Page 28 of Deadly Rival

Ugh. I should have kept her inside. Jacob was right. What a depressing thought.

I tug on her leash before she can start asking questions. “We’re running late.”

“Late for what?”

At least she sets off moving, careful and slow on the cobblestones.

“Nothing unpleasant. I’ve organized a few beauty appointments for you.”

Twelve

Ophelia

“A beauty appointment.”

I can’t handle one more thing that doesn’t make sense today. At this point, I’d take being locked in a basement with a hood on my head, because at least that’s what a kidnapping is supposed to be. At least my mind could comprehend the shape of what’s happening.

From the moment we left Sebastian’s apartment, I’ve been trapped in one of those dumb seventies movies made by people with more LSD than sense. The goth girl called Sebastian “sir” like it was no big deal and asked me to visit her damn shop. How can she have a shop? Isn’t she supposed to be another captive?

And the cobbled street we’re walking down right now, lined with pretty little shops. It reminds me of a trip I took to a seaside town, back when Mom was still alive and Harrison hadn’t turned into a complete asshole. I was eight, and we ate ice cream on the beach. It’s one of the only times I remember my dad relaxed, actually enjoying spending time with us.

But this isn’t a normal street.

I peer into the windows as we pass shops selling jewelry and trinkets. I don’t see a price tag on anything or any signs with deals to entice shoppers inside. People walking by see my collar, see my bound hands, but not one single person asks if I’m okay. Most shoot daggers at Sebastian with the same hostility as the man who confronted him.

I can use that anger.

It’s the first thing I’ve discovered since I woke up in this nightmare that gives me a sliver of hope. These people are scared of my family and what my capture might mean for them.

They’re right to be. My cousin was taken for ransom last year and lost two fingers in the process. My dad paid the money, got him back, then spent the next six months systematically taking out everyone involved. All I have to do is convince someone important that I’m not worth the risk, and they’ll set me free.

That easy.

So why don’t I believe it?

Sebastian steers me toward a shop that’s a much more tasteful version of my own clinic. The outside is simple, bordering on minimalist. Clean lines and “Mirror, Mirror” in clean silver script. A cool name, and the sort of decor I’d have selected if I had a choice.

A man in military gear waits outside, incongruous as a cactus in a patch of daisies. He nods to Sebastian and doesn’t so much as look at me. “Sir.”

Sebastian nods back. “Show her the syringe, please.”

My body stiffens, and all the food I ate earlier roils in my guts. No. They can’t drug me again. Not now that I understand why I’m here. What would happen to me while I was unconscious? A million images rattle through my brain, none of them good.

Sebastian shifts his hand, settling it around my waist in a way that could be comforting if it wasn’t him doing it, as the soldier pulls a syringe from a box.

“Ophelia, meet Private Barnes. That syringe holds the same drug we used on you earlier. We won’t use it unless we have to. Would you like to avoid going under again?”

A stupid question, but I rush to answer, galvanized by the pointed needle. “Yes. Please don’t drug me.”

I can be tough later. Right now, avoiding that needle is my only consideration.

“Smart girl. You’re going to have a few beauty treatments, that’s all. Nothing permanent, and nothing very painful. You’re going to look the way I want you to from now on, and I’ve got a few changes in mind. If you don’t cooperate, that’s when the needle comes in. Does that sound fair?”

The strangest river of emotions rushes through me, leaving my knees weak. He wants to change how I look? What’s wrong with how I look? It’s a splinter in my heart, even though I know it’s ridiculous.

On the heels of that pathetic reaction comes a welcome swell of anger. I dive into it, letting it wash away the sad little voice that came before. He already has me as a captive, and now he wants to take this away from me, too? No. He can’t decide how I look. It’s too much.

Like I ever had a choice anyway.

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