Rules of the House

Marlo

The red dot on the security panel stopped blinking at exactly 3:14 AM.

When Jarrah finally walked back through the front door, he smelled of wet earth, salt water, and the harsh, metallic bite of fired gunpowder. He didn't say a word. He just walked to the kitchen island, dropped a crushed, bullet riddled drone onto the marble counter, and locked the steel shutters again.

Now, the morning sun was trying to peek through the tiny slits in the heavy metal blinds, casting long, grey shadows across the quiet house.

I sat on a leather stool at the island, wrapping my cold hands around a mug of black coffee. I hadn't slept a single wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flash of gunfire on the library steps, or the thick, twisted burn scars covering Jarrah's back.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the marble floor. Jarrah walked into the kitchen wearing a fresh black t-shirt and grey track pants. His hair was still damp from a shower, falling over his forehead, but the dark circles under his eyes proved he hadn't slept either.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter opposite me, and crossed his massive arms over his chest.

"We need to talk about how things work while you're here," Jarrah said. His voice was completely flat, stripped of the raw emotion he had shown me in the car last night. He was back in control. He was the boss again.

I tightened my grip on my mug. "I'm not a prisoner, Jarrah."

"You are whatever keeps you breathing," he shot back, his jaw tightening. "Rule number one: you do not go near the windows. If the shutters are open, you stay out of the sightlines. Rule number two: you don't touch the perimeter panels. You don't try to make phone calls. You don't open a single door leading outside."

My blood began to boil. The terror from last night was slowly burning away, leaving behind a hot, angry spark of rebellion.

"And if I want to step onto the back patio to get some fresh air?" I challenged, my chin lifting.

"You don't," he stated simply. "Rule number three. When the sun goes down, you stay on the second floor. You don't wander the house at night. If the alarms trip, my men have orders to shoot anything moving in the dark."

I slammed my coffee mug down on the counter. The dark liquid sloshed over the rim, burning my knuckles, but I didn't care. I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"You can't do this," I snapped, walking around the island to face him. "You can't just lock me in a glass box and dictate my every move. Siobhan controlled my whole life. I won't let you do it too."

Jarrah didn't flinch. He just watched me march up to him. He was a foot taller than me and twice as wide, a wall of pure muscle and quiet danger, but I refused to back down.

"I'm not Siobhan," he growled, pushing off the counter to tower over me.

"No, you're worse," I whispered, my chest heaving as I stared up into his face. "Because you make me feel like I owe you. You saved me from that fire, and now you think you own me."

I tried to step past him, wanting to put space between us before my anger broke into tears. But as I moved, Jarrah shifted, blocking my path. His hand snapped out, his large fingers wrapping firmly around my hip, pulling me flush against his hard body.

I gasped, my hands flying up to press against his solid chest. The heat coming off his skin was intoxicating, burning right through my thin sweater.

"I don't think I own you, Marlo," Jarrah murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, rough whisper that sent a violent shiver straight down my spine. His other hand came up, his rough thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw, tipping my head back so I was forced to look into his blazing amber eyes. "I know I do. I paid for your life with my own skin. You belong in my shadow, where I can keep you safe."

My breath hitched. The air between us cracked with a heavy, dangerous tension. My forensic training told me this was a trauma bond, a toxic power struggle born from fear and survival. But my body didn't care about psychology. When he touched me, my knees went weak, and my heart hammered a frantic, desperate rhythm.

"I won't be your pet," I breathed, glaring at him even as my fingers curled into his shirt.

"I don't want a pet," he whispered, his face dipping so low his lips almost brushed mine. "I want you alive."

He let go of me so suddenly I almost stumbled. He stepped back, the cold mask slamming back over his face.

"Second floor," he commanded, turning his back to me. "Now. The sun is going down."

I didn't realize how much time had passed, but the grey light outside had indeed faded into pitch black. The heavy steel shutters whirred mechanically, sliding down to completely seal the house for the night.

My stomach twisted, but I turned and walked up the wide glass staircase. Jarrah followed right behind me, his silent, heavy presence tracking my every step.

He led me down a long hallway to a guest bedroom at the very end. The door was heavy, solid oak.

"There's clothes in the closet. The bathroom is stocked," Jarrah said, standing in the doorway as I walked inside. "Do not come out until I come get you in the morning."

I turned around to look at him. His face was wrapped in shadows. Before I could say a word, he grabbed the handle and pulled the heavy door shut.

Click.

My blood ran completely cold.

It was a heavy, metallic sound. A deadbolt sliding into place.

I ran to the door and grabbed the handle. It wouldn't turn. I rattled it violently, my heart leaping into my throat.

"Jarrah!" I yelled, slamming my fist against the wood. "Jarrah, unlock the door!"

"It's to keep them out, Marlo," his muffled voice came from the other side, sounding hollow and far away. Then, I heard his heavy footsteps walking down the hall, leaving me entirely alone.

I backed away from the door, my breathing coming in short, panicked gasps.

A lock on the outside of a door doesn't keep threats out. It keeps the person inside from getting out. It was a cage.

I turned around, pressing my back against the locked door as I scanned the dark, luxurious bedroom. Moonlight spilled through a skylight above, illuminating the space.

That was when I noticed the clothes draped over the armchair. I walked over slowly, picking up a soft grey sweater. It was my exact size. The books on the nightstand were my favorite authors. The tea left in the sealed jar on the desk was my exact, obscure brand.

He hadn't just prepared this room today. This room had been waiting for me for months. Maybe years.

Suddenly, a sharp vibration buzzed against my ankle.

I froze. I reached down into my leather boot and pulled out the cheap prepaid burner phone I had bought weeks ago the one Jarrah had no idea I carried.

The screen glowed brightly in the dark room, showing a single text message from an unknown number.

I clicked it open, my hands shaking violently as I read the plain text on the screen.

He’s not locking you in to protect you from us, Marlo. He’s locking you in to keep you from finding what he buried under the floorboards of that room.