Page 25 of Forever My Saint
Her comment was supposed to be a compliment, but I don’t want to hear it. Alek and I didn’t leave on the best of terms. He wasn’t even there when I left the orphanage. I wasn’t expecting a ticker tape parade, but I expected at least a goodbye.
However, he made his feelings perfectly clear when he walked out of my room.
“You’re mistaken,” I say with bite. We can’t be having this conversation.
Instantly, she submits, bowing her head in apology, and I feel like an ass for snapping.
“Sorry, I’m just worried about Saint. He is very special to me.” I don’t need to elaborate. She reads me loud and clear.
She lifts her chin, gently brushing the hair from her rosy cheeks. “Yes,” she says, replying to my original question. “I believe Oscar has had Saint down there since he arrived weeks ago. Dominic and I have been forbidden to go down there, but late at night, I can”—she licks her lips nervously—“I can hear him scream.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block out the sounds and sight I bore witness to, but nothing can erase them from my mind. They’re burned into me forever.
“I have to get him out of there,” I whisper, the urgency growing quicker by the minute as I refocus.
Ingrid nods, but she knows it’s a lot easier said than done. “Maybe you’ll have your chance tonight.”
I arch a brow, intrigued.
She only seems to remember the garment in her hand. “I was told to bring you this.”
She offers me a sheer sarong which one could be forgiven for mistaking as a curtain.
“Am I supposed to wear that?” I ask, horrified.
She nods.
Her attire isn’t any better. Her silky white nightgown doesn’t leave much to the imagination either, but this sarong is completely sheer.
“Not going to happen,” I say firmly. “What else were you told?”
Ingrid chews her bottom lip. “Once you were dressed, I was to take you to Oscar’s bedroom.”
Sighing, I wonder when this perversion will end. “Fine, let’s go.”
Ingrid doesn’t press and leaves the sarong on the end of my bed. She opens the door and leads me out into the hallway. I have no idea where Oscar’s bedroom is, but I ensure the bugs in my back pocket are within reach so I can plant them when I get a chance.
Ingrid almost floats through the corridor on her bare feet, and I wonder how Oscar could treat someone so angelic the way he does her. What did she do to be here, trapped in this prison?
All thoughts are put on the backburner for now when we climb the elaborate red-carpeted stairs because I know shit is about to get real. This floor is decorated in royal blues and gold hues. Seeing few doorways in this part of the house leads me to believe this is Oscar’s private wing, which is usually off-limits.
“Is his office up here?” I ask softly.
Ingrid gestures with her head toward the second door on the left.
Bingo.
Now, I just need to figure out a way inside.
That can wait, though, because when we get to the last room in the hallway, Ingrid knocks on the double doors. Her shoulders rise and her breathing gets heavier, which can only mean we’re here. The doors open, and when I see Oscar, donned in silk blue pajamas, I prepare myself for what’s about to come.
His arrogant smile soon fades when he sees me in black jeans and a white T-shirt, clothes which were kindly given to me by one of the sisters in the orphanage.
He turns to Ingrid, who cowers under his gaze. “You didn’t give her the garment?”
Before she has a chance to reply, I step in. “She did.”
“So why aren’t you wearing it?” he snaps, his eyes narrowing into slits.