Page 158 of Black Castle

The loud shrill of a bell snaps Vivienne back to reality, and like a thief caught stealing, she freezes, eyes blinking rapidly, cheeks hot.

She feels the moistness between her legs, and she instantaneously presses her thighs together, shame slicing through her chest, stirring a bitter feeling in her gut.

This is probably the hundredth time Vivienne is thinking about that night. That sick and twisted night. The night she calls a day of awakening because that was when she finally accepted that indeed, there is a darkness inside her, and that darkness has been stirred awake.

That night, she left without telling Kenji goodbye even when Zev gave her the sweet chance to. She simply couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face him. Because if Kenji were to find out the depraved and sadistic thing she had done that night—how her pussy tightened around Zev’s throbbing cock whilst being told the brutal murder of someone she once knew—he wouldn’t want to look at her too. Maybe he would even spit at her, finally calling her a monster to her face. And she wouldn’t be able to take that—Kenji’s rejection. So she left without a goodbye.

Five days later she’s still here, a prisoner in her supposed husband’s house, and no phone. Zev confiscated it.

The night they arrived in Russia was the last night Vivienne saw neither Zev nor Lucan. According to what she heard from Matteo Serrano—the closest to being nice amongst the soldiers—Zev traveled for business, and he would be making stops in three countries, which means he might be gone for a week or more.

Matteo Serrano is apparently her caretaker. He told her that if she needed to speak to Zev, she should let him know, and if Zev ever needed to speak to her, he would bring her the phone. She has nothing to say to Zev. She prefers it if he doesn’t even come back so she can have time to plan her escape from this hell hole.

But as a man who dragged her to a strange country, it’s only responsible that he checks up on her, right? But he hasn’t. Never did. Because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about her at all. She’s just a means to an end for him, a pawn in his wicked game of chess, an object of his twisted desire. She’s only here to fulfill his sexual urges and for sport, for haunting down, and for devouring. He will probably engage her in a game of prey versus predator as a hobby.

Her days have become mundane. All she does is wake up, shower, stand at the balcony of their room, which she realizes is at least 48 feet tall, and watch soldiers move robotically with weapons hanging around their bodies as if they’re preparing for war. Then at 10 a.m., Mr. Putin will knock on the door and echo breakfast with those feathery wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as he tries to give her a warm smile.

The farthest the soldiers watching her every move have allowed her to go is the garden. And even in the garden, she is surrounded by five armed men. And when she looks to her right, at least ten armed soldiers are hanging on the guard tower, which oversees everything happening on the ground.

Where will she run to? The soldiers are trained snipers. All their sense organs work like magic. They can even hear the footsteps of a ghost or an ant. How will she escape without them catching her?

She misses Kenji so much she thinks she will die. This is the longest time she has stayed without seeing her best friend. She wonders if he’s okay. She hopes he isn’t so worried about her. And Carla.

She might not have really gotten along well with that woman, but she was kind-hearted, just a disciplinarian, and maybe a little prude.

Her heart aches, guilt pressing against her chest knowing the poor woman is unaware that her only daughter is dead and that she is married to the man who killed her.

A heavy sigh breaks out of her lips as she leans off the metal railing, her fingers whisking away the hair that the wind plastered across her face. She wraps her arms around her body as a gentle shiver travels through her.

She steals one glance at the soldiers disappearing into the large building where they usually go for training. Every morning at 7 a.m., the bell tolls, and the rhythmic stomp of heavy boots as hundreds march to the training ground, echoes.

A loud knock suddenly comes on the door.

She slides the glass door shut, her feet padding against the floor as she crosses over to the door. She pulls it open, her brows pinched when she sees no one. She glances down at the hall but sees nothing.

Shaking away the strange feeling, she proceeds to shut the door but something on the floor catches her eyes fleetingly.

It’s a folded paper.

Bending over, she moves to touch it but retrieves her hand cautiously.

Is it a bomb?

‘It’s just a freaking paper,’ Vivienne, a snarky voice in her head says.

Glancing down at the dark and empty hallway, she lifts the paper with such delicate hands, as if the faintest of pressure will shatter it. Shutting the door behind her, she walks to the black leather couch and sits.

She takes a deep breath and unfolds the paper.

It’s a note, of course, in black ink.

It has no name.

~A golden cage is still a prison. I see you, French bird. I see the way your wings twitch, the way your eyes dart to the door you’ll never open because you think you’re not brave enough. But trust me, you don’t have to belong to him just because he said so~

Vivienne is asleep, but she can swear someone is touching her. Maybe it’s just a dream, but her body is on fire, heat pooling low in her stomach, and there’s an unquenchable burning ache between her legs.

A gasp echoes in the room, her eyes snapping open. For a split, she feels disoriented, unable to make up anything in the poorly lit room. Then she hears it, a satisfied hum so close, almost like it’s happening in front of her.

---