Page 26 of Ravaged
CHAPTER 8
Ethan
The scent of garlic, onions, and freshly baked bread wafted through the air. My stomach growled. Clara, an older woman with white-blond hair in long strands on her shoulders, pointed at a metal tray. “Should still be hot,” she said.
Clara was Gerard’s—my father’s—wife, the one he had cheated on with my mother early in their relationship. They had an arranged marriage that had somehow lasted through the decades, despite Gerard’s infidelity. At first, Clara had been curious about me, watching me like I might do something she should be aware of, but now, after a week or so, she treated me without notice. Like the other brothers, her sons.
I grabbed the tray. Two bowls of soup, two pieces of bread, two spoons. Not the usual one of each.
In the basement, Teagen was leaning against the wall of the cage, a towel in her lap. Her breasts exposed, hanging and succulent. I looked away. I had to stay focused.
“Hey,” she said. Those big green eyes beamed at me.Fuck. She knew how to lather it on. Always smiling, that slightly mischievous grin, full of earnestness. For whatever reason, she didn’t hate me.
Or she was trying to make methinkthat she didn’t hate me, to use it as a tool against me. That was more likely.
At first, it had been easy not to acknowledge her. I knew that once we got a hold of her father, we could get the money and return Teagen to the Dahlia District. Make a deal with her. Use her to our advantage. A new plant in the center of the club, a place we could use as our new negotiation grounds.
But that first full night, she was shivering, her lips blue, her skin blotched in pinkish-red marks from my hands. I hastily grabbed a towel from the bathroom and slammed it into the cage.
Clara took care of the food and made sure to provide her with anything the family was eating. But I was the one who caved when it came to everything else. The extra pillow from my bed. The throw blanket from the closet. Another towel. I even yanked an old portable music player from one of the boxes. Found some batteries and a CD. Earbuds from my suitcase.
She was listening to the CD player now. It was a classical album; I guess Clara preferred it, and luckily, Teagen did too.
I crouched down beside her cage, trying to keep my focus on her eyes. I swear, she did that on purpose. Exposing her breasts when she didn’t have to. Trying to tease me.
“You like classical?” I asked, trying to keep my attention elsewhere.
She nodded. “I’ve played it since I was a kid. My dad liked to pretend I was a musical prodigy.”
I remembered how well she had played at the Dahlia District. “I’m sure you were.”
“Prodigy?” She laughed. “No. But can I play music by ear? Sure. But plenty of musicians can do that.” She smiled. “What about you? What kind of music do you like?”
“Rock,” I said.
“I should have guessed.” She smirked. “The whole angry-rocker vibe. Dress in a suit, but acting like you go to the mosh pit every night.”
I had been in a few mosh pits, back at the few concerts I was willing to travel to in Albuquerque. It was a good way to let out my aggression, a way that was productive and accepted in that realm.
“I played in a band once,” I said. And by once, I meant that literally.Once. “Got kicked out.”
“Too much fist-fighting?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. Was I that easy to nail? A friend had offered to teach me to play the drums, but when I found out he had hit another friend’s sister, I used that opportunity to give him a black eye. Music wasn’t worth it. But violence was in my blood.
“I could tell you had a musical side,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. I furrowed my brows, and she wiggled her fingers excitedly. “You know that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile?” The towel moved in her lap, exposing more of her legs; there were no red marks from the branches now. I should’ve looked through the other drawers in the house. There had to be something that she could wear down here that no one would miss. Clara wasn’t that much bigger than Teagen, and Wil, at the very least, had to have an old girlfriend’s old pajamas stuffed somewhere.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I grunted. “It was a sneer. There’s more anger than music in my blood.”
“That last part may be true,” she gave a cheesy grin, “But that was definitely a smile.”
Hell. The woman flirted with me constantly, never letting it go. She was shameless. Unafraid. She was in a cage, for fuck’s sake, and yet she still teased and tormented me.
Why the hell was I talking to her in the first place?
She might have been a prisoner,myprisoner, and I was responsible for what went on in that basement.
After I unlocked the door, she took the tray, placing it in the cage, then handed me the bucket. I hated doing that to her, but it was better than the alternative. I couldn’t let myself get carried away again. It was too easy with her.
