Page 81 of Tricked By Jack

“Anything I don’t have to cook,” I reply, which makes him laugh—a real laugh that transforms his face, softening the hard edges I’ve come to expect. I find myself staring, cataloging the differences.

“What?” he asks, catching me.

“Nothing.” I look away. “I just... I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh like that before.”

Something flickers across his face—vulnerability, perhaps, quickly masked. “Not much to laugh about lately.”

The admission hangs between us, weighted with all the things we don’t say. Ruby. Valentine. The reason I’m here at all.

“And there went the bubble,” I sigh wistfully.

I yawn before I can stop myself, covering it with the back of my hand. The milkshake’s long gone, wrappers pushed aside, and the fire is down to a bed of coals. My body’s heavy, warm, but my mind won’t stop circling him.

“Bubble?”

I sit up straighter and pull my legs up so I can rest my chin on the knees. “Yeah, you know… the bubble we were in before reality came crashing down.”

He nods and thoughtfully runs his thumb along the scruff on his jaw. “So maybe it’s time I put my wife to bed.” His eyes flash with barely concealed hunger when I nod my agreement.

We both stand quietly, reaching for wrappers and any stray leftovers from our meal. Once we get it all, he puts out the fire while I throw the trash out in the kitchen. When I open one of the cupboards, I notice that it’s no longer bare.

I try a drawer next, surprised to find it filled with cutlery—steak knives included. It would be so easy to take one. My fingers hover over a wooden handle for several moments.

“Are you going to take one?”

I jump at Jack’s voice behind me. “I’m thinking about it,” I confess.

Rather than stopping me, or making sure I can’t steal an impromptu weapon, he chuckles. “I can’t wait to find out what you choose.”

With those dismissive words, he heads into the bathroom, leaving me here to make a decision for myself. Either he trusts me way more than I trust him, or he doesn’t see me as a threat at all.

If it’s the latter, that’s downright stupid. I did warn him that I’d try to kill him, and that I’ve faced bigger monsters and won.

Chapter 27

The Bride

The days blur into a rhythm that feels dangerously close to domestic.

We share meals, sometimes sprawled across the couch, sometimes at the counter while Jack cooks like it’s the most natural thing in the world. To my surprise, he has quite a few culinary tricks up his sleeve.

He hasn’t chained me again. He hasn’t locked me back in the cage. And that’s somehow harder to digest. When he shackled me, I knew my limits, knew the rules of his game. Now… I don’t.

He just lets me drift through his house, making changes for me like I belong here. I catch myself choosing his mug for coffee like it’s mine, and the terrifying part is how quickly it starts to feel… normal. Like I really do belong. But I don’t. I can’t. This is his life, not mine.

Thoughts keep me awake, circling like vultures. Little things keep popping up. Like, I don’t even remember the last time I saw my phone. I’m not sure why I haven’t considered that until now.

The last time I saw it was at my apartment. I wasn’t allowed to bring it to Governors Island for The Black Wedding, so it’s been gone for more than two weeks. It’s still plugged into the charger on my nightstand. Or maybe Shelby’s been by and has it. It seems unlikely, but she does have a spare key.

Ugh, thinking about her sends my blood boiling, and I clench my fists. I still can’t quite wrap my head around her betrayal. It burns like acid in my veins, and I want to lash out at anything within reach.

How could she set me up like this? Even if Jack lords something over her, she should have found a way to warn me. It’s fucked up. And I know that until I talk to her, my thoughts will just keep circling around the betrayal of it all. Which is exactly why I’ve kept pushing it down.

Right, so back to my phone. Yeah, the device really doesn’t matter. Because I know the sad truth; no one’s missing me. The only person who would care knows where I am, and she’s the extent of my social circle.

For most of my life, I thought solitude was my choice. Now it feels like I’ve been buried alive in it.

The house is too quiet, and my body itches for movement. I slip out of bed and pad barefoot to the kitchen. I reach for a glass, fill it at the sink, and bring it to my lips.