Page 50 of A Touch of Dark
Not enough, apparently. Three days later and Damien has yet to respond to my parting gift. Not that he should. Screw him.
But that’s the punchline, isn’t it,a part of me taunts.You want to.
I don’t. Despite everything, I barely even thought of him. During the day…
At night, my fingers took on a life of their own as my brain played a distorted slideshow of the night he drugged me. Over. And over. And over. Like a waking nightmare. One that left me gasping, and writhing, and flushing with a mixture of shame and guilt.
Fuck Damien. I almost want him to show up unannounced. It would give me a chance to play my final card. To see the look on his face when I call my father—
Speak of the devil.
There’s someone at my door. The handle jiggles, sounding impossibly loud in the silence. I swallow hard and slip from the couch while flicking through possible culprits. It could be a security guard or one of the men Daddy put on my detail finally deigning to show his face.
Or…
Someone determined to get inwithoutannouncing their presence. Without knocking, they try the handle again. Roughly. After the stunt with the roses, I had the hotel change the locks. I can’t shake the feeling that my visitor is caught off guard by that fact. They try the handle again. Again.
Only now am I aware of how late it is, past the hour when I’d usually be asleep. The perfect time for someone to slip in unannounced. Simon?
Air leaves my lungs in a rush. Before I can fully process my plan of action, I’m bounding into my bedroom on the tips of my toes. My phone is on my nightstand and I grab it, scrolling through my numbers. Daddy. The police. Someone. My trembling fingers can’t seem to settle on a contact.
“Th-this isn’t funny.” I know he can’t hear me. I threw the bug away.
Calling the police is a better course of action. I raise my phone to my mouth only to jump when a sound ricochets from the foyer.Bang! A sterner thud. Not merely a test of my handle, but a deliberate tug on it.
“If this is your idea of a joke…” I swallow the thought as my footsteps back me toward my closet. I’m a child again, drawn to obvious hiding places.
Hide. Run. Don’t breathe.
The police never believed me then. They rarely do now. Good monsters know how to hide in the dark. How to master it.
“Stop,” I tell the shadows as another thud reverberates from the hallway. “You win.”
Bang!
Terror robs me of the ability to speak. My chest heaves as I stand against the closet door, clutching a heel I don’t even remember grabbing from my floor. I brandish it in a shaking fist. Waiting… Waiting…
Finally, my tormentor grows bored and calls to me by name. “Open the door, Juliana.”
God, it’s like my body reboots at the sound of that accent. Then anger jolts me into action. I march into the foyer, and I don’t bother to look through the peephole before throwing the door open. I can smell him.
Sure enough, he swallows the doorway, blocking the light from the hall. An enigma of black cotton and gray satin.
“You fucking bastard. How dare you—”
“Step aside!” He brusquely shoves me from his path as he says something else over his shoulder. Snarled words I don’t understand. Spanish?
It’s only when another man pushes past me that I realize who he’s speaking to. Dressed in black and built like a bear, this newer man switches my lights on and prowls my suite with a hound-like intensity. I swear I hear him sniffing the air.
Denied my anger, I can only question, “What is this?”
His jaw clenched, Damien says nothing, leaving me to decipher what’s happening on my own. They’re searching for something. Someone. He’s far too tense. Worried? If this is his way of apologizing, I’m not convinced.
After a few minutes, the brawny man reappears from down the hall. “Claro.”
“Good,” Damien replies. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard his voice so hard. His accent crackles like lightning over thunder. “Return to the lobby and survey the crowd. Report back if you see anything out of place. If not, take up a post on this floor. Somewhere discreet.”
The man heads for the door. “Sí.”
