Page 25 of Don't Say A Word

“Feeling a little insecure, are we?” He grabs for his dick and shakes it, laughing to himself. Then turns onto his side. “Who’s Everly?”

I ignore him and fold myself onto the bed, pulling the blanket over my head.

Marcel chuckles. “You’re not going to tell me? Fine. I’ll just ask Junior instead.”

“She’s no one.” I force the words from my mouth, not wanting to talk about her, not wanting someone like Marcel to know she even exists.

“And how would this no one feel, knowing you’ve got a hard-on for Junior’s girl in there.”

“It’s not like that.”

“What’s not? That this Everly’s not your girl, or that Junior’s little fuck-toy in there makes you want to do bad, bad things.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“A sore spot, huh? Would you want this Everly knowing what you’re doing? That you get to—”

“She’s my little sister,” I say between gritted teeth, unwilling to hear more of the filth he insists on spouting.

Marcel’s demeanor changes instantly, and he holds his hands up, owning his error. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Reaching for my headphones, I tug them over my ears, closing my eyes and attempting to block out the world with the sounds ofNirvana, but each time I do, Mia appears, glaring at me with all the burning intensity of hatred she can muster. I wish I knew why it bothered me so much, seeing the animosity in her eyes. I shouldn’t care. But I do.

It takes around half an hour before Marcel flicks off the TV. But just when I think that I might finally be able to settle into some sort of sleep, he starts to snore. And although it isn’t loud, it’s irritatingly constant, even through my headphones. They are supposed to be noise canceling. They aren’t.

I’m not used to sharing my life with another person, even if he is only a roommate. I’m used to silence. My own space. My own thoughts. His presence is intrusive, and I find it hard to switch off. Everly has always lived in the mansion with the rest of the family while I took up residence above the stables. Well, that was until Senior sent her away to boarding school. But not any old boarding school; it is the best school in the country and something I would have never been able to give her. In fact, they’ve given everything to Everly that I would have never been able to. That’s why I’m resigned to this life, morbidly content to do all that Senior requests just to keep her safe and happy. If Senior is willing to give her everything I can’t in exchange for my loyalty, I’m willing to give it to him.

It’s around one o’clock when I finally admit defeat and get up. Tugging on my jeans, I wander down the hall and back out the door. The stairs creak as I climb them. The stables are empty of people, only the sigh or snort of a horse to break the stillness of the night.

The moon is round and full. It spills light through the windows, casting square patches of silver onto the cobbled floors. My footsteps are loud, even though my feet are bare. The horses look over at me curiously, wondering who their midnight visitor is. One of them whinnies and shakes her head, blowing hot air over my hand when I hold it out. She’s got a deep chestnut coat that glimmers in the moonlight. I rub the blaze of white between her eyes, marveling at the beauty of her. Even though I’ve never ridden a horse, will never own one of my own, I find being around them peaceful, like everything is right with the world. But then I think of them locked behind doors and I wonder if they feel the same way.

And then I stop thinking.

It doesn’t do me any good to think too deeply, to put myself in another’s shoes, even if it is a horse. It takes my mind places it is better off not going. It’s a survival mechanism. Stops me from wondering too much. Stops me from obsessing over a childhood I can’t remember. One that only comes in flashes. One that doesn’t tell me why my sister—only a toddler at the time—and I ended up, sick and starving, hiding in the stables in the city until Senior stumbled across us.

With one last stroke of her smooth flank, I turn back to the stairs that lead below. Sitting down at the monitor-laden desk, my eyes fix on her. She’s sitting under the chains, staring at the window at the same moon I was only moments before. Her mouth moves as though she is singing but I don’t turn up the sound. There’s something so intimate about the moment, it almost feels as though I would be intruding.

And, as if my mind wants to defy my own decision of not thinking about things too deeply, I wonder who she was before. I only know her as a girl trapped in a cell. A girl to be broken. A girl to be used.

Pulling open the top drawer, I take out the file that Senior gave me. Her name is displayed in thick text on the front: Mia Abigail Cooper. Age eighteen. Brunette. Brown eyes.

Flicking open to the first page, her face stares back at me. The photo has been taken from afar. It shows her crossing a road, looking back over her shoulder and staring directly at the camera as though she knows it is there. The wind has whipped her hair over her face. Her eyes are wide and there is a faint smile on her lips. Something I am yet to see in person. Something I will probably never see.

Notes are scrawled on the page. Her life summed up in a few short sentences. Lives at home with her mother and father. Works with her parents at the bakery they own. No siblings. The rest of it is highly detailed with the places she frequents, as though someone had been stalking her for weeks.

I close the folder with a snap. That part of her life is over now. I know that better than anyone. Once you are in the grasp of the Attertons, you never leave.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RYKER

The sun has risen when I open the door to her cell again. With little sleep to fuel me, I use it to harden my determination. While sitting in front of the monitor last night, watching her as she dozed in and out of sleep, it dawned on me that there is only one way to help this girl. And that is to prepare her for what’s to come. Train her into obedience.

She’s still asleep when I take my seat. It’s amazing that she can find peace here in the unknown. Peace enough to sleep. She’s still propped against the wall rather than in the bed. Her skin is pale with the cold.

“Don’t say a word,” I command when she wakes.

She blinks a few times and for a moment I think she forgets. She looks around the room as though she is confused. Until her gaze sets on me and then it darkens.

---