His collateral

Chapter 7

Elena's gaze followed the car leaving the front yard through the slightly parted curtains, her heart thudding loudly against her chest. She had to act fast now that he was gone.

She slid the glass window open. A gust of wind brushed against her face. Her eyes traveled downward to the terrifying height below. It was her only exit but it was dangerous. Too dangerous.

One mistake and she would lose the ability to walk forever. Yet the fear wasn't greater than her need to escape. A rope would be her only safe option but there was nothing available, neither were there enough bedsheets to improvise as she had done earlier.

She turned, eyes searching the room for something. Anything that would help. They fell on the intercom on the bedside table and froze instantly. A tear of relief almost slipped down her face.

Why hadn't she thought of it?

She rushed toward the table, picking up the intercom. Her fingers trembled as she punched in numbers desperately. A loud buzzing sound followed by silence. She tried again. It buzzed twice. Her brows drew together as she examined it.

Was it faulty?

The sound of the door being unlocked caught her attention. She quickly dropped the receiver. A few moments later a man entered, wheeling in her suitcases, followed by a woman in uniform carrying a tray.

"You can drop them and leave." The woman instructed the man, gently placing the tray on the bedside table.

She picked up the intercom receiver from the floor, a knowing smile curving her lips. "This works only within the building." She said, returning it to its place.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, forgive my rudeness. My name is Anne. I oversee the smooth running of this estate. During your stay I am responsible for your comfort. Feel free to call me whenever you need anything." She said with a smile.

"So you work for Mr. Black?"

"You could say that." Anne nodded, still smiling.

Elena drew in a sharp breath. "Are you aware your employer is holding me against my will?"

The smile on the woman's lips faltered. "It's very unlike him. Mr. Black doesn't hold people against their will." She explained.

"Then you know nothing about that criminal boss of yours." Elena snapped, eyes seething. "He bound me and brought me here against my will."

Silence fell over the room, both women staring at each other.

"I'm sorry you experienced something like that." Anne said quietly. "But Mr. Black doesn't use force unless absolutely necessary."

Elena broke into slow, hollow laughter. "Of course you would make excuses for him. You can leave now." She said, lying back on the bed and closing her eyes.

"Yes, miss." Anne answered, pausing at the door. "I brought pasta for you. Please eat before it goes cold." She hesitated. "And a word of advice, don't bother trying to escape. It's a waste of your energy. This estate is heavily guarded." The door closed behind her.

That was it. The last straw.

The tears Elena had been holding finally broke free, flowing down her face as she sobbed herself to sleep.

****

Hours later, a dull ache behind her eyes and a persistent throb at the sides of her head pulled Elena out of sleep. Her lids felt heavy and reluctant to open. When they finally did, she stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Slowly, she blinked.

The ceiling was too high. The bed was massive, swallowing her small frame entirely. The evening light entering the room fell at the wrong angle.

This wasn't her room.

She sat up slowly, her hand pressing against her head as the throbbing worsened. Her eyes swept across the space around her, taking in the tall windows, the heavy curtains, the vanity mirror reflecting a version of herself she barely recognized. Hair disheveled, dress wrinkled, dried tears on her cheeks.

Then it all came back.

Lucien Black. The locked door. Her struggle to escape.

Her hand dropped from her head. She exhaled slowly, the disorientation shattering instantly.

She was still here.

Her eyes caught on the tray on the bedside table. The food brought in earlier for her. She peeled her gaze away and stood. She picked up one of her suitcases from the floor, dragging it lazily to the bathroom door.

Her eyes widened as she stepped inside.

The bathroom was grand. Marble floors stretched from wall to wall, cool and spotless beneath her feet. A freestanding bathtub sat by the window, deep and white, catching the light. Beside it a rainfall shower enclosed in glass took up an entire corner. Thick white towels were folded in neat rows on a rack. Expensive toiletries lined the counter in perfect order.

Her eyes moved slowly across everything until they landed on the small detail that made her stomach tighten. Every single item bore the same sleek black letter L.

Even here he was everywhere.

She stood in the doorway for a long moment, jaw clenched, refusing to be impressed. Then her body made the decision her pride wouldn't. She slipped out of her dress, stepped inside, turned the shower on and waited for the steam to rise.

The moment the hot water hit her skin everything went quiet. The anger. The fear. The gnawing helplessness she had been carrying since last night. For a few minutes there was nothing but the heat and the sound of water.

Moments later, she stepped out of the shower, skin warm and damp, hair wrapped in one of the towels, feeling marginally more human.

She opened her suitcase, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a top. She dressed slowly, taking her time. There was nowhere to go after all.

When she was done she lifted her eyes to the mirror.

The woman staring back looked tired. Not the kind of tiredness that a full night of sleep fixes. The kind that settles into your eyes and stays there. She studied her own reflection for a long quiet moment, taking in the faint puffiness around her eyes.

"You're going to be okay." She told her reflection quietly.

The woman in the mirror looked unconvinced.

"You've survived worse." She added.

The smell of food hit her the moment she returned to the room. Her eyes darted to the bedside table. The old food tray was gone. In its place sat a fresh one, covered and still steaming gently at the edges.

Had someone come in while she was in the shower? She hadn't heard a single thing.

She crossed the room and uncovered the dishes. Warm chicken soup with rolls of crusty bread served by its side. Her mouth watered instantly, tempted by the sight and smell of it. She hadn't eaten anything since yesterday evening. Yet she wouldn't eat this food.

She walked to the chair by the window and sat down, crossing her arms, putting as much distance between herself and the tray as the room allowed.

Her stomach growled.

"Shut up." She muttered.

She wouldn't eat his food. She wouldn't accept a single thing from this man or anything belonging to him. She would starve before she gave Lucien Black the satisfaction of her compliance.

She had survived the torture of living with Jason Dalton. A bowl of chicken soup was nothing.