Chapter 5

Arlari's POV

My whole body goes rigid in his lap.

His head lifts and his eyes narrow at the door. The scream comes again, someone is being beaten….I think.

He slowly withdraws his hand from me, wetness clinging to his fingers.

“Stay put.”

The door shuts behind him.

I will stay put, it’s not like I have plans to go out there and get caught in the cross-fire of whatever those screams are.

I sit there for about two minutes or three when the screen of my phone illuminates. I walk over to the cupboard and pick it up.

“Danny?”

I swipe the green icon.

“Lari,” his voice comes through. His tone has life again, not the weak rasp from before.

"How are you responding to treatment? Are you okay? Are you good? Do you need anything?"

“No, not at all. I'm okay. The doctors brought me food, real food, not hospital junk. Even fruit, and very expensive bottled juice. Lari, who is paying for all this? It can’t be you.”

Relief washes over me, but it tangles quickly with panic.

“Don’t think about that. Just eat, rest, and focus on fully recuperating.”

“No,” he presses on, "I know you. I know what you can and can’t afford. Lari… what did you do and tell me, why the hell are his bodyguards guarding me, after releasing me?”

"Mercy," I murmur.

"Mercy was him releasing me for some reason, but having his guards watch over and cater to me... Don Cortez is not that kind of Don."

I turn away from the bed, pressing my forehead to my hand. “It doesn’t matter. You’re safe. That is what matters.”

“Where are you right now?” he asks. “You are not home, are you?”

“Actually, I am home,” I lie fast.

“That is strange. I just spoke to the landlord. He says you left the house this morning and you aren't back yet.”

I close my eyes, cursing the nosy man. “I stepped out for something important.”

“He said you had suitcases,” Danny shoots back. “What the hell, Lari? Tell me the truth.”

My throat locks down like a pandemic protocol. I can’t tell Danny. If he knew, he would rip the IV out and come running straight back into death.

“Focus on recovering,” I whisper. “When you’re better, I’ll explain everything. Just promise me you’ll never pull something this stupid again.”

“I—” he starts, but I end the call.

The anxiety that follows is worse than his questions. My hands shake as I set the phone down.

He can’t know. Not yet. Maybe not even ever.

°°°°°°°°

I get a text from Severiano. It reads something that makes me fold into myself ten times over.

He asks what my citrus intake is.

I’m a lemonade girl, so I tell him.

He says he figured it out because my... juices tasted citrusy.

"What did you do, Arlari...."

I can’t help but scold myself. I acted out of character, jutting my thighs desperately to him. BDSM isn't for me; I am only meant to survive it for ninety days. I can't want it.

That was Severiano's goal , that is what he does to his subs. To break them so bad they only crave what he can give them.

It’s sick,

but it makes my hol—heart flutter.

For some reason.

"I'll Blow Your Guts Out!"

My chest sinks with a gasp.

What was that? Who was that?

I contemplate throwing the blanket over my head but there is something familiar in the voice. I swung my legs down from the chair and tiptoe toward the door, opening it slightly.

The hall beyond is half-shadowed but I catch sight of two men dragging another down the corridor. The man between them sags like dead weight, blood smearing the wood behind him.

Wasn't he one of the men that worked at the warehouse?

The one that lifted boxes.

“Why here?”

Severiano.

I nearly jump back and shut the door.

One of the men, the broader one with auburn hair, answers quickly.

“Boss, he tried to sneak in through the back fence. We thought—”

“Did I not give orders that such things be handled outside my residence?”

“Yes, Don,” they both chorus, ducking their heads.

The man on the ground groans weakly, like Danny had.

“Take him to the cells. If he can still scream, he can still talk.”

The two men nod and drag their prisoner away.

I sigh in relief, not knowing exactly why. Maybe I am grateful his head wasn't cut off in front of me, to avoid the trauma.

Unfortunately for me, he spots me just as I am about to close the door.

I make a run for it and yank the blanket up to my chin and fold myself small. My hands tremble so hard the weave digs into my palms.

My throat tightens when the door is pushed open and the blanket is ripped off my body and tossed to the ground.

“Plea—”

“You were at the door,” he says.

“No, sir.” My voice is a mouse.

“Then what were you doing?” He reaches up and settles a thumb under my chin, tilting my face so I can’t look down and hide. “I told you to stay put. Why did you go to the door?”

I say the first thing that scrambles up in my head.

“I wanted to carry something.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Another lie?”

Should I insist that it wasn’t?

“I’m sorry,” I blurt instead. “I heard a scream. It sounded familiar, so I went to the door to see.”

“What did you see?”

“They were taking a man away,” I respond.

“Did you hear anything else?” he asks.

“No.” My denial is thin as tissue.

“Good.”

“W-Who was the man?” I ask, because my voice has to sound curious and frightened, not nosy.

He watches me a beat longer. “A spy,” he says quietly. “From my father.”

“You—your father is… alive?” Public stories are different. “They said he was dead.”

“He enjoys playing dead. And...”

"Yes, sir?"

"He knows about you."

“Your father knows about your…subs?”

“He wasn't supposed to, not detailed at least.”

Oh.

But Severiano's expression is unsettling, like there is something he isn't telling me.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

He sighs, then drags his fingers along his curls. “He… he wants something from you....”

I immediately cover my thighs. But I can tell that isn’t it.

“W-what does he want?”