“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”
“As we soon learned. You’ve developed masochistic tendencies.” He shrugs and rolls his cigar between his fingers. “Nothing to be ashamed of. I had them myself, though not as dangerous as yours.”
“I want out of this study.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” He puffs his cigar again, twisting it around to show the bright orange glow at the other end of it. “The only way out is death.”
The percolating anger inside of me explodes, and I push up from my chair. Refusing to listen to another word, I make a mad dash toward the door.
“Lucian!” My father calls from behind, but I run from his office, knocking into Rand on the way.
“Lucian, where are you going?”
I sprint through the foyer, and out the front door. Across the yard and into the woods. Bracken and twigs on the ground gouge the soles of my feet, scratching and scraping at my legs. A light, evening breeze cools the sweat gathered on my exposed skin. It isn’t long before the trees give way to a small clearing and the cliff in the distance. I run faster toward it.
The sound of waves crashing below sing like a dirge over the hurricane of thoughts spinning inside my head.
Solange. She wasn’t real. She never was. I’m crazy. I imagined her, and only crazy people imagine shit like that. My mother was right. I’m sick. I’m so sick. How does someone imagine a whole person, doing the things she did to me?
Skidding to a halt, I stare down at the dark waters a hundred feet below me. The moon highlights the crest of the waves that crash against the rock. My heart pounds inside my chest. The air thins.
I jump.
A tickle in my stomach explodes with panic.
Nothing flashes before my eyes except the world slipping past at a dizzying speed.
A cold sting smacks my skin, pressure crushing my chest as I plunge into the sea. Ice cold water embraces me, drawing me deeper, toward the bottom. Into the darkness below.
I’m still alive.
I’m still alive.
I kick away from the pull. My muscles burn while I climb the slippery liquid wall all around me. Lungs pulsing with the need for air, I propel myself upward, until I breach the surface.
The cliff stands off in the distance, while the sea carries me further away. With fatigue weighing heavy on me, I push forward and swim toward the shore at the opposite side of the rock.
It must take a good twenty minutes of fighting the water, the lack of air, the muscles that long to give out on me. By the time the shallow bed of sand hits my feet, I can hardly stand.
A shudder of bone-chilling cold shakes my body, my teeth chattering, jaw sore and aching from tension and stiffness. Collapsing to my knees, I crawl against the tug of the waves, until the heel of my hand hits dry sand, and turning over onto my back, I lie staring up at the starry sky and the moon, weak and panting for breath.
I’m alive.
I mentally replay the moment I leapt from that cliff without a single thought of consequence. If I’d died, or lived, didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was the exquisite rush of fear and recklessness that burned inside of me. A paradox of racing toward death in order to feel alive.
A burst of laughter tears through my already taxed chest at the thought.
My body hardens, and I slip my hand down inside my sodden pants where my dick stands at full mast.
A few quick pumps, and I come harder than I ever have before.
Chapter 25
Isadora
Present day …
It’s hard to believe a week has passed already, and as I make my way toward the sleek black vehicle parked in the driveway, with the tall, beefy guy I’ve come to learn is Makaio standing beside it, I can’t help but feel a little sadness at having to leave for the weekend.
At the same time, I probably need a break from this place.
I glance back at where a figure stands in the window of Lucian’s office. They turn away, out of view, disappearing into the room beyond.
Him, no doubt. He’s avoided me since the night in his office. Not that I’ve seen much of him, at all, in the last couple of days. Mostly moments like these, when I catch him staring at me, just before he walks away.
Maybe I should regret that kiss, too, but I can’t. Even now, the phantom sensation of his lips against mine still lingers on my skin. The bitter taste of whiskey. The heat of his breath mingling with mine.
Makaio opens the door to the back passenger seat, his lips only halfcocked in a smile.
“Thank you,” I say, and pause mid-climb inside. My God, I’ve never seen the interior of a car so posh as this one. “Holy shit.”
“That’s a Bentley for ya.”
Setting my bag on one of the tan leather seats, I fall into the cushioned one before me, the soft leather like sitting on a cloud. Clean and inviting, the lingering scent of Lucian’s cologne makes for a delicious greeting as I settle in.
Makaio reaches over me, and I shrink at his close proximity, but he merely presses a button on the long center console that divides the two passenger seats. A screen slides up from a slit in the seat in front of me. He presses another button, and something pushes against my heels, as he backs himself out of the car.
Startled, I look down to find a footrest, like that of a recliner, lifting my feet up off the floor.
“I have a cooler with some soda and Perrier water in the front. If you push the button beside you, there’s a foldout table. And you can close the curtains on the window by pressing the button there.” He points to a silvery button on the door panel beside me.
Jesus, I’ve never been in something so luxurious and high-tech in my life.
“I’m, uh. I’m good.” Glancing around, I notice 1 of 25 stitched into the leather seat beside me. “What’s one of twenty-five?”
“This car is one of only twenty-five in the United States.”
“Seriously?” This thing must have cost a fortune. Thousands of dollars on wheels. “I’m surprised Mr. Blackthorne allows it to be used to transport his employees.”
“Not all employees, Miss. Only you. Master Blackthorne insisted that you be comfortable on the ride home.”
He insisted? Why? “I’m very comfortable. Thank you.”
“Good.” He closes the door, shutting me inside, and I glance up at the empty window of Lucian’s office. Devil of Bonesalt.
The ride home seems almost too short, having killed the time watching Ever After on the tablet’s Netflix app. Movies aren’t usually my thing, but it was that, or dodging glances from Makaio in the rearview mirror and having him ask if I needed something every ten minutes. Besides, the movie was fitting for a visit home, as Aunt Midge and I used to love watching it when I was younger.
Admittedly, I’ve kind of missed the crotchety old woman.
We roll to a stop at the curb, and I nab the duffle from beside me and reach for the handle of the car door. It swings open before I can, and Makaio stands waiting to help me out. Out of courtesy, I take his hand, otherwise the gesture feels strange to me.
Once I’m free of the vehicle, he bends forward, slipping his hand through the strap of my duffle, while he closes the door behind me.