Page 24

The look on her face as she stood up and left me huddled over the fucking shitter was one of heartbreak and sorrow. She seemed hurt, as I screamed at her over and over again to run, to flee, and to get away from me while she still had a chance.

Why? Why would she want to stay?

“Stockholm Syndrome, it has to be.” I moan to myself, laying on the bathroom floor, looking aimlessly up to the ceiling, counting the grout lines between the travertine tiles.

The house it quiet. There’s no barking of the dogs outside, no sound of Magnolia pattering around the house either. It’s dead, just like inside me. Lily had turned around and just walked out, slowly and peacefully, not how I ever imagined her escaping from me. But this is the way it needs to be. I can’t keep the flower out of water just to be pretty for me.

It's forever before I finally roll over on the hard tile floor and push myself up, wiping the dried and crusty mess from my chin. In the broken mirror I look at my reflection all busted and askew, and it fits how I see myself inside. Like a tidal wave it all hit me today. The H that didn’t care about anything, could kill with no remorse, and could separate everything into nice little compartments in his brain has exploded into the piece of shit I see looking back at me.

“For fuck’s sake.” I growl, vigorously rubbing my face with my palms, hiding the view of myself behind my heavily tattooed hands. “It was for the best, asshole.”

I already miss her, even though it can’t be more than two hours since she walked away. I miss her scent and her smile, even though those lips had only started to curve upwards since our ride and me showing her who I am. She had started to trust me, like I told her she should, and I blew that by striking her for no fault of her own.

“Work. Do some work. Keep her off your mind.” I say to myself as I clean my fucked-up face with warm water and the hand soap that sits on the sink.

Clothes are not a necessity to work from home, and I don’t have the energy to put any on as I trudge to my desk in the corner of my bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand is still on, casting shadows of my naked self on the walls, making me turn away from them and focus on the screen of my computer as I sit down and give the mouse a shake, bringing it to life.

Images of the house and the perimeter appear on the screen, as well as the feed from Lily’s bedroom in her apartment. I flick the cursor over the small box showing her abode and peer at the still image, squinting my eyes, trying to see her slumbering in her bed, which is where she should be at this time of night.

The bed is empty, the sheets are still crumpled in the same pile as they were the night she left her house for Le Chateaux, the night I scooped her up and brought her here against her will.

“Where are you my flower?” I ask the screen, leaning in closer, hoping to catch some view of her padding around her home.

The place is empty, no one comes from the bathroom door into her room and there’s no shadows on the walls as if she were in her living room or kitchen. The place is as dead as it is here.

Maybe she went to a friends, or the police. Huh, the police, of course that’s where she would go.

Leaning back in my chair, covering my face with my hands and sighing, I sit in silence and wait. I wait for the sound of sirens, and the flashing of the red and blue lights, but they never come. For hours I sit and wait, ignoring the initial idea of working, because what would I need to work for, when I’m only going to jail?

As the sunlight starts to creep in through the curtains and the birds sing their songs about the coming dawn, I finally open my eyes and go to flick off the computer. Something in the feed from my own house catches my eye though. Movement in the library passes over the screen, making the black and white images appear to be shifting.

Shadows? Maybe it’s just the sun casting its morning rays through the windows and making ghosts appear. I’m never up this early, and never looking at the security feed of the house when the sun makes its appearance.

That’s what it is, just the sunrise. Fucking sunrise.

“Well, H, you’ve officially lost your mind.” I huff at myself, throwing the chair backwards until it almost tips over.

Sounds are filtering in through the open bedroom door. Soft sounds that I don’t recognize.

“Magnolia? Is that you girl?” I call out to my best bitch and listen for her customary little woof, but no sound comes, and she doesn’t appear through the doorway.

An intruder would be impossible, unless she left and didn’t turn the alarm system back on. Still though, getting past the dogs would be nothing any human could do, they’d have a robber shredded before they made it more than ten feet past the gate or the surrounding garden walls. Then again, she got past them without a fight.

Grabbing a pair of grey sweatpants from the walk-in closet, I step into them, tying the drawstring as I leave the bedroom and pad barefoot down the hall. I know exactly where to step in the old house to avoid any creaks or groans in the floorboards, and I make my way silently towards the library on the first floor.

I don’t need a weapon, there’s no guns needed, or knives warranted. I’ve killed with my bare hands so many times before that it’s become second nature to me. I’m not worried if anyone is lurking around a corner with a gun either, at this point a bullet to the chest might just be the best thing for me. Still I give myself a second to prepare myself for what I will find before I grab the knob of the door and turn it ever so slowly.

The heavy wooden door slides open silently across the carpet, and the scent of all the books, their pages worn with age enters my nose, along with something else. Something floral and sweet is filling the room, and when I look over to the fireplace, my heart stops as dog tags jingle.

Sitting on one of the overstuffed leather chairs, with a throw blanket up to her chin, and Magnolia at her feet, rests Lily. Her hair is disheveled, but her face has been cleaned up, and she looks almost normal as her eyelashes flutter slightly on her cheekbones. Her color is a little pale, and she feels chilly to the touch as I approach her, squat down next to the chair, and brush a lock of that red hair from her forehead.

She stirs, her head lolling, her face tilting into my hand, allowing me to cradle it in my palm.

“I couldn’t run.” She murmurs in her sleep, her subconscious aware of my presence.

“Oh princess, you should have.” I whisper to her kissing the faded mark above her brows from where she headbutted me the day I took her. “Because now I really can’t let you go.”

“Don’t.”

The amount of times this woman can take me down with a single word is astronomical, and as I stare at her, my legs give out and I flop on my ass, literally floored by her and her misplaced devotion. My dog looks at me, then up to Lily, assessing the scene, and I’m happy when she puts her head back down and closes her eyes.

“Good girl. I won’t hurt her again. I promise.” I say, petting her head, smiling at the little woof she gives me. “You really like her huh?”

I want to lift Lily and take her back to bed, to hold her, and warm her up with the heat from my body. I want to touch her, caress her, make her feel some of the safety I took away. Touching her though, without my animalistic urges taking over would be nearly impossible. How could I caress her face and not kiss it, or snuggle against her ass without wanting to slide my already hardening cock between her legs and thrust it up into her?

Instead, I grab another blanket from the chest by the window and drape it over her, tucking it around her to keep her body warmth under it. I light the fireplace and pick up the book that has fallen haphazardly to the floor, placing it on the mantel.

“Sleep princess.”

The door clicks closed quietly behind me as I fight every urge in my body to take her. It’s for the best, to leave her sleep. She needs her rest, and I need to find a way to repay her for the gift she has just given me. The only gift I’ve gotten from anyone since my ninth birthday, the day before mother died.

I leave her and Magnolia in the library and make my way through the house, back up to my room to get dressed and do my errands with the overwhelming desire to make her a big breakfast. A feast made for a queen is what she will get, chocolate chip muffins and all. I just need to take care of something first while she sleeps.