Page 52 of Deadmen's Queen
I pushed open the closest door, stumbling inside, and closing it behind me. I stood alone in the darkness, gasping for breath. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the panic intensified. This was his room.
The air was thick with the scent of aged cologne and leather, the same that clung to him like a second skin. Dark oak furniture loomed, oppressive and grand. The grand four poster bed stood in the centre of the room, mocking me.
“God,” I muttered, my chest aching as I fought to breathe. I hadn’t been in here in eight years, and the memories swept over me like an assault, flashing through my mind like a relentless torrent of pain. I dropped to my knees, my legs too unsteady to hold me.
“Please.”
Memories clawed at my mind. His shadow looming over me, the weight, the betrayal. The pain. So much pain. My fists clenched as the memories swirled, my knuckles white as they dug into the plush carpet. I fought against the pull of my past, sucked down the remaining air in ragged breaths. My eyes clenched shut, fingers worming into the carpet threads.
“No more,” I choked out. My heart hammered in my chest, and through the turmoil in my mind, I wondered dimly if I was having a heart attack. Everything hurt, my chest most of all, and the shadows of my past surrounded me, cutting me off from sanity. The hand on my shoulder, as he guided me away from my own bed to this one, the slide of his belt against the fabric of his trousers.
The sharp sound of my own desperate sobs, the hot tears that had fallen unchecked down my face. The coldness of his touch on my skin. My tiny body trembling, shaking with fear. I was paralyzed, my mind trapped in the torment. His cruel laugh echoed in my ears, the sound mixing with the rushing blood in my veins.
My fists thudded into the carpet, fists unfurling and clenching as I tried to claw back control. It was a battle I didn't think I could win.
The memories wouldn't stop.
I could feel them like a physical force pushing me down, breaking me apart. The shame and humiliation were overwhelming, too much for me to bear. I shifted back, pressing my back against the wall, curled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, making myself small, like I had back then. If I was small he might not find me. I started rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face as I lost myself in the tempest inside my mind.
Chapter Nineteen
PAIGE
My heart raced as I slipped up the stairs, my eyes on Tristan and Bast below me, thankfully involved in a conversation with a couple of older men in similar dinner jackets. I hated lying to them, but I really didn’t want them following me and finding out what I was doing. I was already worried about Nate and why he’d taken off like that. His father was a fucking creep, and my skin crawled just remembering his hand on my waist. He had that hardened look that made it easy to tell he was ex-military, and although he’d been all smiles, I could imagine he could be hard and cold. My heart ached for Nate growing up here.
The upper hall stretched before me in shadows, with only the odd lamp lighting the way. There had been a sign saying that the upstairs was off limits, but I’d searched every room I could find on the ground floor for Carver’s office and I was fast running out of time before the guys wondered where I was.
I opened a few doors leading to darkened bedrooms, and a smaller sitting room before finding the right one. Nate's father's office reeked of money. One lamp burned low on the desk, casting long shadows that slithered over bookshelves heavy with tomes and trinkets. I skirted the desk, studying the shelves behind for a good hiding spot.
I retrieved the camera from the clutch bag that dangled from my wrist and my hands trembled as I placed the device inside a carved wooden box nestled among the books. The holes punctured in its sides were eyes now, unblinking and ever-watchful, sending whatever Lord Carver did in his office to my mother, though what she could do with the information, I had no idea. I pressed the tiny button on the side, and a pinprick of light went green. It was live.
“Done,” I exhaled. I hurried towards the door, relief filling me, but my hand was a whisper away from the brass handle when it turned on its own. The door creaked open and Lord Carver's figure filled the frame, his eyes locking onto mine. Beside him stood another man, tall and broad like Carver.
“Miss Matthews, isn’t it?” Carver said. “What brings you here?”
My heart seemed to slow rather than speed it, beating hard.
“I—I was looking for the bathroom.”
“Really?” His eyebrow arched with a scepticism that made my skin crawl. He stepped inside, the other man following, and shut the door with a deliberate click that echoed through the room.
The room seemed to shrink as Carver stepped toward me. I retreated instinctively, backing up until the cool edge of the desk pressed against the back of my thighs.
“Persephone,” he said. “Let me introduce you to Lord Trevelyan. Percy, this is the boy’s Persephone this year.”
Trevelyan's eyes raked over my body in a way that had my blood running like ice water, and I swallowed hard.
“Isn't she exquisite?” Carver asked. “So young and vibrant. How old are you, my dear?”
“Twenty-two,” I murmured.
“Ah, what a shame.” Trevelyan's voice slithered through the air. “She looked younger than that.”
“Indeed,” Carver murmured, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I need to go, I was looking for Nate. He said he wanted to talk to me,” I said, trying to push between them.
Carver’s hand settled on my stomach, stopping me moving past him.