Chapter 7 - A Rat

ELLIE

Contrary to my initial plans, I allowed myself to be swayed, blindfolded and taken back to what I now regarded as their 'fortress'.

They didn't let me see anything, and the blindfold wasn't removed until Noir walked me back to the bedroom.

I didn't say a word to him and he didn't say anything either. The air felt stifled, heavy with words neither of us wanted to say out loud.

I looked around the luxurious but hollow bedroom with tired eyes. My casted arm ached and my eyes felt raw and burned from crying so much behind the blindfold.

If I left Italy, what were the chances I would get to see the person who did this to my brother get justice?

What were the chances that I would be given a reason to truly move on from this if I returned to my life as manager of Dylan's Diner?

I was still in the black dress, the soft material feeling like sand against my skin.

My chest was heavy with grief—a feeling I once thought I wouldn't feel, yet it was hitting me so hard that I could barely breathe or even see through my tears.

I sank into the soft mattress, a heavy, tired sigh leaving my lips along with an unintended whimper.

I didn't want to sob, didn't want to cry anymore.

My head ached, my body felt drained of all its strength, but my heart and eyes couldn't comply with that exhaustion.

I ended up crying myself to sleep, slumber wrapping around me like a suffocating cloak. Still, I didn't resist it—I knew I needed it.

My dreams were nightmares. The sight of the hole between my brother's eyes kept replaying over and over again like a broken record.

I saw Dylan in a hospital bed, succumbing to her illness and dying in my arms. It would switch.

Sometimes she would die from a hole between her eyes and sometimes....

It choked me up. The horrific visions ripped a scream from my throat as I took back control of my body and relinquished the control that sleep had over me.

My eyes snapped open, my face wet with a mixture of sweat and tears. They mixed together like one entity, drowning me in rivers of sorrow I couldn't seem to claw my way out of.

I sat up, my casted arm burning in protest. A pain-filled hiss left my throat as my eyes adjusted to the light in the bedroom. It was now dark outside. The moon was high in the sky, shrouded by gray clouds, leaving the night even darker than intended.

My stomach growled loudly in the silence I sat in, my body reminding me that I hadn't had a bite in almost three days.

I couldn't tell what time it was, but I knew it was well past midnight.

Without thinking—or rather, thinking with the uncomfortable pangs in my stomach—I climbed down from the bed and made my way to the bedroom door.

I knew it was locked...but my hunger had slowly begun to cloud everything else.

It was a familiar feeling, one I tended to avoid so as not to be reminded of what it was like to live with my mother and Elijah's father.

I knocked on the door once, twice. But there was no response.

I reached for the door handle next, pushing down on it with more force than necessary.

To my utter shock and confusion, it opened with a soft click.

The door opened with a low creak, revealing the luxurious hallway behind it.

It was dimly lit, just as quiet as the bedroom. So quiet I could hear every frantic beat that pounded against my ribs. I stepped past the threshold, my cautious eyes scanning every corner for movement.

For any threat.

Why did Noir leave the door open? Was it intentional?

Or did they slip up...make a mistake, giving me an advantage?

My stomach growled again, my hunger pangs intensified, further silencing every thought of escape. My legs were trembling, my body was slowly giving out, and I wasn't sure how much more shock and hunger it could take.

I began walking, navigating the unfamiliar halls with nothing but memory. I stuck to the pattern I'd kept note of when I was blindfolded and took every turn I remembered.

Three turns.

I was too engrossed in that to notice anything else. I knew the path would either lead me to the exit or, at least, a kitchen.

I needed to eat something before I starved to death.

I dragged my heavy feet down the marble path, the floor cool to the touch.

When I caught sight of the grand staircase, a jolt of excitement shot through me, urging my feet faster. I almost tripped, struggling to keep my balance as I stepped into what I assumed was the living room, or at least one of them.

Just behind a ridiculously high-stacked bar was a curved wall.

Behind that wall was the most beautiful, expensive-looking kitchen I'd ever been in. I held my breath, hands resting by my sides as I looked around again for the nth time.

No one was there.

I made my way into the kitchen, headed straight for the tall double-door fridge.

Eat, then check the front door.

I reminded myself as I dug into the strangers' fridge. It was filled to the brim with food and had buttons that controlled the temperature inside and switched positions of its shelves.

Fancy, I thought to myself as I reached for the packaged bread and other ingredients I needed for a sandwich. They have everything.

I set everything down on the black granite counter and fished through the cupboards to find a plate.

"Never imagined I would find a rat in my kitchen at 2 AM."

The sudden voice startled me, making me jump and unintentionally slam the spoons cupboard closed.

I took a quick step back and turned around abruptly.

It was Silas.

Gray eyes narrowed into slits and stared me down with barely concealed disdain—an emotion I couldn't understand.

But I knew I wasn't mistaken. The man didn't like me.

I didn't like him either.

I breathed in deeply, composing myself as I held his gaze.

Unfortunately, my eyes couldn't stay on his for long.

I noted he was shirtless, and all he had on were black sweatpants and a necklace around his neck that had an odd-looking pendant.

He was muscular, his upper body and arms covered with incredibly detailed tattoos that highlighted every bump and curve on his perfect body.

Not just that—I noted the tattoos were all drawn to emphasize scars...scars on his skin. They were all over.

"It's rude to stare, Tiny."

His stern voice pulled me out of the sea I was slowly slipping into.

Who cares if the man has an eight-pack?

If he's an asshole, none of it matters.

"My name is Ellie," I said through gritted teeth, my voice trembling despite myself.

What is it with these men and their stupid nicknames?

"Ellie," he drawled with a snarl. "Why the fuck are you here, outside?" He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring like I'd committed a grave sin just by standing so close to him.

"I was hungry," I lifted an annoyed brow. "You'd think gang members would have better kidnapping skills, but you guys seem to be amateurs."

The corners of his lips twitched, the irritation my words incited clear in his gaze.

He took three steps forward, closing the distance between us inch by inch, making my breath hitch.

Was he going to hurt me?

I could smell him. The faint whiff of tobacco and whiskey lingered in the air, along with a masculine scent that both enthralled and unnerved me.

I took a conscious step back, my hunger and the need to make my sandwich forgotten.

"You have a mouth on you, Tiny," he sneered. "Let me make something clear." He pulled back a bit, and the light in the kitchen caught the blonde and silver highlights in his hair. "If you think you're in any position to make demands here, you're mistaken."

He huffed. "The only reason my brothers and I took on the nuisance of having you here is because Elijah was one of us." His eyes narrowed. "But don't mistake our desire to protect you for weakness."

"That's a lot of words for just saying 'I have no power to kick you out myself,' Silas," I retorted in a firm voice, my gaze unwavering as I held his eyes.

"I seem to have given you all the illusion that I'm some meek bitch who gets shaken up by a dog barking," I gave him a small empty smile. "I am grieving my brother, but that doesn't mean I will let myself be treated like shit or talked down to when I didn't ask for your fucking protection!" I snapped, fearlessly taking a step forward.

My stance wasn't as intimidating as his, but he got the message.

Just because all they'd done was see me cry didn't mean that was all I was.

Silas seemed taken aback for a moment, his glare turning into something else—something that made me squirm, tremble where I stood.

"I don't trust you," he said after the silence had stretched longer than comfortable.

"And you're right, I have no say in you being kept here, but you better watch your fucking mouth around me, Tiny...I am not a man you want to mess with." Threat slowly seeped into his tone. "Do whatever the fuck you want to do, but stay out of my way...and—" His head tilted to the side. "If I find out you're not what you claim to be, I will personally take the pleasure of cutting you open and watching you bleed to death."

I swallowed nervously, fear drowned my growing anger as his words and their implications settled in my mind.

He meant it.

He would kill me, sister of Elijah or not.

Still, I managed to keep my expression neutral, refusing to show even the slightest hint of weakness.

It was my armor, my only protection.

"I am not afraid of you, Silas," I lied.

He reached for my hair, his fingers burying themselves in my tresses as he tugged my face up by my strands almost painfully.

"I have nothing else to lose, Tiny," he breathed against my face, his scent permeating every inch of me.

"You should be afraid."