Jaded, p.8
Jaded, page 8
“Díos mio, Locke.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You let that moment with Sienna get to your head, didn’t you? We aren’t together, and just because I’m working for you doesn’t mean you own me. I was just playing their little games!”
Her voice dips lower at the end of that sentence, like she’s worried someone might overhear.
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To get close to him?”
She’s right. I told her to do this, and to gain his trust.
Maybe I should have mentioned that he’s not the only man I was hoping she’d get close to.
I cut that thought short before I let my imagination go too far. This whole situation is getting messier by the minute. I’m not sure she wants to be standing next to me, let alone ‘getting close’ to me, right now. I’m not sure I should want that either. Could it ever really work?
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I just know what he’s capable of, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Her laugh comes out bitter. “I can take care of myself. Trust me. I’ve been doing it for a long time, and I’ve dealt with guys a hell of a lot scarier than that asshole.”
Even though I know she’s still underestimating what Luke is capable of, I believe her. The way she says it makes me wonder exactly how much of her past I don’t know. How much she’ll never tell me.
“I get it. I won’t intrude again. You’re not going anywhere near his place, though. I know what happens at those parties, and I won’t let you walk into that house of horrors.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I will and will not do!” she hisses, attempting to shove me away. It’s a cute effort, but I take hold of her arm instantly, pulling her in close.
“Don’t I?” I murmur, leaning in. “You’re my employee. You said it yourself.”
“Employee, not property,” she shoots back, baring her teeth. “What I do off the clock is none of your concern.”
Her defiance is intoxicating, a wildfire I have no business trying to tame. But a shadow in my peripheral vision reminds me we aren’t alone, and Luke isn’t the only one that might be watching. I know better than anyone that nothing good comes from making a scene at an event like this.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re never off the clock with me,” I mutter. “You’d do well to remember exactly what’s at stake.” I finally release my hold on her arm, and my hand feels noticeably colder the moment we break contact.
She avoids my gaze as she adjusts her dress and mutters something about needing the restroom. She’s still playing her role, but I’m reeling.
Watching her leave, I realize with a sinking gut feeling that I’m not just worried about Luke taking her in a romantic sense. I’m worried about what might happen when I can’t be there to protect her and what he might try to take when he gets her alone.
When she returns, we both stay quiet. I know she’s upset about my interference, and I won’t push her any further.
Sitting down for dinner is a special kind of torture; her assigned seat is directly next to mine, while four other guests sit around the table with us. None of whom I know on a personal level.
The table feels much smaller than it looks. Each tiny movement we make is met with the subtle pressure of her shoulder or elbow brushing against mine. That, paired with the rhythmic clinking of silverware on porcelain, the heavy scent of roasted meat and red wine, and the loud, forced chatter in the confined space, is almost unbearable. I’m being pushed to my limit, and I haven’t even reached for my fork.
In the background, the director of the foundation speaks. His voice drones on, a dull and bleak soundtrack to my growing exasperation. He says something about their “mission and vision” that I’m only half paying attention to.
Instead, I’m captivated by the way the chandelier light glints off Arden’s necklace as she eats. Every time she tilts her head, the diamonds catch the light. It’s a subtle and cruel reminder of how brightly she truly shines and makes me wonder how many other eyes in this room might notice that same sparkle.
Each speech is harder to get through than the last. Although she still hasn’t spoken, Arden’s presence is heavy, and the familiar tension around us is becoming suffocating. She turns slightly to sip her water, and her arm grazing mine sends a shock shooting up my spine.
“You look like you’re about to break something,” she whispers. The words are so hushed they’re almost lost in the applause for a local donor. She doesn’t look at me, just keeps her eyes fixed on the stage with a polite smile plastered to her face.
“I’m fine,” I mutter back, but my jaw is so tight it aches.
“You’re brooding, Locke. It’d be clear from the back of the room.” She finally cuts a glance toward me, her eyes flashing with a mix of continued defiance and concern. “Let it go.”
I don’t answer. She turns her attention back to the stage, leaving me to simmer in silence again.
When it’s finally my turn to speak, the stage actually feels like an escape. I step toward the podium, relishing the cool, floral-scented air. It’s a relief from the heat of her presence beside me.
I stare out at the sea of faces, delivering the same polished speech I’ve given a dozen times before. I talk about the kind of legacy I want to leave and responsibility to the community. My voice comes out smooth, even as my eyes instinctively scan the crowd for Luke’s shark-like grin.
I find him near the bar, watching not the stage, but the table I just left. Watching Arden.
The polite applause barely registers as I make my way back to my seat. I feel detached, like a ghost in my own body. Hollow and entirely too focused on the woman sitting just inches away.
The rest of the night is a blur of handshakes and thank-yous. Arden acts the part of the perfect date, doling out polite smiles and compliments.
She goes silent again on the trip home, but I can feel her watching me. The car is a dark, quiet sanctuary after the sensory overload of the gala. The streetlights flicker across her face in rhythmic pulses of color and shadow. I look over, and her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired. She gives me a faint, uncertain smile, like she’s trying to bridge the gap I forced between us earlier.
I nod and pat the leather seat, motioning for her to scoot into the space beside me. She hesitates for a heartbeat before sliding over. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her firmly against my side. She rests her head on my chest, her hair smelling like the night air and the expensive perfume she wore for another man’s benefit. We stay like that for the rest of the drive, the silence finally softening.
I don’t understand this girl, not even close. But as I tighten my grip on her shoulder, I realize I’m starting to care for her a little too much.
Chapter 19
ARDEN
It’s almost 11 when we walk through the door to Locke’s mansion. My feet ache from the ridiculous heels, my head buzzes from too much champagne, and my skin is drenched in the scent of perfume that isn’t mine.
The events of the last few hours have left me feeling drained, both mentally and physically. I should sleep. I should lock the door and let the world go dark. But Locke’s voice is a splinter in my mind, incessant and impossible to ignore. ‘You’re not going anywhere near his place.’
Honestly, who is he to tell me I can’t go?
‘You’re never off the clock with me.’ We’ll see about that.
Locke disappears down the maze of hallways leading toward his room, distracted by an oddly-timed phone call, and the silence in this house instantly feels suffocating. I stand there, my hand hovering over the bedroom doorknob, my vision blurring with exhaustion. Every muscle in my body is screaming for the mattress, or a hot bath, but my pulse is doing something else. Racing with frantic, and quite possibly stupid, curiosity.
I don’t give myself time to change my mind. I peel off the gown with shaking hands, and slide into an outfit that feels more like a weapon: my favorite pair of faded ripped jeans and a black tank top. My usual boots with chunky heels finish the look, and I’m out the back door in a matter of minutes.
My pulse hammers in my chest as I sneak past the pool. Not from fear, but excitement… pure adrenaline. Every shadow feels like it’s watching, every step dares him to catch me. I inspect the perimeter of the house as I sneak past. Are there cameras? Probably. Do I care? Not even a little.
I tell myself it’s just curiosity, and that I’ll only peek in. I just need to know what kind of man I’m really up against. A few minutes. Pure research.
My boots hit the pavement, one after another, until I’m sliding into the backseat of a rideshare. The city blurs by, and with every flashing light, reality sets in — there’s absolutely no turning back now.
The car crunches up the gravel drive of Luke’s sprawling mansion, stopping to let me out before continuing back down to the main road. The house is dark, but bursts of color flash in the windows. Red, violet, gold, blue, like the house itself is breathing in time with the bass I can hear from outside the front door.
I don’t bother knocking, just push the door open and step over the threshold. To my surprise, there are two security guards dressed in black suits flanking the entrance. The top halves of their faces are hidden behind ornate gold domino masks.
“Phone,” one of them says, shoving a small plastic bin in my direction.
“Phone?” I echo. My voice is a combination of shock and bewilderment.
The guard on my opposite side leans in and whispers, “Put your phone in the basket.”
A giant knot instantly forms in my stomach. Not just because they want my phone, but also because what he said came dangerously close to, “It puts the phone in the basket.” Not a great vibe.
With a shaky breath, I ignore the sinking feeling and reach into the back pocket of my jeans. I glance down before handing the phone over, and my eyes snag on the screen. It’s flooded with notifications: calls, text messages, even a video call — all from Locke. I guess he’s their problem now.
The chaos inside the house is all-consuming, beckoning me in. The air is hot and thick with the scent of perfume and sweat and something else… metallic. I scan the room, trying to orient myself or find a familiar face, which seems to pose a problem because every headline I’ve ever read is staring back at me. Actors, models, pro athletes… they’re all here.
Every one of them wears a smile that doesn’t quite reach their glassy eyes, and their movements are loose in a way that sends prickles down my spine. Whatever’s in the punch, I’m staying far away from it.
I inch forward, circling the perimeter of the room, eyes fighting to focus with each flash of light. I’m not sure if my head is spinning from the aftereffects of the alcohol I drank earlier or the music I can barely hear myself think over.
Female servers weave through the crowd in matching black silk slips that cling to their skin and look far too short to be uniforms. The same ornate gold masks the security guards wore obscure their faces, too. Other girls, dressed the same, stand scattered in corners, completely silent, their gazes fixed on nothing. Like they’re decorations, rather than guests.
A tall, muscular man reaches out as he passes one of them. He casually runs his hand up the length of her thigh, lifting the dress slightly to reveal a barely-there lace thong underneath. His gaze roams over every inch of her body as he licks his lips. She doesn’t react to any of it.
What the fuck is this?
My heart beats like a war drum in my chest, and I feel like I might be sick. I turn my head, desperately needing a distraction.
Then, my gaze lands on a long table in the center of the room. Not a normal table, more like an elevated trough. My stomach drops as soon as I realize what’s in it.
There’s a female body stretched out under spotlights. Her skin is deathly pale, naked limbs arranged just so and partially submerged in viscous red liquid. No, that’s not… It can’t be… am I hallucinating?
My throat begins to close as I realize people are standing around it… staring… eating?
As I inch closer, faces come into view. A huddle of women, all tall and unnaturally thin, licking their lips that are stained deep red. I overhear a familiar voice and turn to see none other than Sienna Vale excitedly chattering to the woman beside her. “Try the blood; it’s delicious!”
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.
As I close in on the table, I catch bits and pieces of other conversations.
“It’s so realistic!”
“It’s pure art.”
“I wonder what’s on the inside.”
As I approach the edge of the table, I notice one of Sienna’s friends is holding up a large kitchen knife. She plunges the blade into the woman’s thigh before I can even think about what’s happening. My eyes go wide in pure horror. I clamp both hands over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.
She pulls the knife away, blood-red liquid filling the space where the chunk of flesh used to be. But it’s not flesh on her plate. It’s… chocolate cake?
The crowd is giggling now, dipping fingers into the pool of thick red liquid and licking them off. Plunging forks and spoons directly into the perfectly glazed frosting that looks so much like actual skin.
They act like it’s a joke, but every instinct in me screams that there’s something deeper behind it. I want to run, duck out before anyone recognizes me, especially Sienna, but I feel a hand on my shoulder before I can even move.
Then a slick, familiar voice is in my ear. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Luke murmurs. His voice is smooth as silk, completely unbothered by the events unfolding around him. “It was Sienna’s idea.”
I glance back toward the group of women surrounding the supermodel, then at him. “Are you two together now?”
He gives me a smirk that tells me he’s flattered by the question. “I guess you could say that… although we have more of an open relationship.”
“I see,” I reply, looking up at him through my lashes.
His hand still rests on my shoulder, and he gives me an assessing look, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “I’m surprised you came. Didn’t know Locke had a new lady.”
I huff out a single breath. “We’re not a couple. It was just one date.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, in that case, come see what’s out back. That’s where the real fun is.”
Just then, a shadow falls over us and a hand clamps down over Luke’s on my shoulder. The pressure is firm enough that it actually hurts.
“Actually, we were just heading home,” a deep, possessive voice cuts in. Locke.
I jump at the sudden intrusion, and spin to see his dark eyes glaring at Luke. Luke still seems completely unfazed as a slow grin spreads across his face.
“Locke!” I say, trying not to sound too relieved.
Luke slides his hand from beneath Locke’s, though his smirk remains. “Just showing your date what real fun is. I’m sure this,” he says, gesturing to the surrounding chaos, “is a bit loud for your tastes, Locke. But some women actually prefer a little noise to the polite silence you offer.”
Locke’s eyes narrow. “She’s with me. That’s all that matters.”
“Right, right,” Luke says, chuckling.
He leans in toward me, ignoring the growing tension. “Just know the offer still stands. Something tells me you prefer some excitement to being leashed.”
Locke’s jaw tightens, and I make sure I’m positioned between them.
I turn to Luke again. “If I were you, I wouldn’t underestimate how much I might like a good leash.” I give him a playful wink. Then, turning to Locke, “Care to walk me out?”
Locke doesn’t say a word, but his grip on my hand is firm as he leads me away, his watchful presence a solid wall between me and Luke.
My pulse pounds so hard I’m sure he can feel it through my skin. I give him a weak smile as we head towards the door. He doesn’t smile back.
Before we can make it out, two burly men wearing the same suits and ornate gold masks as the security guards from earlier cut in front of us. They’re each gripping an arm of a girl who can’t be a day over 20.
She’s frantic, writhing and screaming. As they drag her toward the door, I glimpse her face. The fight left her cheeks flushed, and trails of mascara smudged down them.
It feels as if the room is spinning. Where did they even bring her from? She’s not wearing a black slip or gold mask like the servers, so she must be a guest.
I turn toward Locke. His expression mirrors the same concern and confusion I’m feeling. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a small black rectangle. “I’ll go check on her; you go outside,” he says as he presses my phone into my palm. He’s chasing after the guards before I can ask how he got it.
The brisk night air slams into me like a slap to the face. I welcome the sensation, taking a deep breath in. I tilt my head back, searching for stars that aren’t there. Exhaling a cloud of silver breath, I square my shoulders, lowering my chin again as the world rushes back to meet me. I’m just glad to finally be out of that house.
That’s when I spot him. Nate. He leans casually against his motorcycle at the edge of the drive, helmet on the seat, as smoke curls from a cigarette between his gloved fingers.
He looks me over once, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, like he already knows exactly what I’ve just witnessed, what happened with Locke, and thinks I deserved all of it. “I’m ready to take you home,” he calls out to me, “unless you want to be the next one on the table.” He chuckles at that remark. The smug bastard.
I don’t respond. My throat is tight. I can’t get any words out past the shock of what I just saw and the very high chance that there were even more horrors to be discovered. Not to mention, I still have no idea what Locke has to say about all this.
I just tug on the helmet, climb on the bike, and exhale a sigh of relief as the engine’s roar drowns out the sound of twisted laughter still spilling from Luke’s open windows.
