She’d never really lived though, did she?
“Ariana,” he prods. “You may look at me.”
All she wants now is to please him. She lifts her chin and locks eyes with his. She tells Adam every thought strumming through her head without saying a single word. Those thoughts and emotions are all now unfiltered without the drugs…without the haze clouding her eyes.
His response? He holds her gaze and she sees his storm brewing. This beautiful and ruthless man. She’s never seen him with blood on his hands but everything about him screams danger. Not right now though. Right now, she can feel his words caressing her nerve ends.
Safe, he silently says to her and her anxiety is already obeying.
“Yes,” she replies. As if there were any other answers.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes. I-I should be punished…sir.”
She’d used that word…sir…many times yet this is the first time she’s truly disgusted with herself for using it. Things shouldn’t be this way. It should not have had to come to this.
Weak. That was Isabella’s favorite word for her and right now, she feels it to the bone. She’s weak. Truly weak.
“Closer,” Adam tells her.
Without a thought, she moves closer to him. Her face a mere inch away from his knee now. She sees the slight twitch of his finger and watches as he lifts his hand to her chin. He guides her chin, tilting so that they are eye to eye again.
“I’ll build you up,” he tells her softly. “Trust me.”
He’d heard her silent thoughts. He had to have.
Trust. She’s never had to give that to anyone before. She never had a choice to do so. Adam wasn’t asking and now she’s scared of what her punishment might be.
“On the bed, Ariana.” Her eyes widen at his command. “Now,” he demands. “Stand and walk to the bed.”
She shuts down her thoughts and bites the inside of her cheek. Shut down the emotions. Shut down the pain. Focus. One command at a time. That’s how she was able to survive this debt so far. Except the fear is hard to shut down.
Something inside of her tells her that she won’t be able to survive Adam King. Not even if she were lucky. And she’s never been lucky.
Just before she lifts the covers to slide into bed, his hand shoots out to do the task for her. She stiffens but does not turn to look at him. He may not have laid down her new rules yet but she doubts that questioning any of his motives will be tolerated.
She slides onto the bed to the opposite side to make sure there will be enough room for him. She stiffens her back and waits with eyes closed for the bed to dip at his weight. She feels him putting the covers over her. Tucking her in. The bed never dips but she can feel his eyes piercing into her back.
“Rest. You’ve had a long day,” he tells her.
Confusion washes over her at the sound of his retreating footsteps.
Her angst of his return dissipates into thin air when she hears the sound of the door shutting followed by the sound of a car starting.
This is her punishment. To be left alone. Without him. Without his quiet storm to comfort her.
Commotion. Lots of commotion and voices pierce through her restless sleep and fully awaken her. The bedroom is dark even with the curtains wide open. She’d slept through most of the day and into the night.
She didn’t need to look around the room to know that she is alone. If Adam were here, she’d be able to feel him. He’s intense and his presence always sends shockwaves through her as if he’s larger than life. Maybe he is.
“Upstairs!” she hears Marcus hiss to whoever has shown up. “There’s a room up the steps,” he says.
“Aye, lad. It’s me property ye are at! Mind ye’r manners, aye?” a deep voice that she’s never heard before replies. “Get the foock outta me way!”
She sits up and bunches the comforter up to her chin at the roughness of the man with a heavy accent. Red flags wave from left to right all over the place. Danger. She’s in the presence of danger. Possibly physical danger.
She hears footsteps pounding her direction and she looks around, grabbing the lamp off of the night table. She slides off the bed, leaving the comforter behind and stands in the darkness of the corner…and waits.
Footsteps echo through the house and more stomping above her. As long as she’s been here, she’d never even known that the house had another floor.
“It’s me, Ariana.” Marcus pops in.
He heads to the bathroom and flips the light switch inside there, giving the room some illumination.
“What’s going on?” she asks when he returns. “Are we…are we under attack?”
“No. No. Nothing like that,” Marcus answers with hands raised, gesturing for her to put down the lamp. “It’s the owner of the house. He…one of his men is hurt and this was the closest place to bring him.”
“Hurt? Shouldn’t they bring him to the hospital?” she asks.
Marcus looks grim before he answers. “These aren’t the kind of people who take their hurt to a hospital, Ariana. Do you understand?”
She nods. If these are associates of the Kings then she understands.
“I also hope ye understand how to keep mum, lass.” The man with the heavy accent stands with arms crossed right behind Marcus now.
Marcus swings his head and the man just pushes him aside and takes two steps into the room.
She cowers and pushes herself against the wall, trying her best to steer clear of his deep glower. The scowl on his face isn’t the friendliest and it sends warning signs from head to toe. His eyes travel down her body, down and then back up before he sneers. Not lascivious nor menacing but more like there’s some kind of inside joke she isn’t privy to.
“Ye’r in me house, lass. Ye may be under the Kings’ protection but trust me when I tell ye this. Blab about me business to anyone and even the Kings canna help ye. Is that understood?” the man asks.
“Y-yes,” she stutters. She nods her head unable to find any other words.
“McCullen,” he tells her.
She looks at him dumbfounded.
“My name, lass. Ye can call me, McCullen, and right now, I need ye to gather up wherever ye put the first aid kit. I need ye hands until me doc gets here.”
Again, she’s frozen in the corner. Dumbfounded and unsure what exactly is being asked of her. More like being demanded.
McCullen snaps his fingers at her a few times then waves both hands.
“Is she daft?” the man turns around and asks Marcus.
“NO!” Marcus growls at him.
“Ariana,” Marcus says to her now. “Grab the first aid bag from your bathroom and come upstairs. What this man is saying is that they need our help until his doctor arrives.”
“Oh,” she replies softly.
The reply seems to appease the tattooed and bearded brute because he turns and walks out of the room with a shake of the head. She can hear his heavy footsteps echoing through the house too.
“Come on,” Marcus gently prods her.
She does as she’s instructed and waits for Marcus to help pull her up the aggressive narrow flight of stairs. No wonder she’d missed it. She’d thought it was a closet door this whole time.