These Vicious Games (Seattle Undeground)

Chapter 9

I stay enraged for a good sixty percent of my life, but when my little bird decided she was done surviving, done living, I lost it. Dragging her and making her kill someone point blank wasn’t my best moment. But I’ve never been as furious as when I stared down into her blank, gray eyes and only saw my reflection. Which is exactly what led to our trip into Seattle. She sits on the couch of my penthouse. Shifting uncomfortably on the stiff leather that will never be broken in. I only come here when I have business that requires me to stay the night or sometimes a couple of days.

Constance shifts her thick braid to theother side of her shoulder. Her long white dress brushing over the tops of her feet. She looks like the picture of innocence. The minimal makeup and light, almost translucent, sprinkle of freckles. She is beginning to fill out her clothes more, the swell of her breast, her soft stomach and flare of her hips. Tiny and curvy, how she's meant to look. Even her face has rounded, high cheekbones full and lush.

No matter how well she looks, her brain is sick. Me keeping her captive is notsomethingshehasn'tlivedwithbefore. Sure, maybe being kidnapped has something to do with the suicideattempts, but I think it has more to do with the lack of medication. Which is what we are doing here in the city.

The elevator dings, causing her to flinch slightly as Luca walks in. He doesn't look like a doctor, not with the dark clothes and tattoos. That's because he's not a registered doctor. He works for the Italian Mafia, who I also work closely with. I'm their fixer when the job is too big for their main guy.

He smiles, flashing Constance his flirty smirk and a wink. She won’t be his only patient by the end of the day if he doesn't keep his wandering eyes to himself. He bends at the knees, coming eye to eye with Constance and I have to white knuckle my glass to keep from ripping him away. He's the only dumb motherfucker I know who would fuck with Seattle’s Beast.

"It's nice to meet you, Constance. I'm here to get you on some antidepressants and mood stabilizers. Have you taken any of them before?"

She nods, running through a list of ones that didn't work and telling him the ones she just had to come off of quite brutally. She finishes that line with a glare at me.

How was I supposed to know? It's not like I asked questions before kidnapping her.

"Are there any other health problems I should be aware of?"

She shakes her head and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Why was I holding it? It's not like I care if she has some underlying diseases.

"That's great news. Let me get these prescriptions for you and see if we can’t get you feeling better."

She smiles, fucking smiles at him as he rises, walking to me.

"The fuck was that?" I ask, fighting the urge to grip his collar and ram my fist into his pretty face. "Why were you being so fucking nice?"

He raises one strong black eyebrow. "Would you rather I be fucking rude?"

My jaw clenches and I look away, taking a sip of my water.

He chuckles, "That's what I thought."

"Just go already. Send me a bill and a time to pick up the medicine." I wave him off.

Instead of leaving, like anyone with more than one brain cell would, he crosses his hands over his chest. "Where did you take this one from?"

"None of your fucking business." I growl.

He smirks. "Mind if I have a turn?"

That's fucking it. "Leave through the elevator now or I'll toss you out the fucking window."

He laughs, "Geez, didn’t realize you cared so much."

"Last warning," I growl.

With a salute, Luca walks to the elevator but not before sending Constance a wink that has her blushing.

And why does that piss me off so bad?

“We forge the chains we wear in life.” - Charles Dickens.

I run my left hand over the scar in the center of my right palm. My hand is flawed, with nasty raised white skin. It happened before. Before I stopped remembering everything. No one knows why or how it happened or maybe they do and just refuse to tell me. But I find myself often rubbing the scar. The texture of it grounds me, soothes me. I’m not sure why, though.

I swallow the pills that lay on the table in front of me. Kind of nice of him to care enough to get me seen about my medication. I wasn’t expecting that, not even a little. I look at the white dress lying next to me. It's silk, with a see-through bodice encrusted in pearls. Almost like a wedding dress but not. It's tight looking, like it might be hard to get on and off, but I've been given instructions to put it on and someone will be in to do my hair and makeup soon. I slip everything off, leaving myself bare beneath. Slipping the fabric on, I stare at myself in the mirror. Such finery for a captive. Why spend money on something you wish to kill? I turn slowly, taking myself in from all angles.

Gently, I grab the simple white heels and place them on my feet after taking a seat in front of the vanity.A woman I've never seen before comes in and starts curling my hair until it lays in smooth, brown and golden waves down my back. She paints my lashes, my lips and brows, but doesn't add anything else before she leaves the room. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Wondering why he always chooses to have me dressed soft and delicate. I don't have much time to ponder this when I see his reflection. In a dark suit, he leans against the door frame. Hands tucked in his pockets as he watches me. His face is impassive as he takes me in. Like looking at an art piece he finds little value in. It shouldn't hurt. The blank look on his face but ever since he called me a good girl, I've found this annoying desire of wanting him to say it again.

My eyes scan over his appearance, taking in the shoes that shine too bright, to the buttons undone at the top of his shirt. The gold chain that lays against his bronze chest. He shouldn't fill out a suit so well. I shouldn't be able to see every ripple of muscle and highlight but I can. It's custom made, tailored by the devil himself to pull innocent victims in.

My eyes snap up to his, the green like a rainforest. "Let's go, Little Bird."

With a sigh I rise. I was hoping he would lend me his arm, escort me out like a lady but instead he gave me his back. A nice, strong back, yes, but still a rude gesture. Again, I shouldn't care. I've never wanted the attention of a man, never needed it but Atticus... is different.

I follow him to the elevator, taking the side furthest away once we are inside. He won’t look at me, and it bothers me.

Don't be a silly girl, Constance. He is your kidnapper, for gods’ sake.

I try to shake the horrible reaction to this man, no monster, from my mind as he leads me to his car. A very sleek, expensive looking car that I have not the first clue of what to call it. He doesn't open the door for me, just hops into the driver's side, revving the engine at me.

My fists curl at my sides as I stomp in my heels to the car. I've not even gotten the door shut fully before he's zipping down the car garage , sliding onto the busy street. The engine purrs under me, that and the sound of the city filling the electric energy in the car. I watch the familiar street flash by through the window. My fingertips brushing lightly over the door handle. It would hurt to fall from this fast moving car, but I’m not sure what other choice I have.

My fingers curl around the cool metal, my heart beating a mile a minute as I swallow hard around the lump in my throat. My body trembles, the adrenaline taking over as I go to pull.

“There is no place you can go that I won't find you.” His thick calloused hand on my bare thigh through the slit, causing me to jump.

“Why?” I whisper, “Why keep me at all?”

His hand tenses and the view from outside goes dark as we pull into another parking garage. “I’m not sure.” He stops in a parking space next to an elevator.

I turn to face him, always stunned by how beautiful he is. The light shadow falling across him, highlighting the scar on his face I want to trace with my tongue. I can't fight the attraction to him no matter how hard I try. I mean, look at him. Tall, dark and mysterious. This is what every dark fairy tale has prepared me for. And yet…

“No one here will help you. I can drag you kicking and screaming, no one will bat an eye. Behave, do you understand?”

I nod. Got it. I’m no one, once again.

They say things come full circle, I never found that to be true until today. We step into a lobby I’ve seen a few times over the years. The big imposing doors with a single man standing guard. Joseph loved to spend time here. I know on the other side is a huge gambling ring with topless waitresses that serve drinks. You’re either rich or a criminal. Invite only.

It’s the same place Joseph gambled me away. I wonder if that’s why we’re here. Maybe to gamble me away again. While hunting me for sport is up there in the top ten cruel things to do to a person, I know it’s not the worst that can happen to me. This world is twisted and cruel; and somehow I’ve found myself in the snake's den of the underground.

Atticus' hand on the small of my back startles me. It’s a possessive claim. One I’ve yet to ever feel. Joseph wasn’t the touchy feely kind. Zero PDA. I think we just complimented each other. Other than that and the fact he made my life comfortable, we never really did match.

Atticus leads me by the hand at my back, dipping dangerously close to my ass as we enter the loud room on the other side of the door. Sounds explode around us but soon you can hear a pin drop as everyone turns to face us.

The smell of cigars is now mixed with fear. Hunched backs, and cowering forms greet us. Not a single pair of eyes going anywhere above our feet.. The hush and stares follow us until we get to a far door that leads down a hallway.

I’ve been down this hallway. It leads to private rooms for poker. The same type of room that changed my life.

He pushes a door open on the left, guiding me in and I freeze as my eyes meet familiar ones.