Darcingtowne Wolves: The Flower Moon Games (Book 2)

Chapter Nine: Stockholm Syndrome

The tile floor where the corpse of Vanessa Chastain had lay cooling only a few hours earlier in a pool of her own blood was now as clean as Desmond’s hands were dirty. Metaphorically speaking, for the most part, since Desmond had always been the conscientious sort. People had a tendency to associate rogues with being dirty, so he always strove to be as clean as possible. 

That’s why he was in the bathroom at the concierge’s office washing his hands, wearing a frown of concentration on his rugged face as he scrubbed thoroughly under his nails, when his WIC Company issued smartphone began pinging. He’d just gone on shift as the evening concierge, taking over for Edwin, who had spent a good five minutes complaining about how the females were running him ragged before he finally left.

Apparently, one of the she-wolves had ordered one of every breakfast item on the menu. When he glanced at his phone and saw an order for one of each of the desserts that they had on offer, Desmond chuckled a little. Apparently, the ravening she-wolf was back at it. Then, as he looked closer, and saw which of their ‘honored guests’ placed the order, he felt his sweat turn cold.

Say what you might about Carrie’s kidnappers, they sure did know how to feed a girl. Carrie hadn’t eaten everything on the breakfast meal, but she did manage to sample a portion of each meal. That said, she still had a little room left over for dessert.

So, she’d proceeded to order one of each dessert from the room service menu, and patiently awaited the arrival of half a dozen varieties of sweets - plus a bottle of strawberry wine. It was times like these that Carrie blessed her wolfish heritage. Not only was she resistant to the effects of alcohol, but she had a bottomless cast iron stomach.

When she was younger, she’d impressed quite a few mundy girls by handily winning a girl scouts hosted eating contest. At the time, Carrie’s very human mother thought it would be good to get her involved with normal, mundane activities that she herself had enjoyed as a child. That ended quickly when, during the second eating contest - and the last one she’d ever participated in - Carrie’s fangs descended as she smashed face first into a perfectly innocent watermelon, swallowing chunks of its tender, pink flesh without so much as spitting out the seeds.

While she was sure that none of the children or parents who had witnessed the event remembered it, seeing as how mundies had a tendency to simply overlook anything that didn’t jive with their understanding of reality, her mother no longer pushed her to participate in activities that put her in close contact with large groups of mundies. Until she was old enough to control her more animalistic urges, anyway.

Right now, Carrie saw no need for control. She was going to eat until she was fit to puke, and then pass out on the cloud of a king size bed that she was currently sprawled across in nothing but the fluffy robe that had been waiting for her in the luxurious bathroom. The shower had jets. Jets! Even Penny’s shower didn’t have jets in it.

Still, as she waited in the quiet of the deepest part of the night with nothing to distract her from her thoughts, Carrie felt the hope that she’d been desperately trying to hold on to wane. Try as she might to pretend, she knew that this was not actually a fun all-expenses paid resort. That much had been obvious when she opened up the curtains over her windows and found that they were barred. Not just barred, but shuttered as well. Good grief.

There was a soft chime from the vicinity of her room's door, letting her know that the concierge was there to deliver her food. Carrie grunted softly as she pushed herself up into a seated position.

“Coming, coming.” she called, more to herself than for the concierge’s benefit, as she made her way to the little delivery cabinet. 

Carrie had the distinct feeling that the rude asshole who had delivered her breakfast for dinner orders was unimpressed by her antics. It took him a whole five minutes to transfer all the food she’d ordered through the slot, which had really only been meant to hold a single large tray at a time. It did not help that Carrie had spent the whole five minutes giggling uncontrollably. But, whatever. f**k that guy and his grumpy she-wolf trafficking ways. 

She needed to take whatever thin slivers of joy she could get in this hellhole, and if that meant ordering a ridiculous amount of food then so be it.

Speaking of which, the delectable smell of sweets hit her nose as soon as she opened her side of the delivery cabinet. Carrie squealed in delight as she pulled the first tray from the slot. It had two plates - one with a selection of rich raspberry and cherry chocolate truffles, and a second with an oblong dish of creme brulee that had a thin, glassy layer of caramelized sugar on top along with a garnish of thinly sliced strawberries.

“There’s two more trays, Miss Carolyn.” came a voice very unlike the jerk she’d dealt with earlier, who was a touch nasally.

It was the deep, bassy kind of voice that reverberated down a woman’s body all the way to her toes. The kind of voice that spoke of danger; but the good kind of danger. Carrie shook her head, trying to shake off the tingly feeling that the voice had given her. What was wrong with her?

Carrie accepted the remaining two trays of dessert, and was about to close the cabinet when the man spoke again.

“My name is Desmond, Miss.” Desmond said politely, though his voice sounded tinged with ...regret? He sounded a little pained, like he hated being involved with these awful games. But, maybe she was reading too much into things. Regardless, she paid close attention as he continued, “I will be on the night shift for the remainder of your stay. Please feel free to reach out to me via the Concierge app if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, I...uhm...I’ll let you know if I think of anything.” Carrie replied, not sure why she was suddenly feeling so heated. Ugh! Had she really just thanked one of her kidnappers? This guy had barely spoken half a dozen sentences to her, there was no way she was developing Stockholm syndrome already - right? 

“Goodnight, Desmond.” Carrie sputtered, quickly shutting her side of the delivery cabinet before she lost any more of her marbles.

Desmond rubbed a little at his chest as he wheeled his trolley back towards the kitchen. Despite knowing that this would most likely end in nothing with heartbreak, just hearing his precious mate say his name aloud had warmed him through. She had a lovely voice, soft and husky with a raspy quality that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

If only she’d been saying his name in a different context - greeting him gleefully as he picked her up for a dinner date, or squealing it as he picked her up and spun around with her in his arms. If only they weren’t stuck in this f****d up place, with all these f****d up people. If only he wasn’t one of those f****d up people.

Why was it that he signed on to being a covert agent again? The thrill of the job, which he used to prize so highly, no longer held the appeal it once had. The goofy smile that he’d been wearing since the all too brief encounter with his mate fled from his face as reality sank back in.

Tomorrow was the first challenge, and he still needed to prepare and deliver the contestants' gifts from their patrons. Desmond sighed heavily; it was going to be a long night.

Carrie was spread out like a starfish across the wide expanse of her bed. She rubbed absently at her stomach, which was exposed as she’d pulled her nightgown up. She sighed contentedly as she licked at her sticky, sugar sweet fingers.

She’d spent the last half hour stuffing her face and turning some things over in her mind. Carrie had a tendency to trust her instincts, and she was almost a hundred percent sure that that flicker of regret she’d heard in the night shift concierge’s voice was real. There had to be a way that she could use that to her advantage. Maybe she could use that sympathy to turn him? She wasn’t sure what good that could do, seeing as how he was just one wolf, but it couldn’t hurt.

Carrie rolled onto her stomach and hugged one of the feather stuffed pillows close, huffing a little. It was far too late, and she was far too exhausted to do any more thinking. Soon, her breathing slowed and her eyes fluttered shut as sleep overtook her. The last thing she recalled as the final vestiges of consciousness fled from her was the sound of a smooth, bassy voice speaking her name in that tender, slightly sad tone.