Page 22 of Chained

"I don't…" I don't know what to say. What does he want? I look into his eyes as he stares into mine. Every part of his gaze full of want, desire.

Ownership.

Me. He wants me. I let it sink in, I'm no longer Amora. I'm whoever he wants me to be.

"I have a feeling, Amora…" He leans in close, just enough to feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. "That I'm going to enjoy getting to know you."

He's going to kiss me, and there's not a single thing I can do to stop it. He's different; I can feel it in his touch, in the way he looks at me. This isn't the same kind of man as Derek or even the guy from the warehouse.

This is a man who will kill me for saying the wrong thing. Who will take me without a second thought. A man I need to be careful around.

He leaves a single, gentle kiss on my lips. Just enough for me to taste the whiskey on his mouth. It doesn't last long, but to me it felt like an eternity.

My hands twitch at my sides. I need to scrub my lips, scrub away every inch of his kiss that left the lingering taste of whiskey in my mouth. I don't move. If I do, he'll know how much it got to me. My stomach rolls anyway, sour bile burning the back of my throat. God, don't be sick. Not in front of him.

He doesn't step away. He just watches me, like he's committing my face to memory. Why is he still looking at me? What does he want? Every second stretches until my legs feel too weak to hold me up. I just want him to leave. I just want to sleep. Maybe if I sleep, I'll wake up and this won't feel like it's still on my skin.

He pushes me away, not caring when I stumble. "Bring her to me tomorrow, get Martha to clean her." His voice is routine once again. I steady myself, my feet rooted in place as I watch him leave, the guards stepping forward to lock the gate once more.

"Looks like the boss took a liking to you, girl. That's either your lucky day or your worst nightmare." He laughs again before hanging the key on the hook. I watch as he leaves, then slide down the cold stone wall, my hand gripping my cheek where he touched me. I try to rub the feel of him from my face, but it's no use. He's soaked through to the core.

"Amora, are you okay?" Hailee whispers through the silence. She slides her hand through the bars, extending it for me to grab. I take it, lacing my fingers into hers. He's gone, but I can't shift the filthy feeling that's crawling all over me, the way he watched me, the way he touched me—it lingers on my skin, and no matter how hard I rub at my mouth, it won't go away.

I know sleep won't come tonight again, not with the threat of seeing him again tomorrow. So all I can do for now is let Hailee's hand anchor me and pray that the darkness will take me.

Chapter Nine

Ace

"Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," Adrian calls over the loud music in the parlour, beginning to fill with all the regulars. Vincent hosts daily, letting his staff indulge in free alcohol and the services of whatever women he has hidden in the cells. The room is still stuffy, like it's always been. The walls are painted a deep red, large velvet curtains cover the patio exit, and a small wooden stage is on the other side. I remember sneaking in here when I was a kid, hiding under the tables and watching as the guards would all get pissed. I'd tried to convince Jarrod to come, too, but he never did. And after the night I'd finally been given the name Ace, I was glad. The memory hits hard, flushing through my head, forcing me to relive it no matter how hard I try to fight it.

"Show me your cards, Jax." Adrian's voice is soft as he leans in. I can barely keep the cards intact, my hands that small being eleven years old. Archie sits opposite, his glass to his lips as he sips his whiskey.

I place the cards on the table, revealing three aces, a proud smile perched on my lips as I watch the men fold.

"Well, I'll be damned." Archie laughs as the others groan, throwing their cards into the middle of the table.

"Boy's a natural," Adrian smirks, counting the chips and placing them in a pile in front of me.

"Our little Ace." Archie leans back in his chair, the nickname he's given me making me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Adrian stands beside me, his hand in my hair as he ruffles his fingers through it. "Right, Ace. Off to bed." His voice is stern.

"One more game." I clamp my hands together, faking a beg. "Please!"

"Let him play another, Adrian." Archie's voice is smooth over the music. Adrian hesitates for a moment before sitting back down, his eyes fixed on the double doors. One of the other guys, Keith, picks up the cards and begins shuffling them. I turn to look at the others in the parlour. It's often full of staff or friends of Archie—all drinking and laughing together. I feel honoured I'm even allowed in here, that they see my company as worthy.

The double doors groan as they open, and in walks Martha. I don't know her well, only that she hates me for ruining her rose garden last year after Melina dared me to trample it. I shudder at the sight of her, remembering how well she can wield a rolling pin and how much it hurt across the knuckles. My hands instinctively move to my lap as she gets closer to our table, fingers twisting around each other while my eyes stay fixed on the cards Keith is shuffling.

"The girls are prepared." Her voice is cold. I can feel her staring, but I don't look up, my palms sweaty. She gave me ten hits for ruining her garden, and ten more for my attitude. I thumb my knuckle, remembering how much it hurt.

"Well, bring them in!" Archie laughs, shifting to turn his seat towards the centre stage. The lights dim, and the music changes to a slower rhythm. Adrian pulls his seat closer to mine, leaning in. "Listen to me," his voice is so quiet I can barely hear, "when those double doors open, you close your eyes, and you don't open them until I tell you to." The concern in his voice is blatant. I feel his hand on my shoulder, pressing in hard. "You're gonna hear some shit, Jax. I need you to stay strong and keep your eyes closed."

I swallow hard and nod, waiting for the double doors to open. When they do, I don't close my eyes immediately like Adrian told me—my curiosity gets the better of me.

Martha walks in, her red dress clinging to her old frame, and behind her, a line of women follow. They're all wearing short golden dresses and masks that frame their eyes. They step onto the stage, their bodies trembling as they look at the crowd. I wonder what's so bad about this? Why does he want me to close my eyes?

The music begins to speed up, the rhythm sultry, and the girls begin to dance. The men in the parlour all whoop and find their feet as they begin throwing notes at the girls' feet.

"Take it off!" a man shouts. The girls' eyes fixing to the floor as their hands lock into each other's, all four of them standing on stage, attempting to dance under the large spotlight.