Page 22 of We The Depraved
And no one is going to get in my way.
I wave all of them out of the kitchen. They each have their own rooms here but also their own apartments and lofts all over the city.
My brothers are very attuned to my feelings and now I’m slightly pissed. Especially at Artur’s words.
He loves to bring up old shit,my mind whispers.
By the time I finish up the peach cobbler, and slide it into the oven, Ivan is there. He is like a shadow that’s never too far away. He looks slightly uncomfortable. Ivan is never uncomfortable; he doesn’t get paid to be.
“The woman, Ms. Porter, she’s….”
I nod, finally understanding his current state of discomfort.
“She’s awake and being a bitch, I assume.”
My words are stated, they’re not really a question. Before I leave the kitchen, I get Sage a glass of water. I imagine she’ll be thirsty.
Ivan doesn’t follow me up the stairs that take me to the room where I’ve tucked her away. No, he stays where it’s safe and a chuckle enters my throat.
CHAPTER8
Sage
Iwake up crying. I feel at my face, and I find it completely wet. I remember everything and my hands go to my throat. The sensation of the Crip’s hands around my throat, how hot his breath felt against the side of my face. The need to fight him….
Where the fuck am I?
My fingers roam all over the sheets.
Silk,I think.
I don’t have silk sheets and I don’t know anyone who does. Swallowing, there’s still just a tinge of pain, I feel even more of the bed. There’s no one beside me thank God. I’m still fully dressed. Letting out a deep breath, I find the lamp on the bedside table.
Where the fuck am I?
The room is in muted colors, the comforter is brown, there’s a single bed with tan silk sheets. There’s no television.
My cellphone….is back at the club, I think.
Shaking off the strange sensations that are filling my body, I go to the door. Here, I come face to face with a man sitting in a chair who’s on his cellphone. Immediately, I know where I am now. I remember him from when I made my unannounced visit last time. I don’t want to relax but my body does it anyway.
The guard pops to his feet, sheepishly rubbing at his neck. “Ma’am,” he says.
“Get your boss,” I shake my head. “Why the fuck am I in this house?”
“Ms. Porter…”
I stop him with my hand, feeling more in control of myself now, despite still feeling like someone’s hands are around my neck. The guard frowns and then turns away with a sharpness like a hot knife going through butter.
I go back into the room.
I could escape, it’s true. However, I didn’t feel like I was being held prisoner exactly. Being a prisoner feels like something else. It feels like someone holding your head under water and you’re praying to just die.
I don’t feel that here.
Moments go by like molasses dripping from a bottle. Finally there’s a slight rap on the door and it opens. Immediately, Nikita Safaryan fills the room with his presence. He’s like a shadow that sucks all the light to him.
“You’re awake,” he mumbles.
