His eyes glint in the dim light of the room, and for the first time, I notice there are no windows. No clocks. Nothing that will give me a hint of the time of day. Only a few lamps strewn about.
I swallow back the panic I feel. Guess keeping me in the dark about the passing of time should be expected from a Vegas hotel owner.
“Any chance there’s a television in some hidden panel?” A nervous giggle escapes me, but I tamp it down instantly.
“Too much TV can rot your brain,” he tells me.
“Guess you’d know,” I say.
Ignoring me, he walks to a tall cabinet in the sitting area. “I took the liberty of stocking this with a few good titles I thought would benefit you.”
I follow him and open the doors. On the shelves are several books, all leather bound with beautiful gold embossing. All fairy tales. Possibly first editions.
Pulling one out, I huff when I read it. “I’m no beauty, Killian. This isn’t going to help me love you.”
“And I’m no beast.” He takes it from my hand and sets it back. “This isn’t meant as a guidebook. It’s just a story. A very expensive one, by the way.”
On the shelves beneath it are more classics by authors such as Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and Mark Twain. None of whom I’ve read, not that I read much.
“Any Irish Mob books in there? Maybe that’ll help me understand you better. That’s what you are, after all.” I watch him carefully, looking for any hint that I’m right.
“I am not part of the Mob,” he states.
“Then what are you? Because you’re some sort of criminal. I’m sure of it.”
Again, he ignores me, opening the drawers under the shelves. “These are stocked with board games—”
“Board games to play by myself?” I interrupt.
“You may play solitaire by yourself. The board games, I’ll gladly join you for. There’s also sketchpads, pencils. If there’s anything else you’d like, just ask.”
“A way out?” I smile, batting my lashes innocently.
Smirking, he says, “I should warn you, there’s a camera in here.”
My eyes bounce off everything around me, searching for evidence of one. “Where?”
He gestures to the ceiling, to the center point where the fabric gathers. “That’s the only one.”
“With a perfect view of the bed, I see.”
“It’s a closed-circuit. Only I have access to it.” He takes his phone out of his jacket pocket, taps the screen, and shows it to me. Sure enough, there we are. I wave my arm up high, and so does the little me on the screen.
“Does it record?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Why? So you can watch later like some kinky fuck?”
“That’s exactly why,” he replies matter-of-factly.
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re not even lying, are you?”
He shamelessly grins. “Just making you aware so you don’t pick your nose. Or your ass. I’ll know if you do.”
“So I’m not to have any privacy.”
“You can have all the privacy you want in the restroom.” I follow him to the other side of the room and he opens a door I hadn’t noticed because it blends in so well. “I imagine you’ll want to use this about now.”
In high contrast with the harem décor, it’s all modern lines, clean and stark white. White marble tiles, cushy white rugs, plush white towels and robes, and white orchids. It should feel sterile, but it’s actually calm and serene. A break from the color explosion outside its doors.
“Yes,” I whisper, staring longingly into the glass enclosed shower with the rain tile in the ceiling. “A shower would be nice.”
He opens the linen closet at the entrance. “This should have everything you need. Fresh towels, brushes, lotions. And, uh…lady things.”
I peek in to see what he’s talking about. The “lady things” are a box of tampons and pads sitting in the corner. “Wow, everything this little lady could possibly need.”
Killian cocks his head. “You don’t have an accent.”
“What?”
“You were raised in New Orleans. Yet no hint of an accent.”
“It’s easier to blend in without one.” I wink, leaving him to imagine why I’d need to do that.
His expression turns thoughtful as he seems to consider it, but he lets it go. “Are you hungry? For your first night, I’ll personally order anything you want.”
As I’m about to refuse his food, my stomach growls. “Soup. Any kind. And French bread.”
“Done and done. I’ll leave you here for a while to familiarize yourself with your new space. If you need anything, press this button,” he says, pointing to a keypad by the bathroom door. “It will connect you with the guard outside the vault.” He lifts my chin with a finger and leans in. I believe he’s going to kiss my lips and I stiffen. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pecks my cheek, wrinkling his nose as he pulls away. “Yes. Shower. Please.”
When he leaves, I trail behind him tentatively, listening as the double doors shut and the vacuum of the room is released when the vault door is opened.
My gaze automatically goes up to the camera in the ceiling, and as I’m watching, it rotates toward me. We stare at each other for a long time. It’s a game of chicken. Seeing who’ll glance away first. Then I realize I’m playing chicken with a fucking camera.
“Shit, he’s already driving me mad.” Digging my fingers into my hair, I turn away.
Shower. First I must shower, I think as I step into the bath and close the door. I glance around the room, searching for any evidence that there might be a camera in here too. But I don’t spend much time on it. Something tells me Killian didn’t lie about that.
I go to stand in front of the sink. For the first time in who knows how long, I see myself in a mirror. I look like shit. My long hair’s so oily it stays in whatever position I set it. My dark eyes appear bigger than normal with the black circles created by the runny mascara. And as I suspected, my lips have a slight purplish bruise all around them from where the man held the cloth against them too hard.
I unbutton the shirt someone put over my little black dress. Probably Killian. This is the one and only thing I appreciate. The dress wasn’t made to hold my boobs in any other position than upright, even if they are B cups. And who knows what positions I was thrown into while I was unconscious. Hell, I’ve probably been in the trunk of a car and the cargo hold of a plane if we are in Vegas. My breasts would have burst from the neckline early on.
God, my face burns just considering the fact that it probably did happen, and that’s why I’m now wearing this shirt.
Once again, I reach for my necklace, only to find bare skin. Though now, in this light, I’m able to see the faint pink line from where it was probably torn off.
It’s the only thing my mother left to me. And this fucker took that too.
My clothes drop to the floor and I kick them into the corner, giving Killian’s shirt an extra hard shove. I turn on the shower and let it get steaming hot before I step under the hard jets. Water hits my body, washing away the day. The grime and the smell of the men who probably threw me around like a sack of potatoes. The proof is in the bruises around my hips and knees. The scrapes on my shoulders.