbiness of youth is starting to fade, my cheekbones becoming more defined. That lanky awkwardness is disappearing, and my body has formed curves that make the dress fit like a dream. The grey tones I put on my eyelids make my dove eyes stand out, my black lashes framing them making them pop.
I hear the door open and poke my head around the corner. Jack is never back this early unless he’s lost big time. At that possibility, my stomach drops. But the mess of blonde hair makes me smile.
“Hayden!” Even at sixteen I run toward him, the way I always have. He’s still my favourite person in the world. Picking me up in his strong arms, he swings me around, as if I’m still a little girl, before bringing me into a hug, kissing my hair. I don't miss the deep release of breath as he does.
This makes me pull back and study him. “Hey, is everything okay?”
His smile is instant. “Yeah, I'm good.” He runs his hands through his hair, before his eyes take me in. “What are you wearing? You got someone coming here?” His nostrils flare, eyes turning hard, making me roll mine.
“It's the Valentine’s disco. I told you. And yes, Callum is picking me up.” His brow rises, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, making me narrow my eyes. “Stop it. I know that face. Leave him alone. He’s nice!”