Caging Liberty, page 19
I close my eyes and roll the tension from my neck, trying not to allow Jasper’s challenging tone to get to me. If there’s one person I wouldn’t want to get into a war with, it’s him. I would tear apart everything he’s built for himself. He would skin anyone I’ve ever loved alive. Neither of us would come out intact.
When I open my eyes and look at the screen, I’m not surprised to see Jasper making his way through the playroom toward Lib. When he gets to the edge of the stage, he looks up, searching for a camera. Once he finds it, his lips spread into a wide smile, and he gives a little wave. I’m reminded of another commonality between us.
Once we decide we want something, we don’t let up.
22
Liberty
Two days later
My heart beats to the rhythm of the staccato music blaring in my ears as I make my way from the playroom. I can feel eyes on my back, but I don’t turn around, too afraid to see Jasper following me.
He’s been playing this cat and mouse game for days, and I wish I would stop letting him. I’ve been darting upstairs as soon as my shifts end to check on Naomi, but I’ve been running away from Jasper as much as I’ve been running toward her.
He scares the shit out of me. All he makes are subtle comments, but his eyes alone are enough to make my skin crawl. Tonight, he isn’t the only one I’m running from, though.
I’ve met Angel’s eyes multiple times this evening, watching me from the bar. I suspect he’s been waiting for me to leave as well. It takes more willpower than should be necessary to keep myself from running into his arms for protection.
I want to be done with it. With him. I started off feeling like playing the damsel and knight game was a betrayal to Naomi, but the more days that go by, the more I realize it’s a betrayal to myself.
This thing between us has to stop. I can’t be his surrogate slave, and I’m ashamed for ever wanting to be.
Cooper opens the door when I get near, and I hear Angel calling my name. A brief moment of relief that it isn’t Jasper pulls a rush of air from my lungs as I leave the playroom, ignoring Angel.
“Jesus, Liberty, would you just talk to me?” Angel asks, stepping into the hallway. The door shuts, and it’s only the two of us, but I keep walking. I fully expect him to follow, maybe even physically force me to stop, but footsteps don’t sound behind me.
I throw a look over my shoulder and get another burst of relief when there’s no one there. I turn down another hallway and stop, flattening my back against the wall and breathing for a minute.
I close my eyes and try to get the image of Jasper winking at me this evening out of my mind, try to stop picturing everything he did to Naomi, try to forget the sounds of her screaming out in the middle of the night.
I pull in a deep breath and open my eyes, pushing off the wall and heading for the kitchen. My stomach rumbles just thinking about food. I lose my appetite every night before heading into the playroom, but I’m starving by the time I leave.
Hunger gnaws more with each step I take away from Angel and Jasper. When I push through the swinging doors and step into the kitchen, no one at my back, I let out a sigh, massaging my temples with two fingers.
“Rough night?”
My shoulders lift, tensing like a wet cat, and I jump away from the voice, knocking into the doors that boomerang into my back.
My hand flies to my chest, and I sigh when I see it’s just Sawyer leaning against the kitchen counter.
Just Sawyer. See what my life has become?
One side of his lips lifts as he nods behind me. “Which one are you running from? Jasper or Angel?”
“Both,” I answer honestly, walking to the kitchen island and leaning my elbows on the granite. Adrenaline drains from me, taking my energy with it. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“I got in this evening.”
“Oh.” Silence fills the space, but somehow, it isn’t awkward. This tiny exchange is the most civil we’ve been.
“You’re awfully popular with the psychopaths.” Sawyer pushes off the counter and comes to stand across from me. “I almost feel bad for you.”
“Almost.” I smile with morbid amusement.
More silence.
“How’s April doing?”
My jaw tightens, and I stare down at the granite. I get the immediate urge to correct him on Naomi’s name, but that isn’t what has the blood rushing to my ears.
How fucking dare he ask about Naomi.
I’m about to push off the island and walk from the kitchen, but Sawyer’s voice halts me.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” he says, guilt choking his words.
I look up at him but don’t say anything.
“Jasper is…” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Fuck, I don’t even know. I didn’t realize he would go that far.”
My eyes narrow, but the urge to fight Sawyer isn’t as strong as it used to be. “He said she tried to run. Isn’t that punishable by death by your standards?”
And aren’t you the guy who wanted to fuck and kill me simultaneously?
He frowns and doesn’t respond to that. The way he looks at me makes me think I’m missing something. Or that he thinks I’m missing something.
“He lied about it,” I add, just so he’s aware I’m not a moron. And also because I’m not quite convinced he knows the truth. “Nao— ... April told me what happened. The twisted piece of shit tortured her for a week, and when he was done, he cut her loose and told her to run. It was a game to him. He only wanted—”
“Thank you, Ivy. I’m aware.”
I close my mouth and squint at him, waiting for him to explain.
Another sigh. Another hand through his hair. “I told you the day you arrived here; some residents have dark tastes. Jasper is one of those residents. I just didn’t… I…” He pauses while searching for words. “I didn’t think he would go that far. I wouldn’t have allowed him to borrow her if I’d known.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I should’ve listened to Angel.”
My lungs seem to shrink. “What?”
Sawyer’s eyes open, and he studies my face for several moments. I can tell the moment he decides not to respond because he breaks eye contact and stretches his arms, a move people make right before they decide it’s time to leave.
“Angel knew Jasper had April, didn’t he?” I ask, already knowing it’s true. It shrinks my lungs even more, but I’m not surprised. Especially considering he and Jasper are … friends. I guess.
I’m not shocked that Angel would lie to me … but it still hurts.
When Sawyer doesn’t say anything, I lean my head back and roll my neck.
“You and I have shitty taste in friends.”
I open my eyes and glare at him.
He chuckles, but it contains little humor. “I’m not wrong.”
“You’re so much worse than Angel,” I say, unjustified protectiveness flaring.
He smiles, and it’s almost … sad. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
He laughs again, shaking his head. “You don’t know Angel, sweetheart… You will, though. Keep rejecting him like you have been, and you’ll find out who he is sooner rather than later.”
My mind searches for a retort, but the look on Sawyer’s face muddies my thoughts. He isn’t amused. He doesn’t sound or look like he’s forcing seriousness. He’s … well, he’s bothered by something. This is the most vulnerable I’ve seen him.
“He told you I was rejecting him?” I ask, fear working its way in. Fear of who? Of Angel? That’s a weird twist.
Sawyer shrugs. “He said you won’t talk to him. I’m curious, is it because you’re pissed about April? Because in his defense, he was against Jasper taking her. He’s been trying to convince Jasper to buy Desiree. But of course,” he laughs dryly and waves his hand toward me, “Jasper only wants you.”
The hairs raise on the back of my neck, and a lump clogs my throat. None of what Sawyer’s saying is surprising, but it’s terrifying to hear the words spoken aloud.
“Angel wants impossible things,” I force the words past the lump, my voice soft.
Sawyer nods. “That’s typical of him.”
“I’m not angry with him or trying to reject him, I just … don’t think I can be who he wants me to be.”
Sawyer smiles compassionately, which only makes this exchange stranger. “You and I have more in common than you realize.”
I blink at him, unable to say any more with my throat closing.
He’s a master manipulator, I remind myself. This is the mask he’s chosen to show you before, as saltyshells.
Sawyer slaps the table and turns. “You know what, you and I could use a drink.” He walks to the wine rack to grab a bottle and two glasses that dangle from a holder.
He sets everything down on the granite island, then turns, hesitating like he’s forgotten something. When he remembers whatever it is, he walks to a drawer and sifts through it before pulling out a corkscrew. My eyes move to the bottle.
Cabernet.
I can’t place when the churning in my gut starts, but one moment I’m focused on the clog in my throat, and the next, it’s out of my mind. I stare at the bottle until my eyes become dry.
I blink several times, trying to clear my vision as Sawyer removes the cork and fills the glasses.
My heart cracks, and pathetic, sad tears well in my eyes. He scoots mine toward me, red wine sloshing onto the counter when his movement falters. I keep my gaze on the glass instead of meeting his eyes, but I can tell the moment he notices something’s wrong.
The air dissipates from the room.
Don’t cry.
It’s just a lapse in judgment. It means nothing.
Sawyer is a predator. He talks to so many women, he couldn’t possibly remember everything about me. It makes sense he wouldn’t remember that I don’t drink wine.
Everything Sawyer and I had was fake. It was just an act. None of it matters.
Don’t you fucking cry, Lib.
“What’s wrong?” Sawyer asks, his tone laced with concern.
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“If you’re worried about Jasper, don’t be. I’m not allowing him to take home any more slaves until he purchases one, and it won’t be you. You can relax.”
My breath stutters. “It isn’t that.”
I meet Sawyer’s soft blue eyes and picture him as the man I almost fell in love with. The man I thought was my one reprieve from my shitty-ass life.
He looks so handsome, so innocent with his wavy blond hair and stretched T-shirt. It feels impossible for this man to be both the monster I’ve come to know and the man I thought I knew better than anyone.
He frowns. “What is it then?”
I motion to the glass. “I can’t drink this. I have a wine allergy.”
Sawyer purses his lips like he’s confused, plunging the knife deeper into my chest.
Why? Why do I let this bother me?
“O-kay?” Sawyer drawls. “I can get you something else?”
“You really don’t remember me at all, do you?” I ask, holding back the floodgates. All those nights, wasted. All the trust, the friendship, the longing was all one-sided. And for what?
Anger starts to mix with sadness as I look down at the island, hoping that avoiding his eyes will make it easier to say the words I’ve been dying to say since I found out who Sawyer was. “Was it really necessary to spend so much time making me think I was falling in love with you? Did you really need to…” I clear my throat. “My husband sold me to you. What possible benefit could you have had for doing that?”
“What are you talking about?”
I look up to find Sawyer’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“The chat site,” I say, more anger brewing at his bewilderment.
Recognition flares, and he sighs like he’s relieved. “Oh.” He chuckles, pushing a fallen lock off his forehead. “Yeah, that wasn’t me.”
My jaw relaxes, and I stare at him with even more confusion than he showed me.
“I led you to believe I was your internet boyfriend because I didn’t want you to suspect your husband had anything to do with you being here.”
My mouth opens and closes several times before I can speak. “I don’t understand.”
Sawyer’s head tilts. “What’s so confusing about it?”
“If it wasn’t you I was talking to, who was it?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I ask, beginning to feel exasperated.
“I mean, as far as I’m aware, you weren’t catfished. That was just some guy. Your husband found out about your internet fling and got pissed, which is why you’re here.”
I blink several times. Sawyer speaks so matter-of-factly, but none of this makes sense. “But you knew my screen name.”
“Because Robert told me. What was it again?” His eyes flicker back and forth as he searches his mind, snapping his fingers when it comes to him. “Manhattan peasant. Not sure how that’s fitting, but it’s cute.”
My head swims as I continue trying to make sense of this. In a way, this helps. I feel less betrayed by the man I thought I was falling in love with and less stupid being around Sawyer. I also feel more anger toward the man I married.
But there’s one other man in this mess, and I don’t know how to feel about him. Angel lied to me.
Again.
But why?
The obvious answer flashes in my mind, but I shove it away, unable to accept it yet.
“Did Robert show you the transcripts?” I ask.
Sawyer’s brow lifts above his glass as he takes a sip. “What?”
“From my messages with saltyshells. Did Robert show you our exchanges?”
“You think he carried around copies of your internet affair?” He laughs. “What?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No, Ivy. I didn’t read anything. He just told me about it.”
“Did Angel read any?”
Sawyer looks at his glass as he swirls its contents. “Why are you freaking out about this?”
“Sawyer,” I grind out. “Did Angel see any of my messages?”
Setting his glass down, he props his forearms on the table with just enough force to show his frustration. “Why would he?”
Why would he?
Good question.
I think about the Manhattan Angel ordered me and the chocolates he brought back from his business trip, the way he thought it was ridiculous for me to think he read so much of my exchanges with saltyshells.
He was right, it would’ve been ridiculous. He didn’t read them.
He wrote them.
“Did Robert tell you and Angel anything else about me?” I ask, still grasping at the possibility that my gut is wrong.
“Like?”
“Did he mention my favorite drink? Or my favorite chocolate or anything like that? Did…” I clear my throat and close my eyes for a moment, remembering all the long talks I had with saltyshells. All the intimate details of my life I shared.
“Sawyer, is Angel saltyshells?”
Sawyer laughs incredulously. “What? No. Why would you… ?”
I watch as Sawyer weighs the possibility. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem so sure.
I turn and stride from the kitchen, my stomach twisting into knots but no longer from hunger. I walk and walk and walk, unsure of my destination, just knowing I need to continue.
It makes so much sense now that I hate myself for not seeing it. I hate myself for not seeing through his bullshit.
This is why Angel has been interested in me from the beginning. This is why he hasn’t let up. This is why he’s been happy to play the part of knight in shining armor.
He hasn’t wanted me since I got here.
He’s wanted me for over a year.
But why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
And how? How did he find me through the chat site? Why did he care to look in the first place?
So many whys.
So many unknowns.
I think I’m going to puke.
I run to a balcony on the third floor, flinging open the doors that lead to it. I rush to the ledge and grasp the railing, seesawing air in and out of my lungs, trying to calm the nausea.
It doesn’t work.
I spin around and move a couple feet toward a potted plant before falling to my knees. I hurl bile into the pot, the clay rim sanding away at my fingertips. I dry heave long after my stomach is empty and saliva hangs from my lip.
Tears blur my vision, and my nose begins to run. They aren’t sad tears. They aren’t even betrayed tears.
They’re angry tears. Anger toward myself. Anger for trying so hard to keep my promise to Naomi yet failing miserably.
Don’t let these bastards fool me?
This one takes the cake.
I let out a scream, gripping the planter so hard my fingers hurt. I stand up, yanking the pot up with me. I slam it to the ground with another guttural scream, sending shards of clay flying on the balcony and vomit-covered soil spreading across the stone.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I turn and face Desiree with her hip popped out and a smug smile lifting her lips.
She raises a perfectly curved eyebrow. “Seriously, what the hell crawled up your ass?”
I laugh pitifully and take a step toward her. “I wish I could tell you what a fucking idiot you are, Desiree, but I don’t think words can define it.”
I stand inches from her, my hands balled into fists at my sides. I don’t know if this is a long time coming or if Desiree is just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but all the rage I feel directs toward her like a heat-seeking missile.
“You’ve really convinced yourself that you want Angel. Well, please, please take him.” I shove her shoulder, forcing her to back up a step.
Another laugh barrels out of me, and I must look manic because her usual look of disdain is replaced by uneasy bewilderment. “He wants the psychopath to buy you, you idiot! That’s what you mean to him. You know, the same guy you thought was hilarious for beating up Naomi? Yeah, Angel wants him to take you. He fucking hates you!”
