Page 70 of Cruel Master
It hits me all at once how little I really know Hadrian now. Is he still fussy about which brand of toothpaste he uses? Does he still sing in the shower when he thinks he’s alone in the house? I recorded him belting out Green Day once and used to threaten to set it as my ringtone.
It’s hard to imagine this new Hadrian doing anything fun. Doing anything, really, besides ordering me about. I always knew Saldar was a construct, but do I really know Hadrian any better? I want to believe the old him is still there somewhere.
I stare at the door. The door that is about to open and let the terrifying unknown in. Other people. Dangerous people. Will Hadrian protect me?
Can I trust him?
Panic hits me with all the pent-up force of the unknown. Christ, I should be stronger than this but for the first time in weeks, I’m fucking terrified. What the hell is outside that door? My hands start to shake, and I clench them, but not before Hadrian notices.
His brow creases. “Doll? Are you all right?”
Shit. Shit. I don’t want this freakout to jeopardize getting out of here, but logic isn’t in the driving seat right now. I take in a ragged breath, then another, and he covers the distance between us before I get to the third.
He wraps his arms around me.
“Shhhhhhh. It’s okay. It’s safe in the Compound, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
It’s the first time he’s held me as himself, and I breathe in his scent. His body is bulkier, but it’s still him. Christ, it’s still him, and his arms feel like safety.
Susan Grimshaw called me an ugly bitch with a dumb accent. Hadrian told her to fuck off, even though he knew her brother would kick his ass. I was homesick, and it hit me the wrong way, sending fifteen-year-old me into floods of tears. He wrapped his arms around me, and I fell in love.
I missed out on the Harvard scholarship I worked so hard for. My bright future fizzled out as I stared at the paper in my hand. Tears came, even though I tried to stop them. He was there.
My phone rang at one in the morning from a withheld number. I answered it, already knowing the news had to be bad. By the time we made it to the hospital, Mum was already dead. Night after night after night, he held me as I cried.
His scent hasn’t changed. I relax into him, letting it wash the fear away. Can I trust him? It might make me the dumbest woman on earth, but it feels like I can.
He rubs my back, and it’s so familiar it makes my legs wobble. Get it together. Seriously. By the time I do, there’s a deep ache in my chest, but I swallow the threatening tears. Not now.
He releases me slowly, arms still resting on my shoulders. There’s a deep wrinkle between his brows, and the silence has weight. I get the very distinct impression he’s lost for what to say. His throat works, and I hold my breath.
Then he drops his hands to his sides and turns away. “Time to go, doll.”
Back to the hardass again.
I follow him to the door. I’ve only passed through this door once, and it was such a mad scramble I hardly remember it.
I breathe deeply as we walk down the bare corridor and reach the second door. The airlock. I ball my fists and straighten my spine. I can’t crumble. I’m not weak. I’m already more pissed off with myself than afraid. Good. That’s better.
Hadrian presses his palm to the door, and it beeps.
That’s it? That’s all it took? I could have knocked him unconscious, dragged his body down the corridor, and escaped. Sure. Because it’s that easy in real life. The door slides silently open, and Hadrian glances back at me.
“Don’t run, doll. I could have put a leash on you or restraints. I haven’t, and it’s not because I trust you. It’s because it doesn’t matter if you run. You have a tracker in your neck, and the Compound is surrounded by soldiers. There’s no need for restraints.”
Well, that was ominous.
“Yes, Master.” He gives me a long look, as if checking for hidden meaning in the words, then turns his back. Sweat breaks out all over my body as he walks through the door, and I follow.
The room would have been dull under normal circumstances. A mid-sized office, dominated by a large bank of monitors, all showing my empty cell. A mini fridge stocked with water and Dr Pepper—that hasn’t changed, at least. God, I want to drink one, even though I usually don’t like them. My taste buds might self-destruct with an overload of excitement.
The overhead strip lights give off harsh, white illumination. The air smells like a stale office, not like a musty cave. There’s a soft, squashy looking sofa in the corner, and I want to throw myself onto it.
I soak it in. It’s modern. It’s different. It’s not my cell. Hadrian pauses, then takes my hand in his. His inked fingers wrap mine, and it’s weird and familiar all at once. It should be restrictive—he’s the reason I’m obsessing over ugly fluorescents and Dr fucking Pepper—but it doesn’t feel restrictive. It feels as comforting as all hell.
“This might be a little overwhelming. It’s okay if it is.”
It’s the gentlest he’s treated me since I arrived, and I want to slap him and cling to him all at once. He’s right. It is overwhelming, and once we go outside, it will be doubly so.
