Page 59 of Blood and Lies (A Twisted Duet 1)

I stared at the piece of black chalk and the stack of papers Castello had placed on the bed. My reward. Of everything he could have given me—food, water, luxuries I was denied during my time here—he had chosen paper and chalk. The only two things that would allow me any kind of escape, a way to leave this place even for just a few moments.

If I was given the chance to choose my own reward, this was exactly what I would have chosen.

Taking the piece of chalk between my fingers, I softly rubbed it with my fingertips. The chalk felt rough yet smooth at the same time, already whispering words of images it wanted me to draw. That was the thing about art. Anyone who didn’t understand it, didn’t experience it, thought an artist chose what would be painted or drawn on the canvas. But they couldn’t be more wrong. An artist might have an idea of what he or she wanted to appear on the sheets of white, but in the end, it was only when we held that brush, that pencil…that piece of chalk that the true image started to take shape. In the end, most of the time, the result was something you didn’t anticipate, didn’t plan…didn’t expect. Like most things in life, it hardly ever turned out the way you originally thought it would.

After pulling on the black silk nightgown Castello had given me, I climbed onto the bed and crossed my knees beneath me. My stomach was fuller than it had been in days, my body still electrified from what Castello and I had done earlier. The cut on my thigh and the ache between my legs would be a constant reminder of that for a while.

The second I put the piece of chalk to paper, I switched from prisoner to free-spirited artist. Lines and swirls of black took my mind far away from all of this. Away from the four walls casing me in. Away from the threat that was held against my throat like a sharp blade. And away from him.

He was the man whose sole purpose was to destroy me, yet his touch made me feel like it was the only thing that could save me. So many contradictions, so many illogicalities, so many denials.

My thoughts were whirlwinds of conflict and debates, my soul a giant ball of entwined feelings, knotted emotions I didn’t know how to sort through—which was why I drew.

More lines, more shadowed corners and circles. Memories of my old life forced their way into my head, affecting the image in front of me. I was carried away with the reminiscences of the life I had before all this started. Even though it had only been days, it felt like years had passed.

The chalk in my hand filled one sheet after the other, drawing my emotions out of me and onto paper. After every completed image, I would toss it to the floor and immediately lose myself in the next one. Image after image, paper after paper…until finally my fingertips touched the soft sheet. There was no more chalk left for me to draw. I’d used it all, just like Castello planned on using all of me. Once this was done, there would be nothing left of me. The most nerve-wracking part of it all was even if I did survive, I would never be the same again. He made of sure of that. His touch made sure of that.

If I walked out of this alive, I’d be haunted by this for the rest of life. Not because of the abuse or because of the fear of being kidnapped and kept against my will by people who wanted me dead. No. I’d be haunted by him, by his wicked touch, how the slice of his blade gave me what I’d searched for, for so long…freedom. Freedom by letting me embrace who I really was, what I really wanted.

I was fucked. Whether I lived or died, I was screwed. If I had to die, it would be the bullet or the knife that took my life. If I had to live, it would be his touch, his kiss, his unmistakable dominion over my body that would take my life, my soul.

Falling back onto the mattress, I stared up at the ceiling, my jumbled thoughts making me wish I had more pencil or chalk to draw with. It was the only way I could sort through my emotions—always had been.

I didn’t look at what I drew. I just left it there on the ground. No matter what images were displayed on those pieces of paper, there was no way it could help me now. It might help me sort through the wires that crossed inside my head, but it couldn’t save my life.

I closed my eyes. Drawing had managed to bring me some sort of relief, enough to make me realize how much I needed to rest. And for the first time in days, I drifted off to sleep with the tiniest sliver of peace settling over me.

***

I jerked awake with a masculine hand covering my mouth. Fear exploded through my body as my mind raced. The lights were off, but from the distinct scent of cedarwood and amber, I knew it was him. That, and the way my body hummed from his touch, even though panic surged through my veins.

“Shh.” He leaned down, and I felt his cheek against mine as he placed his other hand on my middle. “I need you to be quiet, little mouse. Can you do that?”

I nodded, and he lifted his hand off my mouth. My body was rigid, my heart pounding like a jackhammer as he took hold of my elbow, guiding me off the bed and out of the room. The first thought that went through my mind was another dining hall humiliation scene, and I couldn’t handle that.

As we passed the door, I grabbed the doorframe, pulling myself back. “Where are you taking me?”

“Be quiet and come with me.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not going to the dining hall again. Please, not that again.” My throat closed, my chest tightened, and my legs felt like they would give way beneath me at any moment.

It was dark, and I sucked in a breath when his palm cupped my cheek. “Relax, little mouse.” His thumb touched my bottom lip. “There will be no spectators tonight. Only me.”

My fear settled, yet my heartbeat didn’t slow in the slightest.

“Where are you taking me?”

His hand moved around my shoulder, his fingers wrapping around the back of my neck. It was such a simple touch, yet he managed to make it erotic, sensual, slowly coaxing my body to respond to him. He traced a delicate line across my jaw with his nose, and I could hear him inhale, taking in my scent. With a nudge just under my jaw and a tug at the back of my neck, he urged me to lean my head back.

“I’m taking you to a place no man has ever taken you before.” Soft, delicate kisses slid down my throat, his lips and tongue touching and lapping against my skin. Everything inside me was coiled tight with a kind of anticipation that had the power to render me incapable of moving.

The touch of his hand moved from my neck, over my shoulder, and down my arm before he wrapped his fingers around my elbow. “Now, be silent, little mouse.”

My legs moved, and I put one foot in front of the other—willingly. I let Castello lead me without knowing where and without putting up a fight. It didn’t make sense that my body moved to follow him while my mind screamed at me to fight. But with every step I took behind him, the anticipation that brewed inside my belly, pooling between my legs, got stronger.

It wasn’t until we took a turn down a familiar hall that I realized where he was taking me.

“We’re going to your bedroom?”

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