Page 42 of Ravaged
CHAPTER 13
Teagen
In Ethan’s room, I had a window view of the woods, and like the dorm rooms at the Dahlia District, I had a private shower stall. But here, I was trapped inside of these two hundred square feet. Sadly, harp lessons didn’t get me out of the room. The wife must have lost her appetite for music after Dad stabbed himself. So,unlikethe Dahlia District, I couldn’t go to the kitchen, couldn’t see what everyone was doing in the dining room. All I had was my music.
But at least I had that. That, and my harp necklace, finally on my neck again. It kept disappearing lately.
In some ways, I had adapted to captivity, much easier than any sane person should. Because living here wasn’t any different than the Dahlia District. Dahlia reminded us that the Adlers were always watching, ready to punish our families if we should step out of line. And here, I was still living or dying under their command. So was Dad. I knew he was alive, but that didn’t mean he was doing okay.
Ethan pushed open the door, and the loud cackle of one of the brothers interrupted the soft haphazard plucking of the harp. It wasn’t easy to make music with my hands cuffed together, but I made do. I glanced out the window; the sun was down now, the night descending upon us.
“I’ll be there soon. Yeah,” Ethan said, calling down the hallway.
A few other voices mixed into the rest, voices I didn’t recognize. The door closed and Ethan cleared his throat.
“Seems like you guys are having a party,” I said.
“Something like that.” He gestured at the harp. “What are you playing?”
I continued to pluck, as much as I could, anyway. “Why? You want me to entertain again?” I lifted an eyebrow playfully. “I have to warn you, though. I’m so good, they might stab themselves in sheer amazement.”
He smiled. Warmth flowed through me. He rarely let them slip, but when he did, I made sure to savor it.
“Nothing like that,” he said. “You need to stay here.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“You might hear things,” he said. He nodded towards the door. “But whatever you do, do not leave this room.”
I furrowed my brows. “What? Are you going to kill someone tonight?” I joked, but then realized how stupid that was. The Adlers, Ethan included, had killed more people than I cared to think about. It wasn’t a joke at all.
“Nothing like that,” he said. He tossed his head. “Trust me. Don’t leave this room. It’s in your best interest.”
This was my internal struggle: I knew I shouldn’t trust Ethan, but what else could I do? It was my only choice.
After he changed outfits, he brought in a tray with crostini topped with brie, fig, and prosciutto, walnut and cheese stuffed mushrooms, and garlic butter steak kabobs. Was this catering, or the wife’s handiwork? Whoever it was, was a foodie genius. I ate everything I could.
After a while, there were more voices. Then a familiar, raspy, and deeply feminine voice came through the rest. It couldn’t possibly be the wife—it was someone else. But whoever it was, was definitely female. I plucked away, keeping to myself, trying to bury my curiosity, not wanting to give in to the urge to see if the voice belonged to who I thought it did, when the door knob twisted open slowly.
Black hair cut to her chin. Round eyes without her usual dark makeup. A hoodie. Actual blue jeans. I had no idea that she owned a pair. Had she taken them from my dorm room?
“Iris?” I asked. She put a finger to her mouth and shushed me, then let herself in, tip-toeing as if she was afraid the floor would creak. She closed the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I came to rescue you,” she said. “Thanks for the welcome.”
My eyes widened. Rescue me?
That’s how captivity was; I had forgotten that, yes, I was in danger and in need of safety. I got up from the bench and rushed towards her, throwing my arms around her. She patted me on the back. She wasn’t big on physical affection, but she indulged me from time to time.
“You know it’s nothing like that,” I said into her shoulder. “But this is dangerous. These men are dangerous. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.”
I pulled back and looked at her; she didn’t look like herself, the goth princess that I knew, but she still looked good. “How did you get inside?”
“Dahlia’s asking about Roland Price.” I raised a brow. She said it like I should remember the name. “You know, the new owner?” Ah, right. Dahlia had recently sold the club to a real estate developer and nightclub owner. I had forgotten his name because I didn’t care to remember it. Not like Iris. “Anyway, she’s supposed to be making a new proposition in his name with them, or something. Continuing the protection.”
“Does the owner know she’s doing that?” I asked.
