Caging Liberty, page 16
They remind me so much of the spoiled, rich boys at Harvard, the ones I subtly grinded on in the club, except now they’re grown men who don’t need to buy a drink first before their entitlement sets in. Now all they have to pay is a fee to live on this island.
But then there’s the other category of men—one in which my biggest fan with his hand on the stage belongs to—who are here because modern society won’t let them hurt women the way this island allows. Their resident fee is a ticket for a time machine back to the caveman era. They’re the ones with the sick needs Sawyer referred to the first time we met. They’re the ones who come to the playroom solely to hunt, not to play. I’m also pretty sure they’re the entire reason people like me are forced onto the island. They’re not interested in consent, they’re interested in maximum pain, and the kidnapped women are the ones who provide it for them.
Sawyer won’t admit to any of this, and none of the other women have confirmed my theory, but I can’t help but notice the manor whores are the ones who came here willingly and are happy to be in the playroom. The forced ones seem to be sold within weeks of being brought here.
Coincidence? I doubt it.
My thoughts drift to Naomi, and I close my eyes, shutting down the worry before it has a chance to consume me. She hasn’t been here for the last week, and no one can tell me anything about what’s happened to her. Sawyer and I don’t speak, and Angel has been away on business, so I haven’t been able to ask him.
He’s back tonight, though. He should already be at his house, waiting up for me like he said he would. I only have another hour, and then I can leave here and get my answers. So for now, I ignore the questions.
My eyes fly open when someone grabs my ankle, and I make the mistake of looking down, finding my admirer. I learned after the first few days of dancing on this stage that it’s best not to make eye contact with anyone. That’s when you see the menacing lust in people’s gazes.
And it’s there now, pooling in the man’s dark eyes. He’s been here every night this week, always staring up at me, daring me to look closer at the evil in his smile so his intentions can be made crystal clear.
He isn’t here to play. He’s here to hunt. He’s one of those guys.
My heart gallops, and my body goes rigid. My skin freezes where he touches me, but I don’t pull away nor do I look at his hand. I stare into his eyes, doing my best not to give him the fear I know he’s after.
Someone boos and another person joins in. The Instant the man lets go of my ankle, I turn around, searching the crowd for Angel in hope that he decided to come. Unsurprisingly, I don’t see him, but I do lock eyes with Sawyer across the room.
He’s with another man who’s leaned toward him, speaking over the music. For a few moments—until the boos become too loud to ignore—I’m pinned by Sawyer’s stare. I blink, bringing my attention back to the audience as I start swaying again, keeping my gaze away from my unwanted admirer.
A half hour passes before I no longer feel the guy’s eyes, and I catch his back as he walks away. I let out a sigh of relief and finish my last half hour feeling more comfort than I would've thought possible.
After I leave the playroom, I head back to my shared bedroom to throw on a pair of mesh shorts and a gray, V-neck shirt. I slip on a pair of flip-flops and head out of the room and down a hall, making the trek to the back door.
Because I’m not allowed to have the gate’s passcode—shocker—I have to find a guard to escort me to Angel’s house. Specifically, I need to find Cooper, one of the extra guards Sawyer hired after my escape attempt, since he’s supposed to be the one stationed at the back of the manor tonight.
My shoes slap the tile, and I feel more and more at ease with each step. I’m not saying Angel and I are best buds, but I can admit that life is a hell of a lot better when he’s here. For one, I don’t have to work as much. For two, the guards are nicer when the threat of Angel’s presence exists. And for three, honestly, it’s just nice to have someone I can really talk to without risk of punishment. Someone who’s allowed to say my name.
The back door is in my sight when my admirer appears, and the slapping of my shoes ceases. My eyes widen, but I quickly right myself, knowing my surprise and fear are what he’s after.
“Hi,” he says, his face lighting up with a smile filled with everything but kindness. “How are you?”
I detect a slight accent and squint as if that’ll help me decipher it. I’d guessed all this time that he was American.
“Great,” I say sarcastically. “I’m on my way to see someone, so if you’ll excuse me…”
I force my limbs to move in his direction, holding my breath as I near him. He grabs my arm to stop me and chuckles as he whips me back around, causing me to stumble.
“Wow, for a manor whore, you’re awfully cold. Aren’t you supposed to be more inviting?”
British. He’s British.
“No.” My tone is deadpan, and I hope my expression matches it. “Now let me the fuck go.”
His eyes widen with surprise, but he corrects the expression as quickly as I did, his face relaxing. “Feisty one, aren’t you?” He laughs salaciously as he runs his hand up my arm. “I like that.”
“Yeah, you’ll like it even more when my thumbs are in your eye sockets. Let me the fuck go. Now.”
His grip on me tightens to the point of pain, and I bite my tongue to keep from yelping.
He leans in close, nuzzling his nose in my hair before inhaling. His own smell, a foresty cologne, floods my senses, and although it might be pleasant on another man, my nose crinkles with disgust.
“The person I’m supposed to be meeting is very powerful and very impatient,” I say as I wrench my arm from his grasp. “I’m already late, and I promise, if I tell him you’re what held me up, he’ll be pissed.”
“Oh, really?” he pulls back, wearing a simpering smile. “And how will he know how to find me? You don’t even know my name, sweetheart.”
I keep my face stoic, but I can clearly see his point. I was bluffing anyway. Considering Angel is cool with me dancing naked in a cage for an audience of horny men, I’m guessing he wouldn’t be too concerned about one of them stopping to talk to me.
“Here, I’ll help.” His dark eyes shift to my breasts, and I feel equally exposed as I did when I was shirtless. “My name is Jasper Flynn. You can tell your friend I made you late if it keeps you out of trouble.”
His leer intensifies when he sees me affected by my failed attempt to intimidate him. “And you’re right. Angel is an impatient asshole.”
He knows Angel?
He knew he’s who I was going to see?
How?
“Tell him I say hello.” Jasper winks. I expect him to leave, but he continues to tower over me, just an inch away.
I blink a few times then hurry around him toward the back door.
“See you tomorrow, Ivy,” he calls to my back. I cringe but keep walking. I don’t turn back, and even though I know he isn’t following, I feel his presence like a ghost that’s clinging to me.
I find Cooper hanging around outside, probably waiting for me, and he escorts me to Angel’s house without either of us saying a word. Sometimes, I can’t tell if Cooper is so reserved because of his personality, or if Angel just scares him speechless.
I walk through the back door and eagerly dart my eyes around for Angel. “Hello?” No response. “Angel?”
I walk into the living room and hear a faint voice coming from the hallway. I follow the voice, stopping when I reach the door that’s been locked every other time I’ve been here.
Angel’s voice is louder now, and I recognize his tone from when he’s irritated. I glance down the hall, debating on hanging out in the living room instead of letting him know I’m here, but then I turn back to the door and raise my fist.
I knock lightly, then put my hand on the knob, opening the door slowly before peeking my head inside. Angel’s sitting at his desk, a phone pressed to his ear. Not his cell phone this time, an office phone.
He fucking has an office phone. The mental image of smacking myself in the head flows into my mind.
“Hold on a sec,” he tells whoever he’s on the phone with. He stabs a button and spins in his chair to fully face me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, a tiny smile tugging his lips.
“Hey.”
“Give me a few minutes to finish this up, okay?”
I lift my chin. “Sure.” I pull back and close the door before walking toward the living room. My lips sag as I realize how reminiscent that exchange was to past exchanges with Robert. Only Robert would’ve been pissed at me for opening the door to his office. Judging by the way Angel always keeps his office locked, I’d venture to guess he’s just as secretive.
I grab the horror book I’ve been reading off the shelf in the living room and flop down on the couch before flipping it open. I’m typically a romance reader, but I haven’t been in the mood for happy endings—gee, I wonder why—so Stephan King is my go-to guy right now.
I find where I left off and try to concentrate on the words, but I can’t get Jasper Flynn’s depraved eyes out of my mind. Or the fact that he knew I was going to see Angel.
Just how much does he know about me?
I blink away my thoughts when Angel’s office door opens and shuts. I turn my head to look at him just as he appears.
“Sorry about that,” he says, walking up to the couch.
I stick the bookmark back inside Pet Cemetery and set the book on the end table. “Who were you talking to?”
“Conference call. Don’t worry about it.”
Yup, he’s secretive.
I narrow my eyes. “At one in the morning?”
“It’s nine P.M. in China. Emergency thing… Like I said, don’t worry about it.”
“Are you going to have to leave again?” My heart picks up speed as I stare at Angel while he takes his time answering me.
He sits on the couch next to me and rests his arm behind me. “I missed you.” He brushes his knuckles over my shoulder.
“Are you going to have to leave again?” I repeat, letting my annoyance show.
He sighs and pulls his hand away, running it through his hair and closing his eyes. Eventually, he nods, and my heart drops into my stomach.
I turn to face forward and stare at the shelf my book will go when I leave here. At this rate, it should only take me six years to finish it.
“You know, I find it strange how you get pissed when I leave, yet you don’t seem to be happy when I’m here.”
I turn to face him, ready to fight, but the disappointment on his face stops me. I’m disappointed too. We just show it differently.
I stare at him a few moments, feeling my vulnerability as it bubbles to the surface. I try to live in the moment, to feel the safety I currently have with Angel sitting beside me, but I can’t see past Jasper Flynn. I can’t get him telling me he’ll see me tomorrow out of my head.
“Jasper Flynn says hi,” I say when I can’t think of another way to respond to him. I don’t think he could possibly understand the truth if I gave it to him.
I’m not happy when he’s here. I’m relieved. Really fucking relieved because it means life is a little bit safer for me, and it means for a couple hours a night, when it’s just the two of us, I get to be myself. I’m not interested in playing board games and telling stories, I just want to be here and be angry without being punished for it. That’s what he provides me. He’d never understand that.
Angel narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“After he was done eye-fucking me in the playroom, he stopped me before I came here. He told me to tell you he says hi.”
I watch Angel’s face, searching for any hint of jealousy, but all I find is confusion.
“How do you know his name?”
That’s what he focuses on? Not the eye-fucking part?
Asshole.
“He told me.”
Angel’s brow furrows as he moves his gaze to the coffee table.
“Why does it matter?”
“He shouldn’t be telling you his name,” Angel mutters under his breath. It sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to me.
“Why? Who is he?”
Angel’s eyes move back to me. “He’s a friend of mine. And Sawyer’s, mostly Sawyer’s. We met in college.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to go on. He looks like he’s finished, but when it’s clear I’m not satisfied, he continues.
“He just moved here a few weeks ago. He must not be aware of the rules yet.”
I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. “Or he doesn’t care about them.”
“Maybe.” It’s the obvious truth. “Either way, stay away from him. He’s … dangerous.”
“Yeah, I got that impression.” I remain impassive even though bugs run beneath my skin at hearing Angel confirm what I already know.
See you tomorrow night, Ivy.
Silence ensues for a minute before Angel gets up and starts toward the kitchen. “Thirsty?”
“Yeah,” I say, getting up and following him. “And hungry.”
He pulls two glasses from the cabinet as I pass him. I open the fridge while he grabs a bottle from the liquor cabinet.
I had my heart set on a sandwich, but when I spot the box of Godiva chocolates—my favorite guilty pleasure—my eyes lock onto them.
There’s a split second of excitement. A split second where I feel the tiniest bit of comfort bleeding in from my old life.
But then a thought occurs to me that leaves nothing but questions in its wake… How could he know?
My lips part, and I don’t turn around when I hear Angel pouring the glasses or when I feel him come toward me.
“Decisions, decisions,” he says, teasing me for taking so long. He thinks I’m debating on what to choose, but really, I’m just dumbstruck. This must be a coincidence. He doesn’t know this is my comfort food … right?
Sawyer does.
But I must have told him months ago.
There’s no way Angel could remember that, even if Sawyer briefly mentioned it or if Angel read it somehow.
I glance at Angel, then point to the chocolates. “Is it all right if I have one of those?”
He gives me a small smile and nods. “They’re for you. I picked them up when I was in The States.”
I turn back to the fridge and just stare.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” I reply, my voice too soft. I blink, clear my throat, and grab the box before shutting the fridge. Angel follows me to the kitchen table, glasses in hand, and we take seats next to each other.
Gingerly, I open the box, staring at the selection before choosing a coconut flavored truffle. A memory of Ellie and I last winter pops into my mind, and I close my eyes. Robert was on a trip, and it was just her and me in the house. We ate pizza and watched a scary movie, face clay hardening our cheeks. We did it up like a true slumber party, and I remember how happy I felt then. How happy we both felt. We bought a box of these chocolates and took turns eating with our eyes closed to see who could guess the most correctly.
After Ellie went to bed, I stayed up until three in the morning talking to saltyshells… Sawyer. That was when I told him about the chocolate.
A knot forms in my stomach, and I set the box back down, feeling blood drain from my face.
“What’s wrong?” Angel asks, real concern in his voice.
I shake my head, internally cursing the pins pricking my eyes. “Nothing.”
“Liberty, come on. What is it?”
I shake my head again, but I’m not trying to fool him now. I close my eyes and rub my lids with my thumbs. When I open my eyes, I take a deep breath and let out something between a groan and a laugh. “Fucking Sawyer,” I say, trying to put as much amusement into the words as possible.
Angel’s face pinches with concern. “What about him?”
I gesture to the chocolates. “He just… He has to taint every good fucking memory I have.”
“What are you talking about?”
I pull my eyes from the box to look at Angel. “Sawyer told you this is my comfort food.”
Angel rears back. “What?”
I gesture to the box. “He told you. That’s why you brought this back for me.”
The lines between his eyes deepen. “Are you serious?”
I open my mouth to go on but then close it. Am I overreacting here?
“Didn’t he?” I ask, now the one who’s confused.
He gives his head a shake and takes a swig of his drink, a brown liquor. I'm guessing from my time spent with Angel that it’s whiskey.
After he sets the glass down, his serious eyes assess me. “I don’t know what all you think Sawyer and I talk about, but no, he didn’t tell me that.”
“Oh.” A blush heats my cheeks, and I suddenly feel stupid.
“You don’t have to be so worried about him knowing intimate details about you. He talks to three women at a time, on average, so I doubt he remembers much about you other than the big things.”
“But…”
“But what?”
I clear my throat again. “You knew my favorite drink. You said you read transcripts.”
Angel tilts his head. “What’s your favorite drink?”
“A Manhattan.”
He chuckles. “Liberty, you’re from Manhattan. I didn’t know that was your favorite drink, it was just what popped into my mind in that moment. You’re talking about that night in the playroom, right?”
I bob my head.
“When I said I’d read transcripts, I just meant I read a little. I know big things about you, important things. I know you went to Harvard, you dropped out of law school four years ago when you married Robert, and you have parents in Florida who you talk to twice a year. That’s pretty much the extent of it.”
I’m quiet for a minute, considering what he’s telling me.
So the drink was a coincidence. The chocolate is a coincidence.
Of course it is. Of course it doesn’t make sense for Sawyer to tell Angel all of that, or for either man to even care about those things. Angel’s right, Sawyer probably doesn’t even remember any of that shit.
