Page 41 of Bound By Blood and Lies

Turning away from the door, my eyes catch on an open doorway I somehow missed in my first sweep. I follow the chain’s length as I move toward it and step into an ensuite bathroom that looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel rather than a prison. White marble stretches across the floor and walls, veined with soft grey that glows under warm recessed lighting. A freestanding bathtub curves near the window and a massive glass shower sits beside it, framed in gold that catches the light from another chandelier hanging above the space. Every surface is polished so perfectly it feels sterile. The long marble vanity is lined with neatly arranged bottles of shampoo, conditioner andbody wash. I note it’s all expensive brands that I recognise from my father’s house.

My gaze moves across the counter before a small detail stops me cold. There’s no mirror. The empty space above the vanity feels deliberate and the wall is smooth where a reflection should be. I stare at it as unease curls quietly in my chest. Is it to stop me seeing what I look like… or to stop me breaking it and using the glass as a weapon?

Where the fuck am I? More importantly, where is Robyn? Is she safe? We were supposed to stay together. No matter what they did to us, no matter how bad it got. I squeeze my eyes shut as I grip the sink, trying to hold onto the last clear memory I have of her.

She was right there.

A slow, creeping guilt starts to crawl up my spine as the silence around me stretches longer. What if I fucked this up? What if getting us out of that room only got her taken somewhere worse? Robyn followed me. She trusted me to get us out of there alive, and now I’m awake in a bed that smells like money whilst she is somewhere else, somewhere I can’t protect her.

I step back into the bedroom, my mind already racing through possibilities when a sound reaches me. Footsteps echo outside and my blood turns cold. The first thing I notice is the steady rhythm of them carrying through the thick wood of the door. The second thing I notice is how clearly I can hear them, which means whoever is on the other side of that door can probably hear me too.

My heart leaps into my throat as I count slowly to ten in my head, forcing the numbers through the sudden spike of fear. My breath comes out in controlled pulls even though every instinct in my body is screaming at me to move, to run, to hide before whoever is walking down that corridor reaches the door.

But where would I go?

The chain around my ankle answers that question with a quiet scrape of metal across the floor. Running would only prove one thing; that I’m afraid. I square my shoulders, forcing myself upright as I draw in a steady breath just as the lock disengages with a soft mechanical click and the door swings open.

A tall figure steps into the room.

My heart stops.

Then hope explodes through my chestso violently it knocks the air from my lungs.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, stumbling forward as far as the chain will allow. “Thank God you’re here.”

I’m already pulling at the chain around my ankle, trying to wrench it loose before I even realise he hasn’t moved.

“You need to get me some bolt cutters,” I rush out, the words tumbling over each other. “Fisher is insane. His men took me to this place and he?—”

A low laugh cuts through my sentence and I freeze. The chain slips from my hands as I slowly lift my gaze, the frantic rush of hope draining out of my chest as I take in the expression spreading across his wrinkled face.

“Oh, Fae,” he murmurs as he steps further into the room, closing the door behind him. “You always did have such a vivid imagination.”

Confusion roots me to the spot.

My mind struggles to reconcile what I’m hearing with what I’m seeing. The fog from the drugs still clings to my thoughts. It slows everything downuntil the unease arrives before the understanding does.

I shake my head, as my brow pulls tight and I take in his posture properly for the first time. This isn’t the stance of someone rushing in to save me. His hands are steady, balancing a silver tray laid neatly with breakfast and drinks. His body isloose and composed. The dark suit he wears is cut perfectly to his body and the fabric sits flawlessly against his six-foot-two frame. There isn’t a single sign of urgency in him. His blue eyes meet mine and they gleam back with quiet amusement.

The sight of it makes my stomach drop.

“No,” I whisper as realisation hits me like ice water. “No… no, no!”

He turns before setting the tray down on the bedside table with a soft clink. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t look concerned. If anything, he looks perfectly calm, like a father checking on a sick child.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” I whisper before clearing my throat. “You’re the fucking boss?”

“Eh,” he waves a hand as he turns back to me, “I’m a boss of many things, sweet girl.”

“Where’s Roman?” I demand as tears blur my vision.

Was Roman in on this too? Is he the reason Fisher has been raping me for weeks? Horror rips through my chest as the chain around my ankle clanks against the floor when I stumble backwards. My brain can’t comprehend that the man I fell in love with is the same reason I’ve been living through this nightmare.

“Roman is exactly where I need him to be. Doing exactly what I trained him to do,” Mr Longstaff sighs.

Nausea slams into me so suddenly it steals the strength from my legs. The room tilts and I have to fight the urge to fold in on myself. I shake my head, forcing my knees to stay locked, as my nails bite into my palms and I hold myself upright through sheer stubbornness.

“And what exactly is that?” I ask, steeling my shoulders, even though my thoughts are already spiralling ahead of the answer.