Page 51 of Souls and Sorrows

When I make my way to the en suite shower, all I can think about is that pretty pink nipple and what it might feel like caught between my lips. I beat off quickly, imagining a different version of myself willing to go out, shove her onto her back, and sink between her silky-smooth thighs.

There’s no doubt in my mind that she feels like heaven.

Unfortunately, I’m not destined to experience it.

Only hell is fit for men like me.

Perched on the edge of the bed, I reach into my nightstand, pulling out the cloth and white bottle I stashed there the day she moved in. I haven’t used it until now because I’ve been trying to let her adjust to things at her own pace, but the disappearing act she pulled is unacceptable.

Ariana is an investment—and one with a potentially life-ruining ROI. I can’t allow her to go wherever she pleases without telling me or using the car service. Can’t risk losing her.

Which means drastic measures have to be taken.

Preparing the cloth, I walk around to her side of the bed and kneel onto it, brushing hair from her face. She mutters something about murder and her mother, but I don’t catch exactly what she says.

I pause, waiting for more. Wondering if her subconscious is trying to tell me something.

When nothing else comes, I shift, clasping the cloth over her nose and mouth. She jolts awake, panic sending her limbs sprawling, but I press my weight on top of her, smothering her for several seconds.

She fights hard. I catch an elbow to the face, blood flooding my mouth with the impact, and a knee to the groin before she slumps back on the bed, limp and pliable and unconscious.

Pulling the cloth away, I reach into her nightstand for the syringe tucked away in the very back. I’m not sure how long it will take her to come to, so I work quickly, readying the needle with the microscopic chip.

It breaks the surface of her skin, embedding just below her thumb easily. A bead of blood bubbles at the injection site, and I wipe it away with my index finger, licking it clean so it doesn’t get on the sheets.

Now, wherever she goes, I’ll be able to keep an eye on her.

Technically, I could use her phone, but this way is more accurate. She can turn her cell off, or leave it someplace else, but the chip will go everywhere she does.

Maybe I should feel bad about the massive invasion of privacy, but I don’t. If she won’t be forthcoming with her location, I’m not above taking matters into my own hands. At least until she can prove herself.

Finally, I go to my dresser and slide open the top drawer, retrieving the black velvet box hidden beneath layers of folded socks.

Inside is a vintage Victorian engagement ring with a rose-shaped diamond in the center and an Hermès resting band. The shanks on the band have been modified though by a private jeweler I happened to have as a client once—he’d been arrested for counterfeiting money, though that turned out to be a front for the illegal, medieval-style jewelry he was designing.

I got him acquitted, and he promised me a favor.

The ring slides onto Ariana’s finger with ease, big and gaudy and somehow completely natural-looking on her.

But when I go to remove it, the sharpened shanks dig into her skin.

The harder I tug, the deeper they go.

A smile threatens my mouth, and I place her hand back underneath the pillow where it was. The jeweler assured me that he’d cut the band so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable to wear, only painful to remove, which is exactly what I wanted.

Let it be a reminder for my bratty little wife, should she think about stepping out on me.

If I won’t have her, no one else will either.

16

Time in Cash’spenthouse only creeps by.

The random texts from the unknown number cease, and I continue not speaking to my sisters, though our group chat is suddenly bursting with life again on their end.

Seconds seem to last minutes and minutes, hours, and I spend ninety percent of those wasting away while Cash goes off to work and continues his life like nothing has changed.

Which, in most ways, his hasn’t. Other than a legal obligation taking up space in his home, Cash is still the same person he was a month ago. He wakes at the ass crack of dawn to run, showers, and makes breakfast before I’m even out of bed, and then he leaves for his office by the time I come downstairs.

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