Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Serenity

Boom Boom Boom

I groaned as I woke up with a pounding pain in my head. Sunlight pierced through gaps in the thick red curtains, and I cupped a shaky palm over my eyes to block it out. It felt like my head might split open at any moment.

My mouth had turned bitterly dry, and I couldn't swallow. Water, I needed water. I scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. Wow. If this was a prison, it was nicer than any prison I'd ever seen on tv. The bedroom looked like it was something out of a five-star hotel. Rather than being handcuffed to a chair, a plush goose down comforter enveloped me. My gaze drifted over the room, taking in the opulence and timeless elegance that surrounded me: High ceilings adorned with intricate moldings. Walls hung with tasteful art. A floor covered in a lush, deep red carpet that looked like it would swallow the sound of any movement. The air was perfumed with a subtle scent, an intoxicating blend that both comforted and soothed my pounding head.

But this was still a prison, and I was still someone's captive.

I forced my aching muscles to stretch and sat up on the bed. My mind was still hazy as I emerged from the deep sleep I'd been in. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to collect my thoughts—a fragment of memory floating back to me of a deep, gravelly voice whispering in my ear, "It's all right. I won't let anyone hurt you. You're mine."

The words should have been comforting, but they filled me with a sense of impending doom. I had to escape this place, whatever it was, before it was too late.

I wiped the beads of sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. Beside the bed, a set of French doors stood slightly ajar, leading to freedom. Maybe this was my chance. I could jump out the window or possibly scream for help.

I flipped the quilt off me?—

Crapcrapcrapcrap

I was completely naked. How did I get like this? My breath caught in my throat, and my racing heart pumped against my ribs as tears pushed against the back of my eyes. God, was I destined to be somebody's whore? I clenched my fists. Not happening. Not after I had escaped Freddie's hell.

I wrapped myself in the comforter, dragging it behind me like the train of a wedding gown as I edged toward the French doors. A loud clink made me stiffen and glance over my shoulder. On a nightstand, there was a single glass of red wine next to a crystal decanter. I hadn't even noticed they were there, and somehow the edge of the comforter had caught the stem of the glass. Anger shot through me like a flaming arrow. I gritted my teeth. Had some creep been watching me sleep? Whose wineglass was that? Did it belong to the same pervert who stripped me out of my dress?

I headed over toward the nightstand, but the comforter pushed the glass again, clinking it against the decanter and sloshing the wine back and forth.

I held my breath, afraid someone would burst through the door, but nothing happened. I disentangled the comforter from the nightstand and headed back toward the French doors. My hand shaking, I reached for the handle, determined to find help.

"You can't escape," a male voice said behind me.

Shit

I forced myself to turn to look at the perv who thought he had bought me. Probably some shriveled up, elderly dude. But I froze and my breath left me as I gazed up at the towering figure that seemed to blend the wildness of nature with an unmistakable air of genteel nobility. His long, dark hair framed a face that was both rugged and hauntingly beautiful, with stormy, deep-set green eyes. His muscular physique, visible even beneath his casually elegant attire, spoke of strength and agility. There was an intricate tattoo on his neck that snaked toward his jawline; its inky lines almost pulsing with a life of their own. Blood droplets blended seamlessly into a vine with roses that bloomed in shades of a deep crimson, their beauty contrasting against the danger represented by their sharp thorns. My gaze landed on his cheek where there were deep scratches. They only made him look more rugged. This was a man who clearly lived on the edge of danger.

And he terrified me.

"You can't escape," he repeated, his voice deep. It resonated not with malice but a certain seriousness. It made me realize it wasn't a threat—just a simple statement of fact.

My chest constricted, and I fought to take a deep breath. "Why? Because you think you bought me?"

He cocked an amused eyebrow. "Think? Oh, I can assure you, you belong to me." His words hung heavy in the air between us.

I lifted my chin, trying to hide the quiver in my voice and ignoring the way my hands were shaking at my sides. "I won't be your whore."

My words actually came out stronger than I felt.

He casually lifted a shoulder. "Never said you would." His nonchalant attitude only made me angrier.

He brushed past me and shut the French doors, forcing me to back up and preventing any means of escape. As he went by, I inhaled his spicy scent, one that reminded me of cloves and ancient forests, a captivating blend that evoked thoughts of autumn woods veiled in mist and the warmth of a secluded cabin. His forceful presence was both intriguing and intimidating, and his aroma enveloped me in an unexpected sense of security amid my turmoil.

"Who are you?" I asked, instinctively inching away from him, my back pressing against the cold wall. My only protection was the thick comforter still wrapped around me.

His rugged features were shadowed by the dim lighting in the room. "Angelo Santi," he said with a hint of smugness in his voice. He leaned against the door frame, casually crossing his arms over his chest as if he had all the time in the world.

The name sounded familiar, but my still-sluggish mind couldn't place it. I rubbed my sleek forehead as I tried to think of where I had heard it before. Something I saw on television, perhaps? My brain was too foggy to remember.

"You are free to roam around my home. But know that all my servants and guards are fiercely loyal to me. No one will help you escape."

That didn't mean I wouldn't try. I knew Joy would have reported me missing by now. I glanced at the French doors. Maybe if I screamed my head off, I could draw some policeman's attention and get the hell out of this place that way.

As if my reading my thoughts, his lips pulled into a sinister grin, and my heart skipped a beat. "If you even think about trying to escape, your dear friend Joy DuPont will pay the price." My blood ran cold at the mention of her name.

I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know about Joy?" Hatred laced every word.

"In my business," he put his hands behind his back and strolled around me, "I make a point of learning everything there is to know about a person. Their strengths, wants, weaknesses…In your case, she's a weakness."

"No, she's not. She's like—" I stopped short.

"Like a sister?" He gave me a knowing smile .

Anger nearly choked me. Joy was even more than that. She was the one that had helped me get away from Freddie—yes, she asked her brother to teach me how to use a knife, but she was the one who taught me how to fight. She was a black belt in karate. I wasn't nearly as good as she was, but I was no slouch either. "Stay away from Joy. She's not part of this."

He gave me a cool stare. "If you don't want her to become part of this, don't try to run away. You were lucky to escape Simon's auction. Your friend might not be so fortunate."

"I didn't escape the auction at all! According to you, I'm your property!" I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my tone.

"True, but you're lucky you're with me. There are others, such as Maximo Barone…"

That name I knew. My face paled and I could barely form the words, "The gangster?"

He looked amused. "If that's what you want to call him. If he had bought you…or if he were to buy your friend…I'm afraid?—"

I held up my palm. Tears flickered in my eyes as my chest tightened and defeat crawled down my dry throat to settle in my gut. "All right. All right. Fine."

The fear of anything happening to her gripped my heart with icy terror.

He gave me a curious stare. "Fine? Fine, what?"

My shoulders slumped. "Fine, I won't try and escape."

He took a step closer, his breath reeking of copper and sulfur. "I'm sure you understand what will happen if you break your promise. Your friend will either end up sold or dead. The choice is yours." He lifted my chin with a sharp fingernail, causing me to tremble under his touch. His eyes burned into mine as he spoke.

"So, we have an accord?" His soft words stabbed my heart.

"You're a monster."

He cocked his eyebrow. "That's no answer."

"Yes, damn it. We have an accord ," I spat. I couldn't stand the way his touch made me feel, but at the same time, there was something undeniably alluring about him. What was wrong with me? He was my captor, my enemy.

"Not a monster, by the way," he smirked, his green eyes flashing with red. "A vampire." He bared his razor-sharp fangs in a wicked smile.

"That's impossible," I protested, shaking my head in disbelief. "Vampires aren't real."

He became a blur as he crossed the room; the flick of a light switch seemed like an eternity in comparison. "Are you so sure about that?"

My heart thrashed in my chest like a wild animal desperate to escape. Oh, my god. How had he done that? I licked my lips nervously. "Yes. But even if they were real, based on what I've read, vampires can always heal their wounds. If you're a vampire, why do you have red scratches on your face?"

"I got into a scrape with a wolf," he purred, leaning in closer. "All the nightmares you have heard about—wolf shifters, Unseelie, Fae, witches, dragons, demons, vampires—we're all real. "

He had to be insane. Those were just fairy tales and myths. What twisted game was he playing? Then it hit me that he hadn't answered my question about why he hadn't healed. Was he hiding something, or just plain lying?

"How long have I been here?" My voice was small, the question hanging between us.

"Two days," he answered, leaning closer. "You've been unconscious. The diazepam Simon administered took its toll, along with certain...other factors."

"Other factors?" I echoed, confusion lacing my voice.

He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. "The process of healing you was not without its…complexities. But you're safe now, Serenity. You're in my home—Crescent Manor—in the French Quarter of New Orleans."

I stood my ground, refusing to back down despite the fear churning in my gut. "Safe?" I spat. "I'll only be safe when I'm out of here."

His piercing green eyes locked onto mine, his gaze boring into me like a target. "No, you won't. I wasn't the only one interested in buying you, Serenity. The minute you step out of here, they'll be after you."

My throat tightened as fear nearly choked me. I reached up and rubbed my forehead, trying to ease the tension that was building. "This is just one big, fat fucking nightmare." The frustration and despair in my voice didn't light a bit of compassion in his cold eyes, which seemed to be able to see into my very soul.

Angelo's intense gaze never faltered. "No nightmare. You're here, Serenity, because you hold the key to something far greater than you can imagine. "

His use of my name felt intimate, like a lifeline to keep me grounded in a chaotic situation. But he wasn't a lifeline; he was the enemy who had taken my precious freedom away and threatened to hurt the ones I held dear.

I broke my gaze from his steely one and allowed my eyes to wander around the lavish bedroom again, taking in every detail. There was a painting on the wall of a two-story structure with wrought-iron balconies adorned with trailing greenery and flickering gas lamps that cast a warm, inviting glow. As I stared at it, a sense of déjà vu washed over me. I had seen that building before...on television, maybe? Yes! That was Crimson Stakes on Bourbon Street, one of the many gambling houses Freaky Freddie frequented. And it was owned by someone called Angelo Santi.

My heart sank as realization set in. This man in front of me was the head of one of the most notorious Mafia families in the city. The mere mention of his name struck terror into hearts, his ruthlessness the stuff of legend, which had led to him being known as the Angel of Death. Every hair on my body stood on end as the horrifying connection clicked into place. "Wait, you're Angelo Santi? You're ruthless, evil," I blurted. Fear shook my voice when I realized what I just said.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Ah, so you have heard of me."

"Are you going to kill me?" My resolve was shattering.

He cupped my cheek. While repulsed, I was too scared to move. "Not at all, Serenity. I need you."

I swallowed the dread in my throat, wondering what he meant by that, aside from thinking I would be tastier than a McDonald's Happy Meal .

He dropped his hand. "My servant, Madame Elena Moreau, will assist you. Don't be foolish enough to think she will help you escape. She's been with me for years and her loyalty is unwavering."

He left me standing there, my back plastered against the bedroom wall, as I waited for Elena to come. God, she had to be a vampire too. She'd be a thousand times worse than Frances or Marsha.

I glanced around the room, looking for some kind of weapon. I picked up the wine glass, all set to throw it at her head. If Elena thought she could treat me like vampire chow, she'd be sorely disappointed.

A graceful figure swanned into the room, her silver hair styled in a chic bun and fastened with a single pearl pin. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a flowing red floral skirt, and her feet were clad in elegant red kitten heels. A warm smile played on her lips, revealing a dimple on her right cheek. She had a tattoo on her neck similar to Angelo's.

" Bonjour, mademoiselle , I am Madame Elena Moreau. Please, call me Elena," she greeted me in a soft French accent. Her piercing blue eyes swept over me with motherly concern. "I apologize for leaving you in such a state, but your attire was beyond salvaging. The master had me order new clothes for you, and they have only just now arrived. I hope they will meet with your approval."

I cleared my throat as I slowly put down the wine glass on a dresser. "Are you the one who undressed me?"

" Oui . The master insisted. Don't worry, he didn't come in here while I was cleaning you up. Chef is making quite a feast for you." She headed over to a door and opened it, revealing a luxurious bathroom. "Would you like to shower before I bring the clothes in?" She gave me a sympathetic look. "I think it might make you feel better." Her tone sounded genuine, but I wasn't sure I could trust her.

I wished I had a blade to defend myself. I would feel a million times better. But then again, what would a blade do against vampires? I needed a stake, not a knife.

Misery rolled over me at my plight. I had no choice but to follow Elena's suggestion. I was their prisoner, with no allies, and if I tried to escape, Angelo's threat had been clear: I would condemn my best friend to a life of horrors or even worse, Angelo could kill her. His enemies had a way of disappearing. She was more than a sister. She was my savior who had helped me to escape Freddie's clutches, and I would do anything to protect her—even if it meant staying in this nightmare willingly.