| 11 | A Dangerous Proposition

Only a couple of days have passed since my failed escape attempt landed me back in the cell room. Time stretches endlessly, leaving me with nothing but my thoughts. Ironically, my mind fixates on a single, haunting question:

What if this is it?

I’ve spent hours contemplating Efrem’s motives. Isaak’s words that night have planted seeds of doubt about my initial assumptions. If Efrem truly wanted me dead, why go through the trouble of saving my life? Everything except my own actions seems to make sense now.

I don't know anything...

Now, as I walk down the hall that seems to stretch on forever, escorted by Tavin, my heart races. The realization hits me that my death might simplify everything for everyone involved, especially for Efrem.

I never meant to cause any trouble... All I wanted was to get Briannah some medicine so that she could get better...

Tavin's knuckles rap against the wooden doors of Efrem’s office, and my stomach plummets. A creeping numbness spreads through my fingertips, chasing away any warmth.

“Come in,” Efrem's voice echoes from within.

I hold my breath as Tavin opens the door, ushering me inside before closing it behind me. Alone now, I stand before the head of the Mustafin blood Ring, acutely aware of my vulnerability. In this moment, the true value of my life becomes crystal clear.

I don't want to die.

“Sit down,” Efrem commands, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.

I hesitate before complying, watching him carefully as he takes a calm sip from a glass of what appears to be whiskey. My gaze shifts between his eyes and the stillness of the amber liquid.

The memory of the day he claimed ownership of me replays in my mind. Though he saved my life, anger still simmers beneath the surface.

“Did you sleep well last night?” he asks, his tone a mix of sincerity and sarcasm.

“Splendid,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Did you find the room that I had prepared for you comfortable?”

Again, I can't discern if he's being sincere or sarcastic. But I respond in the same manner I have since our first encounter.

“I don't know,” I state drily, “I didn't spend much time in it.”

“And why is that?” he interrogates, his features remaining stoically blank. His composure irks me.

“Do I really have to explain?” I mutter.

I ball my hands into fists, frustration mounting as I realize the futility of my position. I will never be able to make him feel as utterly confused and helpless as I do at this moment. In this game, I'll never hold the upper hand because of who and what I am.

“Yes, because I thought we had an agreement th—”

“What agreement?” I cut him off. “The one where you say nothing and expect me to sit still and quietly?"

Silence stretches between us, a wordless standoff. I hope for any utterance from him that might change my perception, but he remains reticent.

I wonder if this is his way of getting me to lash out at him again, seeing as it is the only way that I ever give in to speaking to him.

And just as he wants, I snap.

“You're sick. I don’t give a damn who you are...taking a person to keep as property. I’m not some fucking pet!” I yell. “You’re insane...and disgusting. I won't say I'm sorry for trying to run before you got back to torture and ki—”

His sinister chuckle cuts me off, sending chills down my spine.

“Your ignorance is quite amusing and irritating altogether,” he says. “If I wanted to torture and kill you, I would have let you die from hydro-poisoning.”

“Then what do you want with me?” I spit.

“I don't owe you an explanation,” he dismisses me again. “Especially now that you've chosen to disobey me.”

“Disobey you? H—”

“Yes!” He suddenly snarls. I flinch as he continues to scold me. “You disobeyed! I had given you free reign to do as you pleased so long as you did not step foot out of this house. So, yes, you disobeyed, and your actions have consequences.”

He stands, looming over me, his superiority palpable. Though anger flashes in his eyes, he quickly masks it. He moves around his desk until he's directly in front of me, no barriers between us.

Despite my intimidation, I glare at him defiantly. My voice, however, betrays me, quavering as I breathe out, “I don't take orders from you.”

He lowers himself to my eye level, his face mere inches from mine.

“So long as you are living under my roof, you damn well will do as I say,” he whispers, mocking my tone.

“Or what?” I challenge.

For a moment, he remains still. Just when I brace myself for another cutting remark, he lets out a low sigh and pulls away, leaning against his desk.

“Does it not bother you that you and everyone like you are treated as less than a dog?” he asks, eyeing me carefully.

It does. It very much does.

“Your friend, Isaak,” he begins.

“He isn't my friend,” I interject.

Not anymore, he's not.

“Well, I'm sure that you're aware of his situation,” he says.

“He didn't tell me anything,” I mutter.

Satisfaction glints in his eyes as he nods gently. “Good,” he says. “Because all you need to know is that I can offer you a chance to live a life as good as his.”

You can?

For a moment, hope flickers within me, but skepticism quickly douses it. How could someone like me trust someone like Efrem? He symbolizes everything that opposes my very existence. And frankly, even if I did want to, I don't think I could ever trust him.

“How?” I whisper, choosing to entertain the idea.

“Well,” he amends, “perhaps not as good, but ideally.”

I narrow my eyes, studying him. “You pity me,” I confront him. “You pity people like me. Why?”

He sighs deeply, straightening. “I believe that there is a misconception in the idea that has shaped our lawful and social system.”

Seeing my questioning look, he explains, “In other words, I can't quite understand what the problem is with having different bloods...mix.”

Same thing I've been wondering all my life...

“You behave and appear human to me,” he adds. “Where is the problem?”

“You tell me,” I retort.

His gaze lingers on me, offering an unexpected reassurance. I wish that I could feel safe here, because truth be told, I don't want to live the rest of my life on edge and anxious all the time. I've had more than my fair share of worrying about the day I might be killed for something I didn't even choose—something that isn't my fault.

“Here's my proposition, Miss Alaki: learn to trust me, and I assure you that you'll lead a long and fulfilling life here, with me.”

His tone shifts, suddenly serious and sincere.

“I don't understand,” I shake my head.

“It's a game, and you're my subject,” he admits. “I just need you to play along. I'll provide you with what you need: a home, food, clothing, freedom—”

“It isn't freedom if I have to stay in this house and be escorted everywhere I go,” I argue.

“Would you prefer the freedom of living in hiding elsewhere without any sort of security?” he asks.

Silence falls between us. I'm sure he's waiting for me to think about his question, but I only sit here pondering whether or not I should tell him to fuck off...or hold my tongue—which has never hurt before.

Finally, he says, “The reason I’m keeping you on a short leash right now is because you need to gain my trust, and frankly, you're not off to a very good start.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I challenge, though I know exactly what he means.

Don't let him bend you. Do not let him bend you.

Again, he moves closer, planting his hands on the arms of my chair and leaning in.

“Say yes, and you'll be sitting at the dinner table with me tonight,” his voice is husky, his eyes locked onto mine.

A part of me wants to trust him, but I'm skeptical. Up to this point, this man has yet to give me a reason not to trust him, personally, yet the lingering uncertainty inside me is something that I can't shake.

I have every right to be skeptical. He’s a Ringleader, for crying out loud.

“We start at one—strike one,” he says.

What is this? Baseball?

“You screw up again,” he continues, “and the next time you disobey me, you're done.”

My gaze falters briefly, dropping to his lips, taking in his perfectly structured features. I swallow hard, my mouth dry.

“And if I say no?”

I don't know why I do it. Deep down, I know that I have no chance of surviving if he lets me walk out the door. I've been exposed for too long and I'm bound to get caught again, even if I do make it back home. The surface knows my face, so I'd never be able to leave the tunnels again.

Still, there's a part of me that enjoys challenging him. Maybe it's that I've never met anyone like him. Maybe it's because I want to study him and his reaction to the way I behave because I know...

...I know that no one dares challenge him because he's a Ringleader. I bet my life that no one has ever done anything but kiss the trails that his feet make because he's this great, big powerful man.

Before Efrem can respond, a knock echoes through the room.

“Come in,” Efrem says, backing away from me and straightening.

Tavin pushes the door open, clearing his throat. “Master Efrem,” he says as another man enters, “you have a visitor.”

Recognition hits me instantly. Blond hair, blue eyes, and that superiority complex effortlessly displayed on his oddly heavy features—all imprinted in my memory from the day I knelt in the courtroom where my fate was decided.

What is the Talos' Ringleader doing here..?