Page 9 of Broken Discipline
I jolted, shoving myself back, then quickly stood up, clutching my nightgown around me. The man in the bed was huge, more of a boulder than a man, an intimidating force like a slumbering beast waiting in a cave. A beard covered his face, groomed but long like a lumberjack. A large tattoo of a creature spread across his chest: part bird, part lion. His eyes beamed, captivating me, consuming my every move. His eyes were a deep blue, like a frozen pond.
My heart raced. I checked behind me to make sure no one else was there. We were alone. I cautiously walked backward, like I was fleeing from a bear, with no sudden movements to scare either of us into action. A hint of light from the sheer blinds cast over his eyes, creating a reflective sheen that reminded me of a nocturnal monster in the dark. My breathing became rapid, and the scent of coffee filtered into my nose, followed by musk, so completely masculine that it reminded me of sex.
Had he done something vile to me?
I pressed my legs together. Every inch of my body was covered in sweat, my nerves boiling beneath my skin. I leaned back against the wall. The man straightened himself, sitting on the edge of the bed. He cracked his neck in both directions, then held me frozen with his gaze. His black hair was cut close on the sides but was thick and wavy on top. With his beard and size, he looked burly and ominous. But that tattoo, both dangerous and strange, drew me.
My eyes followed those feathers and claws, the powerful legs. My memory wasn’t the best, but I knew that tattoo. I knew him from somewhere.
Then it hit me. The blood on his clothes. Riding on the wooden club. Finn Carter. My memory clung to his name like he could save me from my personal hell.
But what was he doing here?
“You’re him,” I said. “Finn Carter. That man from the Masquerade. You’re him!”
“Calm down, Ramona,” Finn said, his voice low. “You’ve had a bad dream.”
“Where am I?” I gasped. “Where is my husband?”
“Your name is Ramona Carter,” he said slowly. “And you are my wife.”
My stomach bubbled with nerves. He had given me his surname.
“I don’t even know you. Not like that,” I said.
I glanced around frantically, trying to take stock of what I had within reach. My husband wasn’t a saint, but he kept his distance, and it was frightening to wake up in a stranger’s bed. The nightstands seemed to be the ones I kept in my bedroom in Bruce’s mansion, but I didn’t know if they would have everything I kept inside. If theydid,there would be a giant flashlight in the bottom drawer. I could use that to hit Finn if he came closer to me, but I had to get to it first.
The door was closed. Were the twins here too? I lunged for the door, clutching my fists.
“The twins are fine,” Finn said. His tones reverberated through me, chilling me to the bone. I hadn’t even said a word about the twins; how did he know I was thinking about them?
Finn pulled out his phone, clicked the screen, and eventually offered his device to me. A video feed showed the twins sleeping in matching beds right next to each other, like they always were. The walls were even painted yellow like the nursery in Bruce’s mansion.
But they were in this strange, gray house. It was like everything material about our old life had been transplanted here, creating this new version of reality. A rectangular window was to the side of the dresser, showing the bright green grass outside. Lights illuminated the property, even past three a.m. Like Finn never let anything get past his scrutiny.
Where was Bruce?
I shoved past Finn and grabbed the door handle, wrenching it into submission.But it didn’t budge.We never locked the doors in Bruce’s mansion. Where the hell was I?
“I’m calling the police,” I said, grabbing my phone off of the nightstand. My fingers fumbled over the buttons as I dialed the Opulent Gates Security Division, our private community’s police force. I pressed myself to the wall, my eyes keeping track of Finn as the phone rang.
Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try your call again.
I bit my lip and dialed again. How could the call have not gone through? Finn opened the door to the walk-in closet and grabbed a dark gray button-up shirt from the hanger. Boxer briefs clung to his muscular and hairy tree-trunk thighs, legs that could crush someone to death.
This time, the phone rang. The call was going through. I hastily snatched my cardigan off of the wicker chest and put it on, covering myself up, as if I was slightly safer with another layer of fabric, but I kept my eyes on Finn the whole time. The phone kept ringing.
“The police will be here soon,” I said. I broadened my shoulders, trying to seem brave. But Finn continued to button his shirt methodically like he didn’t care that I was calling the police. As if his only concern was that he would be dressed appropriately for them. “The police are going to arrest you for abducting me.”
“Let them come,” he said.
Why wasn’t he afraid? It was like I was missing half of the story, and he was the key to the entire mystery.
“Opulent Gates Security Division, how may we assist you?” a soothing voice answered my call.
“There’s a stranger in my house,” I blurted. “An intruder. He might be dangerous. I don’t know why he’s here. He might be armed. Please send—”
“Has he hurt you, ma’am?”
