The staff in the foyer scattered when Cassius arrived back with me. He’d picked me up again to carry me in. I knew this way. Recognized the paintings on the walls, the damask wallpaper, and that familiar door at the end—he was carrying me back to the dungeons.
Burying my face in the crook of his neck, I didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to believe this was happening. That I’d failed to escape and my dash at freedom had resulted in a man’s death. Guilt wedged in my throat. What was to stop this man from killing me?
I squeezed back tears of frustration, angry with myself for failing. I’d been so close to bolting across the street. Hiding in the woodland. That stupid fall had ruined my chance.
Too bruised and shaken to fight back. It felt useless anyway. He was too strong, too commanding in the way he ruled this estate. Too cunning with knowing every inch of this place, no doubt. Obviously ruling the men around us who’d watched on from afar as he carried me back in.
Cassius set me down outside the cell and gestured for me to go in. He assumed that confident pose as though expecting me to just walk in willingly.
“Why do you hate your father?” he asked.
I refused to share the truth. That he’d never acted like a father. That Stephen was often distant or worse, he avoided my brother and me as though we were an inconvenience. I hated him all over again because Dad had failed to protect me from him. The man who could kill me on a whim.
Seemingly annoyed that I refused to speak, Cassius again gestured for me to go in.
Holding my head high, I refused to move.
He strolled into the cell ahead of me, walking over to the nightstand and lifting a glass of water. “You must be thirsty.”
Still, I refused to take one step inside that awful room ever again.
“Your brother Archie. . .” he said darkly.
“You leave him alone!”
“Give me a reason.”
Head down, I scurried in and joined Cassius in the cell.
He handed over the glass of water. “Apparently, he and your parents made it to the safe room. Unlike you.”
“You didn’t find him?” It sounded triumphant.
“Not yet.”
“Promise me you’ll leave him alone.”
“Do you promise not to disrupt my sleep with failed attempts at leaving?”
I brought the cold water to my lips, a rush of relief hit me with each swallow.
“Archie’s innocent.” Just like me.
Cassius made his way out, though this time he didn’t lock the cell door.
“How much money are you asking for me?”
His brows knitted together. “I’m not holding you for ransom.”
“Then why am I here?”
“I’m waiting for your father to come for you.”
“He won’t.”
“What makes you so certain?”
I couldn’t say it because anything else I gave him made me even more vulnerable.
“Then we’ll lure him out some other way.” Cassius left me standing there, stunned at his arrogance.
I was right back where I’d started. Tears stung my eyes as I tried to keep the blurry shadows at bay.
Cassius
The well-grown grass behind the house served as a pathway toward what had once been our family chapel. More recently, this part of the property was rarely visited. No one else was permitted to enter this place. Not even my sister.
Because that was where I’d carried my mother’s body after those men had left.
Even now, years later, I could still feel the weight of her in my arms.
The memory never left.
Sofia had not seen what I’d done to the chapel a decade ago. I’d hung a padlock from the thick doorway to ensure no one did.
Turning, I looked back to glance at the house where Anya lay sleeping in the dungeon. It had felt right placing her there for the night. But even as this anger ebbed for her trying to escape, I felt a pang of guilt.
Maybe because the house felt different.
There was no denying I found myself intrigued with my captive. Where there should be annoyance for the time wasted dealing with her, there was fascination. There was a sense of her value beyond what I already knew.
Capturing her again just now had stirred my diabolical side. Maybe that was why I’d dedicated myself to maintaining the chapel as a teenager. I’d been trying to suppress some aspect of me I’d sensed rising out of the boy. The same cruelty that had me bringing Anya back this morning and punishing her with solitude.
Having her here brought a surge of devious pleasure. Her attempted escape was futile. Actually, it had been intriguing to see how far she’d get. I’d followed her until she’d made it as far as the road. Applauding her courage, even though I knew she’d fail.
Once in my arms again, she’d flung her hands around my neck and held onto me as though I was her savior. Her fragrance, a subtle vanilla and light—if light had a perfume—filled my senses. Breathing her in like I’d been rescuing my lost love and not the girl I was destined to kill.