Page 6

Barbara

“I t was a murder attempt,” Phantom said bluntly, standing tall with his hands behind his back as he made his report to my mother. “The situation escalated dramatically. This isn’t just about protecting your daughter’s reputation and wellbeing anymore, it’s about her life. I’ll have a list of recommendations ready for you tomorrow, and in the meantime, I’m staying here.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and said nothing. We were in the family living room that no one used normally. I sat curled up in an armchair, Phantom’s heavy jacket wrapped around me. It was shockingly cold when he first threw it around my shoulders, but it warmed up fast, and I clung to it. It was ridiculous, but that jacket felt like the only piece of affection I got after the entire ordeal.

My mother hadn’t said a word to me since we entered the house. She talked to the doctor briefly, asking him if I was all right, but that was that.

All I got from her were a few pinched looks. They weren’t exactly annoyed, but… weary. As if she meant to say, “What have you done again, Barbara?”

I sighed and shook my head. No, I was projecting. She cared about me. I knew this.

My bare feet were freezing. I curled them under me for warmth, wishing I could have a hot bath. I didn’t feel particularly shaken or distressed. Just cold. Was it even a proper reaction after someone tried to kill me? I had no idea. I just knew I was tired, uncomfortable, and my mother didn’t even give me a hug.

“Will you require a bedroom?” she asked Phantom after a beat, her voice strained but polite.

“No. I’ll stay mostly outside. I can go without sleep for weeks if necessary. You’ll have to feed me, though. I enjoy raw meat and lollipops.”

He said this without a hint of humor, like it was a perfectly normal preference to have. My mother’s jaw twitched with annoyance while I snorted. Phantom gave me a quick look, his dark eye sockets turning to me before he addressed her again, his voice matter-of-fact.

“I’ll also need a room where I can store my things. An office space would be ideal. With bookshelves.”

“Are you planning to read on the job?” she asked, her lips pursed, her long, perfectly manicured nails tapping against the polished wood of the sofa arm.

“Sometimes. I mainly need some space for my emotional support paperbacks.”

He said that in a completely neutral way, which made it sound even more ridiculous. I snorted again, and my mother shot me a quelling look.

“Mister Phantom, I don’t appreciate being toyed with. My daughter’s life is at stake,” she said pointedly.

“I am aware, since I just saved it,” he said with a polite nod. “I am the most efficient when I have everything I need, Madame Ashford. Surely you want me to be at my best?”

My mother clenched her fists, took a deep, controlled breath, and unclenched her fingers with a shallow nod. I stared at him in awe. I hadn’t seen anyone get one over her in such a short time. Either she was truly distressed about what happened to me, even if she didn’t show it, or he knew exactly how to play her.

Or maybe he was simply that charismatic on top of everything else.

His manner was commanding in a way that inspired trust, and his unyielding, well-worded arguments spoke of quick wit. But it wasn’t just that.

He cut a striking figure, and what I told him in the garden was true, even if the memory of it made me want to crawl into a hole and stay there. He was pretty—for a skull-faced type of person, obviously. As he stood under the light of bright lamps, I saw all of him and found only more things to like.

He stood straight and confident like a soldier, his feet planted wide, so he took up a lot of room. His body was lean and strong, and he was clearly a professional. He wore black, thick cargo pants, and his belt was loaded with things, most of them hidden in sheaths and holsters, but I had no doubt they were deadly.

Now that his jacket was gone, I saw he wore a simple, snug black shirt and a harness securing more holsters. The lines of his body were clearly visible under the tight material. He was chiseled, with a taut stomach and a powerful chest. Masculine energy oozed out of his every… well, not pore. He didn’t seem to have those.

But he gave it off in waves, and just being in his presence made me feel safer.

He was a fighter, a protector, a soldier, and his entire attention for the foreseeable future would be on keeping me alive. To have someone so strong and skilled assigned to me felt… Well, it made me feel taken care of and important for the first time in years.

“Barbara!”

I jolted, realizing I drifted away from the conversation, too busy staring at my new bodyguard.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Do you need anything? Food? Sleeping pills? I can get Doctor Andanza on the phone for you, if you need to talk it out.”

My lip curled, and I turned my face away so my mother wouldn’t see it and scold me. That meant I faced Phantom, who watched me with an unreadable expression, his unsettling grin somehow smaller than before, making him look serious. I had no idea how he did it. Wasn’t his face all bone? God, I wanted to touch it and find out.

“I’m fine. I’ll go to my room, then. Goodnight.”

I stood up, clutching the jacket so tightly, my knuckles were white. I just wanted… I didn’t even know. It wasn’t like I should have expected anything from her, really. My mother was never big on private displays of affection. I was more likely to get a hug or a caress from her when we were out in public.

Yes, I knew what she was like and it still hurt. I almost died, and I was alive only thanks to Phantom’s above-and-beyond dedication to his job. From what I learned from his report, he wasn’t even supposed to be here yet.

That was another thing. I understood my mother and her team started looking for someone to protect me as soon as the video came out, but I was still exposed the entire day today. I was even out without protection because my mother insisted I go riding.

And yes, the threat didn’t seem so serious then, but I just couldn’t understand why no one thought that maybe I should stay home until my bodyguard was available. Wasn’t my mom worried about me? Didn’t she think even for a second that whoever made that video might escalate?

Then again, what good would staying home do me? They attacked me here, after all.

I sighed, climbing the stairs as my eyes burned. I knew perfectly well why she made me go out. She was worried—just not about me. She cared about the damage the video caused to our public image and my father’s career, and fixing that was her number one priority.

Quick steps sounded behind me. I turned to find myself face to face with my new bodyguard.

He stood a step below me, and our faces were on the same level. I arrested my flinch, though he must have seen my reaction, because he grinned, something flickering deep in his eye sockets.

“Can I help you?” I asked, forcing a smile to make up for my awkward behavior.

“Just need this,” he said, reaching into a pocket of his jacket that was still wrapped around me, the hem ending just below my butt.

He rummaged in the pocket, the movement brushing my hip. I blushed, realizing I didn’t give him the jacket back, and, what was worse, didn’t really want to part with it. Phantom pulled out a small, thick paperback and stepped away. I made to take off his jacket, and he waved his hand dismissively.

“Keep it for now. I don’t need it to stay warm. I just needed this.” He raised the book, and I arched my eyebrow, noticing the cover.

It was a beautiful artwork of a red-eyed vampire leaning over a woman wearing an elegant silver nightshirt. She looked innocent and apprehensive, and his expression was so lecherous, there was no doubt what his intentions were.

The title read Midnight Desire.

“That’s… for emotional support,” I said dubiously, wanting to laugh even as heat surged up in my belly.

It was so obviously clear what the book was about, and it made me curious as well as wary.

I didn’t think a book like that had ever appeared within a ten-mile radius of the Ashford-Kingsley residence, and to see it here, in the mahogany staircase decorated with expensive, gild-framed paintings, was a shock.

Phantom nodded with a hum. “I can lend it to you once I’m done with it. You look like you need emotional support, too.”

For a moment, I wanted to say yes, if only out of curiosity. Immediately, my conditioning kicked in, making me shiver. No. Bad girl. Ashford-Kingsleys don’t read trash.

Guilt surged up, followed by anger. My mother’s words and wishes rang so loudly in my head, I didn’t even know what I wanted for myself. Was I just curious or did I actually want to read this book? I didn’t know, and it drove me crazy.

Another reminder my mind wasn’t my own, even when no mind controllers were around.

“I have my emotional support jacket,” I said with a small smile to avoid answering.

He nodded, patted my elbow once, and turned around, sprinting down the stairs.

In my room, the French doors were still open, the cool night breeze drifting in. I closed them quickly, my heart hammering when I caught a glimpse of the dark trees outside. I felt an echo of what happened, a hostile presence sliding into my mind and taking over, slimy and oozing, and so very smug.

I knew nothing about him, that man who treated me like a thing to possess and break, but I knew how he felt. Arrogant and self-congratulatory, he thought he was a god as he crushed my will and took over. I remembered his amusement as he reveled in his strength, mocking my weakness.

He projected it at me with glee. How weak he thought me. How easy to control. Somehow that was what truly upset me, and not the fact he was trying to kill me.

I paced the room, getting more and more agitated. Because I knew he was wrong. I wasn’t weak. I had superb discipline, which got me through high school with my back always straight, the perfect smile on my face—not too kind so as not to invite familiarity, but not artificial. Discipline was what made me obey my mother and sit through countless savoir-vivre lessons, boring charity events, and hours of uncomfortable hairstyling and makeup sessions just so my father could show off his perfect family in public even as he completely ignored us in private.

Discipline was what helped me through long, uncomfortable hours of family photoshoots and let me survive grueling days when I attended school, danced ballet after classes, and did my homework until one a.m., only to get up at five and do it all over again.

It was thanks to discipline that I never cried in front of other people. Not even when my father skipped every ballet performance of mine that wasn’t attended by the press. Not even when my mother looked at me on prom night, eyebrows raised critically, and said I should have lost five more pounds to really pull that dress off, and that I’d better avoid cameras that evening.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, an indulgence I only allowed myself in private. “Stop whining. Did they hit you? No. Did they starve you? Not really. Did they neglect you? Well, maybe emotionally, but that’s nothing.”

And it was. I knew it rationally—I had it all. I was a princess, just like Phantom said, whether I wanted to be called that or not. So many people would kill for my life, and I got it. I was provided for, my every need met, only… It was conditional. If I ever acted out, I’d be shipped off to a mental institution.

I rebelled when I was sixteen, sneaking out to parties, drinking beer, even smoking. When the footage of me dancing freely at a classmate’s house party got out, my mother snapped. She sat me down and showed me a leaflet advertising a prestigious institution. It had pretty gardens, nice, spacious rooms, and smiling patients and doctors in every picture.

“If you don’t behave the right way, Barbara, this will be your home,” she said pleasantly, tapping the picture of a beautiful French colonial building. “And what this leaflet doesn’t show is the high wall surrounding the estate, the guards making sure no one gets out, and the amounts of shots and pills required to keep the patients calm and agreeable. Your aunt Nina spent a few months there before she came around and did what was expected. Do we understand each other?”

I threw up after that, but only when she left the room. Even in that, I was strong.

So no, I wasn’t weak. Then why couldn’t I protect myself? I clearly got it from the manipulator’s mental gloating that my mind was easier to penetrate than others. That meant I could learn to resist him in the future.

Maybe. If I knew how.

I walked over to my window nook with a comfortable padded bench and looked out, mindlessly fingering the thick material of Phantom’s jacket. My bedroom was a huge corner room, and yet, it was also like a tower. I was on the third floor, high enough that falling might kill me, and there was no way to sneak out.

My door locked only from the outside, too. I could lock myself in my bathroom, but there was no way to lock the bedroom door. And sometimes, when my mother sensed I was in a rebellious mood, she locked me in for the night.

I wondered if she’d do so right now. Could she tell I was on the brink of losing it?

As I looked out at the dark garden, seeing it clearly since I hadn’t lit any lamps, I wondered what my life was really worth to me. The answer came quickly: not much. At least, not in its current form.

That realization shook me to the core. It wasn’t right to feel this way. It wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t how I wanted to keep living.

Wasn’t I an adult? I could change my life, couldn’t I? So maybe I was conditioned since childhood to bend to my mother’s will, but I was strong , I reminded myself. I could break through that conditioning. I had to, or else, I’d never be free.

And one day soon, my mother would produce a suitable fiancé for me. I was twenty-three, old enough to get married, and now I was causing trouble. I knew how her mind worked. She’d try to replace the current scandal with something big, and a wedding would fit perfectly.

I had to be ready when that happened.

A red, glowing dot appeared in the dark outside. I jolted, my gasp fogging up the window pane as the image of glowing amber eyes flashed in my mind. It took me a moment to realize this was different. It was the glow of a cigarette, and I had a pretty good idea whose it was. I watched it, holding the jacket around me while I smelled the cigarette residue that clung to the fabric. Suddenly, I didn’t feel alone anymore.

Someone turned on the light in a room downstairs, the golden glow spilling out onto the grass. I saw the contours of his body as he leaned nonchalantly against a tree with one foot propped on the trunk, smoke curling around his head.

His face was turned up, his bottomless eye sockets trained on me. I stared back, and he raised the cigarette to his mouth, taking a long drag. Some of the smoke escaped through his nose hole, and suddenly, I itched with curiosity about how it was possible for him to smoke.

He didn’t have lips, did he? How, then, did he manage to suck on a cigarette? How did he eat? And what did he think as he watched me, alone in my tower, still clutching his jacket to my breast?

The light turned off, and he was plunged back into darkness, only the glow of his cigarette betraying his presence. I went to bed without changing my clothes or washing, his jacket still wrapped around me for comfort.

Tomorrow would be a very hard day, and I needed to rest.