Page 8 of Cruel Crown

Picking up my phone, I called Bastian again.

“Don’t come to my place,” I said.

“Yeah, I figured, so I got myself some company.” I brought my phone down about to hang up when he continued. “The inside cameras were never on; just on the outside. I think he was too paranoid that one day they’ll leak on him, so you’re safe from prying eyes.”

There was no thank-you; I just hung up.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way upstairs. With every creak of the old wooden stairs, my heart pounded and skipped a beat. He was here because I wanted him. There was no use in hiding behind false pretenses.

Something about seeing him in my room terrified yet thrilled me. Fear had always turned me on. It was the only way I knew how to survive. I learned to love the thrill of the hunt, learned to get excited and not scared when I felt fear because, in a way, it kept me calm and gave me the strength to kill. No one could do me any more harm. It was one vicious cycle I could never get off. Even if I could, I didn’t think I’d want to—this life was all I’d ever known.

When I stepped foot in my room, Gideon was seated on the bed with just his jeans on. He was shirtless, all the tattoos on his chest on full display. He had taken his shoes off, and his feet were bare. There was something so alluring about him at the moment. Maybe it was because he was in my space, and for one night, he could be mine.

“You got comfortable,” I mumbled as I put the tray with the syringe and vitamins next to him. He watched me as I walked across the room from him with the esclave necklace and moved a portrait aside, revealing a hidden safe behind it.

When it opened, I put the Russian artifact inside. It was time for it to go back home. Gideon didn’t say anything; he just watched me, and I asked myself, why did I trust him?

“What are you hunting, Petal?” He reached out for me, grabbing me by my hips and putting me between his open legs.

“A little mystery won’t kill you, handsome,” I said as I grabbed the syringe and a vial of vitamins and injected it to his forearm.

“You do this a lot?” he asked me.

“Yes, we are required to take care of our bodies.”

He looked at me, waiting to see if I would divulge more. After I left Chicago, I exposed myself to him. I wasn’t just a slave; I was something more.

“When did you join?” He started to move his thumbs in a circular motion, making it hard to concentrate.

“Officially, when I was sixteen.”

His movements stopped. He stilled, and I felt the waves from his body coming at me. I didn’t know how much he had heard about the Sekt. Most governments had it very wrong; they knew what we allowed them to know. It was only the surface. It wasn’t just hackers and mercenaries; there were scholars too. It was one big organization that, if we really wanted, could take over the world.

“That’s a bit young, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I cleaned the vials and put the cap on the syringe, then put it in my trash can. When I turned, he was watching my every move.

“What do you want to know?” I lolled my head a little to the side and waited for him to let his questions fire out.

“You weren’t a slave,” he bit out.

I rolled my eyes at him.

“You chose this life. Unfortunately, I never had a choice. This life…this world, it’s all I’ve never known. I might have more freedom than a slave, but that doesn’t mean my life is my own.”

With that, I picked up his shirt from where he had thrown it on the floor and walked to the bathroom.

What was I even doing with him in my place? This was only going to lead to more questions on his part and silence on mine.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was too pale, my eyes wide and bright. My black hair was striking. It was all just another weapon to disarm men—and right now, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to disarm him.

I pulled the rubber band out of my braid and undid it. Then I removed my clothes, looking through the mirror at all of my imperfections. Of one thing, I was sure…I couldn’t have another repeat of Chicago.

I ran my fingers through my hair, untangling it a bit and adding volume, then put on his shirt. It smelled like him: nicotine and Chanel’s Allure. I couldn’t stand the smell since Chicago, but right now, I didn’t mind it.

Taking one last look in the mirror, I turned off the light before I walked out. The room was dark except for the few candles Gideon had lit. The black custom-made Zippo my grandfather had gifted me was in his hand. It was obsidian with gold carvings of a black swan ballerina.

“Setting the mood?” I leaned against the wall.

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