The car ride from the hospital was silent. I sat in the back with the handler, my head throbbing in time with the stitches. Every time the car hit a bump, a fresh wave of nausea rolled over me, but I kept my eyes fixed on the window. I wasn't going to let the gangster in the suit see me fold in pain.
When we finally pulled through the gates of the estate, I realized my 'yard' comment earlier was an understatement.
The place was a fortress of cold stone and perfectly manicured lawns.
Such an expensive place. It was probably built on the debts and suffering of multiple small businesses. The thought brought a bitter taste to my tongue.
We entered through a side door that led into a high-ceilinged foyer. The smell of antiseptic from the hospital was instantly replaced by something metallic and heavy. Iron.
Emel was standing in the center of the hall. He had his jacket off, and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. His arms were stained with streaks of deep, wet crimson. It was blood, no doubt.
I stopped dead, my hand instinctively going to my throbbing shoulder, and then a scoff escaped me before I could choke it back.
"And here I was worried about staining your yard," I muttered, my voice dripping with as much sarcasm as I could muster through a split lip. "Looks like you've already started the renovations without me."
Emel didn't even flinch. He was looking at a spot just above my head, his expression as blank as a bored cashier. He looked like he'd just finished a light jog rather than whatever nightmare he'd been presiding over in the basement.
"Take him to his room," Emel ordered the handler. He didn't meet my eyes, but I could feel the weight of his presence like a physical pressure on my chest.
"Oh my," I said, leaning against the cold marble wall to keep my legs from shaking. My vision was still a little tilted. "There's even a room prepared for me! Should I be touched, or worried that it's a room with no windows? Are we going for the 'dungeon' aesthetic or 'captive' chic?"
Emel moved then. It was too sudden for me to retract my own stesp. One second he was five feet away, and the next he was towering over me, the scent of cigarettes and raw blood filling my senses. He didn't touch me to make me intimidated—he didn't have to. The sheer size of him was enough to pin me against the wall.
"You shut your mouth," he said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Whatever is prepared, you'll take it. You aren't a guest, Nico. You're no different from my plaything."
I frowned. He had no shame, huh?
Well, can't shame the shameless.
He let his eyes trail down from my bandaged head to my tattered, coffee-stained clothes that had a few footprints too. His lip curled slightly, not in disgust, but in a cold sort of assessment.
"Get changed and eat something," he snapped, turning his back on me. "You're nothing but sticks and bones. I have no use for a pet that dies of malnutrition before the first month is up."
I watched his broad back as he walked away toward the washbasin to scrub at the side the life of some poor soul off his skin. My fingers curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms.
'Sticks and bones,' I thought. 'Just wait, Emel. These sticks are sharp enough to pierce, and these bones don't break as easily as you think.'
I coughed.
"I'd hate to be a bad malnourished pet too," I called out to his retreating back, but my voice lacked its usual bite. "So I'll make sure to do my best."
The handler grabbed my good arm, none too gently, and started leading me toward a set of dark wooden stairs. As I climbed, I looked back one last time. Emel was standing under the light, the water running red in the sink, washing the blood off his pale skin.
He probably thinks he has me wrapped around his fingers. A pet, huh? How insulting.
I got to the room prepared for me and luckily, it wasn't a room without windows. It was pretty decent too. It wasn't luxurious or especially lacking but I couldn't help but look at it like it was a bother. I prefer the cozy house I shared with Jeremy. At least, there were signs of life there and there was definitely warmth.
Not like this place.
No matter how impressive it was, it still was a far cry from a home because it had no warmth at all.
The handler suddenly shoved me deeper into the room and I growled at him.
"Bastard," I cursed under my breath and then turned to the bed, expecting a fresh set of clothes, since Emel had asked me to change but instead, I found a cruel joke.
Lying on the center of the duvet was a single, oversized white dress shirt. It was expensive silk, the kind that probably cost more than my monthly rent, but it was the only thing there. No trousers and no underwear.
Just a shirt that would barely reach my mid-thigh.
This sort of sick joke… I knew it. He was a pervert, back then and now too.
I shut my eyes, thinking of how I fell for his tricks two years ago. It still haunted me even if I tried hard not to think about it.
Next to the shirt sat a phone. It looked like mine, and I picked it up, only to find out it was wiped clean. No photos, no messages, and only one saved contact: Emel.
"You bastard," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and fury as I gripped the phone tightly.
He wanted me to walk around his house looking like I'd just crawled out of his bed. He wanted every guard and maid in this fortress to look at me and know exactly what he considered me to be.
Then, my rationality snapped as I saw the final item. A leather collar.