Page 28 of Defiant
“Fuck this,” I say aloud, sick of my own internal ramblings, annoyed by how part of me wants to go grab that paddle and relive the memory while I touch myself. Black would definitely be able to scent if I did that so no fucking way. Plus, I’m not turning something humiliating into something hot. Not happening.
I try to swallow that lie as I stomp into the bedroom to see if there’s another window in there, in case I might escape out of it. It’s the one room I haven’t really checked.
I flick on the light and glance over the beige walls, ignoring the neutral, clearly designer dark wood bedroom set. There is a window! A small but beautiful rectangle on the far side of the room. It’s currently so dark outside that I can’t tell if bars are blocking it off, but it’s definitely bigger than the one in the storage room. I might be able to squeeze out.
I hurry toward it but stop short when I pass the en suite door. The scent nearly makes my knees buckle; the smell of Black, but not just him … there’s sea salt tingeing the caramel and woodsmoke flavor that’s swirling through my head making me dizzy, settling on my tongue so strongly I can almost taste it. I bring my hand to the bathroom door, which I’d just left open when I exited. I slowly close it, staring, wondering why the hell his scent is so strong in here as my eyes lock onto the white smears that coat the lower part of the door.
Fuck.
Instantly, I know he heard me in the shower. Black stood outside the door and touched himself while I … exorcised the demons he made possess my body. I clutch the doorknob so tightly that my palm hurts as heat flickers up my spine and my eyes zero in on the evidence of his crime. When my mouth waters, I freak the fuck out, because that is not a normal reaction to dried cum.
I drop the bathroom door handle and bolt from the bedroom like it’s on fire. The problem is that the room isn’t burning … I am. There’s an intense set of flames crackling between my thighs and I’m desperate to put it out. I head for the only liquid in the room: The other glass of wine.
I down that sucker quickly and force my thoughts away from what Black must have looked like stroking himself, his huge hand around a cock that I’d tried very hard not to look at, but was so massive that my peripheral vision hadn’t been able to completely deny its existence.
Shit! Shit! I don’t want to be here thinking about the alpha’s dick.Tears form in the corners of my eyes because everything has gone to shit since my wolf came in and right now I’m not sure I really want her.
A twinge of guilt hits me hard for thinking that—I’ve waited years for her. And she’d finally shown up. She didn’t disappear until Black showed up. It was his fault.
I slam down my wine glass, doubly determined and slightly tipsy now because I definitely only ate half of that damned sandwich.
I am gonna run away from him and—for some reason my brain doesn’t imagine running home to the house I grew up in. I’ve only stayed there because Mom required it until my wolf came in to protect me. Or so she says. Sometimes I think she just wants the live-in house cleaner because she’s a slob. I blow out a bitter breath and stomp toward the stairs. I don’t want to think about her. And I definitely don’t want to analyze why I just pictured running straight to Jonah, his arms open wide and those bright blue eyes shining at me brighter than the moon.
Both of those are fucking pits I don’t want to fall down.
Focus, Elena. Maybe we can find a blowtorch and burn down those bars.It’s a pathetically unlikely hope but I find myself drawn closer to a small closet door near the stairs, wondering if there’s something inside I can use. It’s probably just got extra ping pong balls and sheets and stuff but who knows. Maybe another Harry Potter lives in there.Oh, I am definitely buzzed.
I wander toward the closet and stop near the air conditioning vent, craning my neck up to stare at it. Why, oh why do Black’s vents have to be normal size? Why aren’t they the industrial size that appears in every goddamned movie so that people can slither along in them like snakes?
I pull open the closet door and blow a full-on raspberry at the shelves when I see board games in there like Black is some normal guy and not a psychopath. I spit all over his games before slamming the door shut.
“I should have eaten more.” I should have but I wasn’t planning on drinking because I almost never drink. I take a deep breath and shake out my hands like I do before a race. I concentrate on my breathing … telling myself that this is a strategic run, a long race, one where I need to pace myself. I need to make the right moves, pull ahead at the right time, not just blast out immediately and burn off all my power at once.
My eyes drift to the stairs that lead upward. I haven’t considered them because I heard Black lock a door at the top … but I can break through wood more easily than iron bars. Or try that hinge pin thing … againPirates of the Caribbeanis probably steering me wrong and this door won’t pop open like Jack Sparrow’s jail cell. But there’s a shot. I’ll probably be spotted, but I literally think that might be the only way out of here. “Stupid anti-fire code old house,” I grumble to myself as I grab the handrail and start to make my way up the carpeted steps. I get to the top and turn the knob. As I expected, it’s locked.
Motherfucker.
I hear the jangle of keys and the click of footsteps. I scramble back down the steps and hurry toward the bar, not wanting Black to catch me in the act. He might smell me, but I can always say I just sat on the stairs for a second or something.
But Black doesn’t descend into my giant underground prison cell. His butler does.
Wearing a formal penguin suit, his gray hair slicked back and his back straight as a ruler, the man gives me a tight smile with his thin lips. He’s carrying a picnic basket on his left arm that looks like something out of a spa magazine. It has a loofah, what looks like body wash, some towels, and a variety of other unidentifiable objects. He walks past me and I can’t help but glance toward the stairs. Did he leave it unlocked? Could I make a run for it?
But the door is closed. Knowing Black, he gave orders to this guy to lock it.
“Hello. I’m Matthew.”
I turn to see the butler smiling at me, his basket set down on one of the many recliners facing the huge flat screen to my left. The old man smiles at me expectantly and there’s something about him that makes my edgy anger wane a bit. I don’t typically think “welcoming” when I think about butlers, but this guy radiates warmth. His crow’s feet crinkle as he says, “This would normally be where you introduce yourself.”
I clear my throat and shift on my feet. Black didn’t tell him my name? Why not? What does that mean? I try to shrug off the little voice second-guessing things inside my head as I extend my hand. “I’m Elena.”
Matthew’s shake is firm and strong despite the fact that he’s got a few age spots on the back of his hand. I’d guess he’s around seventy or so.
“So, you brought staples for the prisoner?” I gesture at the basket.
“I brought supplies for Alpha Maddox’s lady,” he replies evenly.
I want to laugh because Black definitely doesn’t see me as his lady. But I don’t laugh, I decide to use the moment to try to win Matthew over a little. Maybe … if I ask nicely, he’ll hand over the key.
