Merciless

Chapter Twenty-Six

Aria

Carter had me drink a glass of whiskey with orange bitters but somehow it tasted like chocolate. I don't know what it was exactly, but it's still humming through me. He left me with a second drink in his office and it's the second one that did this to me.

Even as I stand in the kitchen, busying myself with something to take my mind off everything that's going on around me, I can feel the alcohol numbing the pain. As if I'm spared from what's going to happen, and it's everything else that's moving. I'm just standing here.

But I hate it. I don't want to be helpless and beg for mercy from a man who won't show it. I don't want to seem helpless, but I have no choice.

The refrigerator is full of nearly anything I could want. Fresh eggs, deli meat, fruits, and vegetables. Most of the meats for dinner are frozen, but there's plenty to satisfy me.

I'm not hungry in the least, but Carter told me to eat and so here I am.

It took me a while to get started, long after Carter had left.

Instead of doing anything at all, I stared at the door. And then each of the windows I passed. And the windows to the garden. I wish I could leave and tell my father they're coming, but I'm sure he knows. That's the only comfort I have in this powerless state. My father must know they're coming for him.

The knife slices through a tomato. It's so sharp the skin splits instantly without any pressure at all. I suck the taste of the whiskey from my teeth. I can't do anything, but I need to do something.

The thunk of the knife on the cutting board is the only thing I hear over and over again.

"What are you making?" A deep voice from behind me makes me jump. The knife slips from my hand and I'm too scared to jump away from it as it crashes to the floor. I stand there breathless with anxiety shooting through my veins.

"Shit," the voice says as my heart races and pounds in my chest.

It's Daniel. I've seen him before and I know that's his name. But he hasn't said a word to me. He never even looks at me. Yet, now I'm alone with him, and Carter's nowhere to be seen. In dark jeans and a black t-shirt, he runs his hand through his hair with a shameful look on his face. "I should've come from the other direction, huh?" There's a sweetness about him, but I don't trust him. I don't trust any of the Cross brothers.

"I'm just keeping an eye on you," Daniel says easily, and his lips quirk up into a half smile. "A salad?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, but my answer is a whisper. It's odd to be a prisoner yet remain free to move about. Even odder to have a conversation with someone as if there's nothing at all wrong with my position.

I force myself to swallow and bend down slowly, keeping him in my periphery, to pick up the knife. My body trembles as I turn my back to him just enough to walk to the sink and rinse it off. "Avocado, tomato and Italian dressing. I was craving something like it," I tell him as the water pours down onto the sharp edge of the knife. The light reflects in the water and my heart thumps again.

"Salt tooth?" he asks me, and I nod, eyeing him but trying to just have a conversation. I wonder what he thinks of me. What he thinks of Carter for keeping me here.

All I can look at is the knife in my hand, the alcohol is thrumming, my nerves are high, and I don't know how to survive anymore.

The idea of an escape plan is forming, but the anxiety is so much higher.