Chapter 8

The room was thick with the scent of expensive cologne that is overwhelmingly sharp yet bitter. The scent mingles with something darker, something heavy that presses down on my chest like a stone. Power. Control. Obsession. Those clings to the air too like smoke.

At the far end of the ridiculously long mahogany table, the Ice King sits like a predator surveying his prey. His posture is relaxed but every inch of him radiates command. His hand is tangled in the glossy dark hair of the woman kneeling before him. Her movements are mechanical and rehearsed, with wet pliant lips that trace a path along his skin.

Her eyes never dared meet his or mine. They are fixed somewhere distant, or maybe fixed on the shame of this moment. I can see the faint tremble in her jaw and the almost imperceptible quiver in her hands, but she doesn't stop. She too is playing a dangerous game, one that's clearly kept her alive here.

This is exactly where I sat on my first night here --- just days ago --- and now that dreadful memory is tainted with their groans and moans. The sound turns my stomach, it's not just from disgust, but from the realization that this might not be a one-time display. It's routine or a twisted ritual of some sorts.

He's not doing this because he needs to. He's doing it because he can. The unspoken message is clear this is his world, and I am no more than a disposable piece on his twisted board.

The cocky man sips his wine slowly, the glass is raised with a casual elegance that belied the cruel amusement shining in his eyes. His gaze finds mine, it's sharp and cold as he watches my every reaction like a cat toying with a mouse. I meet his gaze head-on, letting the disgust simmer just beneath my skin but never showing it on my face. I won't give him the satisfaction.

I may not have been here long, but I've seen enough to know one thing: There's no safety here, only strategy.

The girl swallows hard, it's disgustingly audible but nonetheless her mouth keeps moving.

I swallow down the bile and the sickening wave of nausea rising in my throat. My hands clench into fists beneath the table as I dig my nails into my palms to keep down the impending vomit. I want to scream, to lash out, to tear this facade apart but I know better. This game requires patience. Well, for now.

Finally, the man's voice cut through the silence. It's low, smooth, but laced with that unmistakable edge of steel. "Enough."

The single word is both a command and a dismissal. The woman rise with the grace of a trained dancer, her shoulders are squared but she doesn't dare to meet my eyes as she smooths out her non wrinkled sundress and steps away. The faintest tremor in her breath betrays her relief as the door click softly behind her, effectively sealing us in silence.

I hold his sadistic gaze. I refuse to let my eyes wander to his exposed lap and give him any ideas. Thankfully, the sharp sound of his zipper soon breaks the silence.

Now it's just the two of us--- the predator and the girl who dares stand in his presence unbroken.

His dark and unnervingly trained eyes flick to the wine glass where he swirls the dark liquid with deliberate slowness.

"Well you're here, hardly unscathed but alive nonetheless," he says finally in that low and menacing voice of his, "that, bella, means you've already surprised me."

The corner of his mouth twitch. It's not quite a smile, but it's still something that sends a chill down my spine. Regardless of my mission here I have to remember that these men are in a glorified gang and they excude danger.

I met his gaze evenly, heart hammering against my ribs.

He doesn't rush to speak again. Just watches me with that lazy, terrifying calm. The kind of calm that comes from knowing he controls the game and all the exits. His ringed finger traces the rim of his glass, slow and idle, like he's already bored of me, or maybe just waiting for me to beg.

He'll die waiting though.

"You got fire in you." His voice penetrates through my thoughts again. Only this time it's a whisper of danger. "That's good. I like fire. Makes the breaking more fun."

I stare back with a clenched jaw. "Then I hope you like getting burned."

That earns me a short laugh. A real one that comes from deep within his chest. It's like he didn't expect that. Like most people probably don't talk back once they see what he's capable of. But I'm not most people.

He smiles but it doesn't reach his dark eyes. "You've got a mouth on you, sweetheart."

"Comes with the teeth," I shoot back.

The man leans forward with his elbows on the table, the dim light catches the scar across his knuckles. It's old and pale, but jagged. Perhaps a mark from someone who fought back... from someone who is probably dead now.

"Do you even know where you are?" he asks softly.

I don't answer, I just study him. The way he carries himself and talks, it's like violence is his second language. My eyes drink in his features.

Hate to admit it but he's objectively attractive... the kind of man who could ruin you with a look. But that's all it is: observation. I feel nothing. No pull. No heat. Just calculation. I cast my eyes away.

Then I see it.

It's hardly showing but I see a part of it beneath the cuff of his rolled-up sleeve: it's that same mark I thought I'd imagined earlier. A tattoo, etched in black ink, with a curled serpent...

My stomach knots, but I school my face into staying still.

He doesn't know I've seen it before — not on him, but on someone else. Someone who slashed my sister's throat and smiled through the blood. Someone who belonged to them.

He's leaning back in his chair with one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his shirt is stretched just enough to tease a firm definition beneath that expensive cotton. His dark hair is slicked back with effortless charm. His cheekbones are like carved marble and that mouth is definitely made for sin... It's the kind of beautiful that makes you forget the knife hidden behind the smile.

I clench my jaw. So this is where they come from.

My silence stretches like tension wire as he silently watches me. He's exudes an unsettling calm. It's like he's waiting for something. A reaction. Maybe fear. Maybe recognition. Maybe understanding. But I give him neither.

Only the look of someone who's already buried him in her mind.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll enlighten me," I say in a dry tone.

He smirks --- just barely but it put a crack in his cold stone expression, nonetheless. "You already know why you're here."

There is a slight pause as if he's weighing how much of what to say. 

"Your ex. That's all you need to understand." The man's voice flattens into something dead cold. "Bella, whatever game you think you're playing, stop. There's no out. Not when piece of shit is still out there. And certainly not with me. I don't forgive. I don't warn twice. Keep pushing, and I'll put a bullet through that pretty little skull of yours. You got lucky once. Don't test it again."

I scoff silently before swallowing the urge to throw something back at him. My fists clench under the table, but I lift my chin instead.

He thinks fear keeps people alive and maybe... just maybe he's right.

Being strong-willed won't get me out of here, at least not yet. I need to be smart. I need to act docile, even if it kills me inside.

"Well," I soften my tone just enough to hopefully slide under his radar, "if I'm going to comply... I need to know what to call you. What's your name?"

"That doesn't concern you."

Before I can press further, the door creaks open. A man, dressed sharply in a simple black uniform --- clearly a cook or more than likely a servant --- steps in silently and places two trays of food in front of us. Without uttering a word, he slips back through where he came from. 

The scent hits me almost immediately. It's rich, spiced, a bit nauseating... This is the best-looking meal I've had in days, but my stomach is twisting in knots. I want to eat, I know I have to, but the thought turns my insides cold.

"Eat up," he says, slicing a piece of steak with cold precision. "You'll need your strength for the morning."

I keep my gaze on him. "What's tomorrow?"

He points his fork at my plate without looking up. "Eat. Then get some rest."

His tone leaves no room for anything else but I gonna chew on more than just food because tomorrow... I'll be ready.

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