36

Portia
He left me to eat alone after that strange proposal – can you call that a proposal? It surprised me and although Lenore took a tray into his study, I saw her return with it untouched before I went upstairs.
I look at my ring now as I sit on the little Princess bed. It’s pretty, the edges of the sapphires jagged and sharp like shards of glass. I like it. It fits. But the thought of marrying him makes my belly go funny. And it’s not exactly a queasy feeling.
Getting up, I pace the room for the hundredth time. I won’t be getting any sleep tonight, although it’s well past two in the morning. He hasn’t come up either but for all I know he’s not even on the island anymore. I heard a boat go out a few hours ago.
Maybe he went back to the mainland.
I open my door quietly. Still no guard outside. There’s a lock on the outside but he hasn’t used it. Yet. I’m wearing a pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie, along with a pair of ballerina slippers. I added these and a few others like it to the order at the last shop. No way Callahan would have approved of such a slovenly outfit considering the other pieces he chose for me but I love it.
The soft-soled slip-on shoes are exactly what I need. Quiet.
I put the little plastic flashlight I found in the bedroom into my pocket and make my way toward the stairs. The lights are out apart from a glow that comes from the dining room.
Moonlight. I watched its reflection on the water through the huge windows earlier. It was better than watching TV as I ate dinner alone.
Taking hold of the railing, I make my way down the stairs, grateful for the stone. Wood would creak. Once I’m on the first-floor landing, I look around, making sure I am truly alone. I tiptoe toward the door that leads to the cells below ground.
Strange to think that it was just a few days ago that I was down there. That I watched my brothers’ brains blown out.
Poor Nathan is still down there all alone. He must be scared. At least after tomorrow he’ll be allowed to come above ground.
A soft sound captures my attention before I get to that dark hallway though. It’s coming from Callahan’s study at the end of the corridor.
I take a few steps toward the sound. It sounds like a light buzzing. Like a humming, From beneath his closed door, I see the light on inside.
So he’s on the island after all. I wonder who took the boat earlier. I stop then, considering. Would he hear me if I went to Nathan’s cell? And can I make it back upstairs before he goes to bed? I assume he’ll check to make sure I’m in my bed.
Would he consider my going to see my imprisoned brother a betrayal? Shaking my head, I turn back to my original destination.
I agreed. He can give me this. I’m going to say ‘I do’ no matter what. Plus, Nathan is probably still worried about me considering I saw him for all of two seconds the night of the attack and I was covered in blood.
Again.
When I get to the corridor, I fumble with the button to switch on the
flashlight I dig out of my pocket. I need to give it a good shake, but it blinks twice before casting a dim glow
onto my path.
No guards inside. At least not here. I know he’s doubled the men outside and on the roof. This house is a fortress.
When I reach the door, I’m grateful to find it unlocked. I hadn’t even thought of that. It’s the only thing that makes a sound when I open it, whining as I pull it only as far as I need to.
I shine my light on the stairs, but the moment I close the door the flashlight fails altogether, plunging me into utter darkness. A black so complete, it’s terrifying. Like being swallowed up by a black hole. Like being the only person left on earth
Panic has me shaking the flashlight so violently that the little plastic door that keeps the battery in place flies off, sending the battery with it. It makes such a racket as it seems to bounce on every step, that I stand there frozen, holding my breath. I’m sure Callahan’s heard me, maybe Nathan did too. He must have.
When the sound stops, I listen but all is silent. I give it one more minute and I try to feel my way down one, two, three steps. But they’re too uneven and I’m going to fall and break my neck. I need a flashlight.
Lenore had one in the kitchen. A good one.
I turn back, creep back up the stairs and reach to open the door. Wince at the whine. He wouldn’t hear it from the study. He’s too far and it’s not like a door slamming.
I walk back to the main part of the house and glance down the hall to Callahan’s study. The light is still on, although the sound of the buzzing has stopped. Hurrying, I cross both living and dining rooms to the kitchen and breathe a sigh of relief when I’m inside. Cerberus, laying on his bed in the corner, lifts his head. He wags his tail which thuds against the floor.
“Shh,” I tell him with my finger over my lips, but he’s excited and probably lonely sleeping in here. I sneak over to him, pet him while imploring him to stay quiet. He licks my face and nuzzles against my ear. It’s the sweetest thing. I’m tempted to just curl up with him, but I don’t.
Once he’s settled, I get up and walk to the drawer where I saw the flashlight. I consider taking one of the sharp knives but decide against it. I have nowhere to keep it and I remember clearly what Callahan did when he found a simple nail file on me.
Holding the flashlight, I test it. It works and I smile. Petting Cerberus one more time before pushing through the swinging door of the kitchen, feeling a little more self-assured.
But that smile has barely faded when someone grabs me from behind.
I open my mouth to scream but a big hand closes over it and I feel the unmistakable metal of a gun against my ribs. I’m lifted off my feet and carried backward to the wall, the heavy flashlight clanging to the floor. I try to bite the hand clamped tight over my mouth and also find kicking is useless, like kicking a brick wall.
It’s Callahan. Even in the dark I know. Even injured, he’s too big, too strong. He’s not gentle when he pushes me up against the wall, his forearm at the back of my neck keeping me pinned, the gun brushing my temple.
“I could have killed you,” his deep, low voice reverberates against my ear. While my heart is racing, he seems not at all out of breath.
He uncocks the gun. At least I hope that’s not what the sound is.
My hands are pressed flat to the wall, my cheek smashed against it. I’m having trouble breathing. As if sensing that, he takes his forearm off me and spins me around. He’s keeping me in place, hands on my shoulders, as he looks me over, forehead furrowed, eyes dark.
“What are you doing down here, Portia?”
“Did you know it was me when you body slammed me like that into the wall?
“Count yourself lucky I didn’t shoot first then investigate,” he says rather than answering me.
I look at him. He’s naked from the waist up and I see blood, just a trace of it, high on the inside of his left arm.
“I asked you a question,” he says.
“I – ” I look at the gun in his hand and my mouth goes dry. Shoot first. Jesus. He’d have done that? Is he that wound up? Am I surprised? He was just attacked a a public event.
He tucks the pistol out of sight into the back of his jeans and looks me over, forehead furrowing, I wonder if that’s because of my clothing choice.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks again, meeting my eyes, his a little unfocused.
“I,” I start but stop. He’s close enough that I smell whiskey on his breath. “Are you drunk?”
He gives me his signature growl. I swear he’s part caveman. Then he steps back, stumbling once before turning to glance at me, then away again. He walks back to his study.
“Hey. I asked you a question.” I follow him but he’s worlds away. When we enter the study, I see the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on, his desk.
“You almost killed me. You owe me an answer.”
He turns to me, eyebrows raised like he’s surprised but there’s something else. Something off. He’s distracted, like he was earlier when he got that message on his phone.
“I don’t owe you anything,” he says.
“You pulled a gun on me.”
“You’re supposed to be in bed. What are you doing down here?”
“I wanted to see my cousin.”
He shakes his head. “You are so fucking stubborn. Do you know that?”
“I’ve been told a time or two in the past, but what does it matter?” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
He looks me over again. “I bought you clothes. Nice clothes. What the fuck is this?”
“You said if I need anything, I should add it to your order.”
“I didn’t mean this. Don’t wear it again. And go to bed. Don’t fucking come out of your room again like that. I could have fucking killed you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around with a loaded gun while drunk. If I’m going to have to marry you and live here with you.”
“We’re not playing house, Portia.”
“If I’m going to live here with you,” I start again, “We need to get a few things straight. First – ”
I never get to finish, though. Even start, really. He’s on me so fast I’m still taking a breath in to continue speaking. The door slams shut, and I’m pressed against it, Callahan against me, one hand in my hair tugging my head back and the other sliding under my hoodie to close around the curve of my hip.
Sweet baby Jesus, I gasp.