Twenty-Eight: Dinner with the Devil

Twenty-Eight: Dinner with the Devil

Cecilia POV

Night fell, heavy and suffocating.

I didn't see Zacian for hours. I heard muffled voices from the office once. Deep, angry tones. But I couldn't make out the words. I didn't dare press my ear to the door. I wasn't ready to find out what "punishment" actually looked like.

Around eight, he emerged. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeper.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," I admitted, snapping the book closed. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the silence of his penthouse was deafening. His company would be nice, even if he was a douche.

"Good."

He didn't offer to cook this time. He made a call, speaking in low, rapid-fire Italian. I couldn’t help admiring the accent. I didn’t know he could speak anything but Asshole. I snickered at my own joke. Treyvan would have laughed.

Zacian hung up the phone, his eyes snapping to mine instantly. They were sharp, missing nothing.

"Something funny?" he asked, his tone mild but his eyes hard.

I straightened in my chair. "No. Just... admiring the linguistic skills."

"Watch the attitude, Cecilia," he said, setting the phone down with a deliberate click. "You might find that speaking Italian isn't the only thing I'm fluent in that you wouldn't like."

A chill raced down my spine, hot and dangerous all at once. The threat was vague, but the implication was clear. He had a violent side that he kept leashed, and he was letting me see the leash. Most people would have shut up. Most people would have looked away in fear.

But I wasn't most people. I was a Henderson. And if he thought a little scare tactic would make me a compliant little doll, he was sorely mistaken. If he wanted a fight, I’d give him one.

"Is that so?" I asked, leaning my elbows on the table, ignoring the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "And what else are you fluent in? Intimidation? Kidnapping? Or just being a general pain in the ass?"

Zacian didn't rise to the bait. He just picked up his knife and fork, slicing into his steak with terrifying precision. "All of the above, princess. But I'm also fluent in keeping people alive. You'd do well to remember that the next time you decide to poke the bear."

I scoffed, smirking. "Oh, I'm terrified. Really. Should I tremble now, or save it for later?"

He stilled. The temperature in the air seemed to drop ten degrees. He looked at me, really looked at me, his gaze stripping away the bravado until I felt naked under the scrutiny.

"Keep pushing," he said, his voice low, devoid of any humor. "Test the limits because you think this is a game. But know this: the only reason you'll be sitting here eating steak instead of rotting in that warehouse is because I allow it. I can revoke that privilege just as easily. One word, Cecilia. That's all it takes to turn this suite into a cell. Do you understand me?"

The smirk died on my lips. I swallowed hard, the defiance in my chest wavering under the cold weight of his stare. "Yes," I whispered.

"Good," he said.

Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at the front door.

Zacian opened it, and a uniformed waiter wheeled in a cart covered in silver domes.

Room service. In a penthouse.

He set the table in the dining area. Steak, potatoes, asparagus, a bottle of wine. It was fancy, intimate, and completely at odds with the fact that I was his prisoner.

We ate in silence. It was excruciating. The only sound was the clink of silverware against china. I watched him cut his steak, the muscles in his jaw working as he chewed. He was tense. Waiting for something.

"Who were you talking to earlier?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Business," he said, not looking up.

"About my dad?"

He paused, knife hovering over his plate. "About the city. About cleaning up the mess your father made."

"He didn't make a mess," I defended, though my voice lacked conviction. "He's a good man."

Zacian finally looked at me. His eyes were dark, swirling with something I couldn't read.

"Good men don't let their daughters get electrocuted, Cecilia," he said quietly.

The words hit me like a slap. I looked down at my plate, my appetite vanishing.

"I'm done," I said, pushing my chair back.

He didn't stop me.

I retreated to the bedroom, the Master Suite. I locked the door, habit, even though I knew it wouldn't stop him. Then I went into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower, letting the water heat up until steam filled the room. I stripped off the oversized shirt and my panties, letting them fall to the floor.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Bruises dotted my ribs and thighs. Faint red burns from the clamps. I looked... broken. I sighed. I truly was helpless. Those men would’ve killed me had it not been for Zacian. Me and my big mouth.

I gently pried off the bandages and stepped into the spray, letting the hot water wash over me, trying to scrub away the memory of the warehouse, the smell of rot, the feeling of helplessness. I had to be tender around my injuries.

I stayed in there until the water ran cold.

When I came out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, the bedroom was dark. The only light came from the Strip outside.

But Zacian was there.

He was sitting on the couch against the far wall, a blanket thrown over his legs. He was shirtless again, wearing just sweatpants. He looked massive, taking up half the space.

He looked up when I walked in, his eyes tracking the droplets of water on my shoulders.

"There are clothes in the closet," he said, his voice rough. "Sleepwear. Whatever you need."

I nodded, clutching the towel tighter. "Thanks."

I walked to the closet, feeling his gaze on my back. I grabbed the first thing I saw—a silk nightgown, black and simple. I went back into the bathroom to change.

It was painful to change, and I had to clench my teeth so as not to his in pain. I didn’t want Zacian to hear, and I wasn’t going to ask where the first aid kit was to redress my wounds. When I came out, he was lying down, his arm thrown over his eyes.

I climbed into the massive bed, careful not to rub the festering welts too much. Damn they hurt. The sheets were cool, the mattress soft. It was the most comfortable bed I’d ever been in.

But I couldn't sleep.

I stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing. It was deep, rhythmic. He was asleep. Just like that.

I gingerly turned onto my side, watching him. Even in sleep, he looked dangerous. The lion tattoo rose and fell with his chest.

Who was he? Really?

I slid out of bed as quietly as I could. I padded over to the nightstand where he’d tossed the burner phone earlier.

I picked it up.

No Signal.

But there was a Wi-Fi icon in the corner. The penthouse had Wi-Fi.

My heart hammered. If I could get online, maybe I could email someone. The center. My professor. Anyone.

I tapped the screen. It asked for a password.

Of course.

I tried 1234. Password. Zacian. Nothing.

I let out a frustrated breath and set the phone down.

Then I noticed the tablet on the nightstand. The one he’d given me with the "books."

I picked it up. It was already on. I swiped through the screens. E-reader. Music. Browser.

My fingers trembled as I opened the browser. I typed in G***l.

It loaded.

I almost cried with relief. He hadn't locked the internet.

I logged into my account. My inbox was flooded. Spam. Newsletters. And then, one email that stood out.

From: Dominic Henderson.

Subject: SAFE.

I clicked it, my heart in my throat.

Cecilia,

I know you're scared. I am so sorry. I didn't know they would move this fast. I am working to get you back. Zacian... he's dangerous, Cecilia. More than you know. Don't trust him. He's not the hero he pretends to be. He's playing a game, and you're the pawn.

Stay strong. I'm coming for you.

-Dad

I read it three times. The words blurred together.

He's not the hero he pretends to be.

I looked over at the bed. Zacian was still asleep, his face relaxed.

My dad was warning me against him. But Zacian had saved me. He’d killed those men. He’d brought me here, fed me, given me a bed. Why would my dad lie? And why would Zacian keep me here if he didn't want something?

I set the tablet down, my mind racing.

I climbed back into bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin. I felt sick. The safe haven I’d started to feel in the penthouse suddenly felt like a house of cards, ready to collapse at any moment.

I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come. I was trapped between a father who lied and a captor who might be a monster.

And I had no idea which one was the lesser of two evils.