Page 49 of Psycho

“I know.” I held my arm out and eyed the puncture wounds, “You have every right to be. But above all of that, you need to calm down for the sake of the baby.”

“Fuck you.” She hissed, but followed it up with a deep breath. A long stretch of silence came after that, and I let it linger as she obviously tried to collect herself. “Who are they?”

“Guards.” I replied honestly, “To protect you when I’m gone.”

“To keep me imprisoned, you mean.” Liv shook her head, “Let me go. I want to get off the floor.”

“No,” I kissed her temple, “But I will let go of your arms if you promise not to go for my eyes.”

She sneered under her breath, something that sounded a lot likefuck around and find out,but didn’t go right for my vitals when I loosened my hold on her wrists. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”

“Because I knew it’d upset you.”

“And finding an armed militiaman in the hall wasn’t upsetting? I thought he was a hit man here to kill me! Kind of how I did when I saw one on the rooftop last week, Maddox. I deserve to know who’s existing around me!”

“Storm, I already told you that you were right. You won’t hear me counter your claims on it. But you need to lower your heart rate and relax so you don’t go into labor.”

“I’m fine. But I want to get off the floor.”

“Why is being off the floor so important to you?” I argued, annoyed with her repeated request when she wouldn’t do the first thing I asked of her.

“Because!” She fought anew, elbowing me in the chest and cried out when I recaptured her flailing limbs. “Because it reminds me of that fucking room!”

My mind raced to catch up to her, and when it did, my heart sank. “The storeroom.” The place I found Liv months ago, cold, beaten and unconscious, with nothing around her but the cold concrete floor.

“I want to get up!”

Getting onto my feet, I lifted her into my arms and off the cold floor, carrying her across the room to her favorite spot on the couch. As soon as she was within reach of it, Liv grabbed her prized blanket and covered herself from nose to toes, glaring at me over the hem.

I sat on the coffee table in front of her and slid my hands under the blanket to cover her bare, cold feet. She didn’t immediately kick my teeth in, so I tightened my hands on them and gentled my voice. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Anger—” She snapped instantly but pursed her lips when I glared at her.

“We know you’re boiling with rage aimed in my direction, Storm. Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me about that room.”

She huffed and held my gaze before blinking and staring off at a spot on the wall as she whispered her trauma out loud, “There was no heat.” Shivers wracked her body like she could feel the cold even now. “The concrete floor had a way of making the cold seep into my bones until I didn’t think I’d ever warm up.”

“That’s why you’re always bundled up now.” I replied, feeling foolish for thinking it was simply a comfort thing. It was a trauma response, and I had triggered one with my lack of tact. “How long did Damon have you there?”

She shook her head sadly, “I don’t know. Days. Maybe a week. He pulled me out when it served him to, but I lost track of the time.” Her voice died off, and I knew what she meant. The only time he took her from the room was when he used her body for his pleasure.

“Do you know who his silent partner is?” I asked, breaking my vow not to involve her in Damon’s death. “He seems to be the missing link to finding Damon.”

She slowly shook her head, “As far as I know, he’s kind of a myth. I only ever heard whispers about him. Some good, very little bad.”

“What does that mean?”

Shrugging, she burrowed deeper into the blanket. “I never heard his name, which I think was Damon’s plan. But the girls made up a nickname for him.” She rolled her eyes, “They called him The Duke. Something about him being royal blood or something. Either way, they never had much in the way of bad things to say about him.”

“He used girls from the Velvet Cage? And they talked nicely about them?” That made no sense.

“I wasn’t privy to any actual information, but a few of the girls talked near me sometimes at the Hell Eaters Lounge before I was,” She swallowed, “Blacklisted. Rumors said he didn’t come to Boston often, once every few months, and when he came for a visit, he would always hire a girl for his stay. Usually a few days at a time.”

“Was that normal?”

“For girls to take multi-day jobs? No. Damon always said girls made more per night than they did multiple nights lumped into one. But I guess for his money man, he had no choice but to allow it. What was weird, though, was some girls lined up for the chance to spend a few days with him. And they always looked so—” She shrugged and grimaced, “refreshed when they got back. I don’t know if that’s the right word, but they sure looked better than they usually did after a job, especially one that lasted a few days. And he paid well. Very well.”

“Hmm.” I hummed, processing her info. “When was the last time he visited?”

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