8. Visitor

EIGHT

VISITOR

CROSS

P art of me can’t help but wonder if it would’ve been better for the both of us if the crash was meant to take us out.

I woke up before Genevieve did after. Not surprisingly. Whatever they gave us to make us docile and easy to transport from Springfield to wherever the hell we are now, it had to have been a strong dose. I’ve got a good fifty pounds on Genevieve easy, plus I don’t sleep. Ever. They’re lucky enough that I knocked out as long as I did, but I expected that Genevieve would be unconscious a lot longer than I was.

What I didn’t expect? Was how full of rage I’d be when I came to and found her sprawled next to me on a tiny cot, laid out like a broken doll.

I told her that I tried to bust the door down so we could escape. That might’ve been a bit of an understatement. After seeing the rough way they treated her, I saw fucking red . I threw my body at the glass, kicked it, even risked my hand by punching it, but nothing I did made any impact.

I got control of myself by the time she was waking up, but surprise, surprise: I managed to get it all wrong then, too. In my bid to keep her calm and promise that I’ll keep her safe, I somehow managed to make Genevieve think that I had something to do with this. Luckily, she realized that I couldn’t almost immediately after she made her accusation, but that still cut me to the core.

I would never hurt her. Never . And no matter what I have to do to prove that to her, I will.

In return, she trusts me to hold her while she sleeps, and if it wasn’t for the fact that we’re being trapped by some unknown villain, treated like trash by his goons, I might’ve marveled over the fact that Genevieve was right: in the most unlikely and unfortunate of circumstances, I found a cure to the insomnia that’s plagued me almost my whole life.

Who knew it would take a blonde ballerina believing in me and my promises enough to allow me the pleasure to hold her close to chase away the demons that constantly kept me awake?

I don’t look forward to what’ll happen when we get out of here. Not leaving isn’t an option. Whatever it takes, I will make sure that Genevieve is safe long enough for either her brother’s Family or my syndicate to find us and burn the world down for taking us prisoner, no matter who the target is.

Genevieve believes it has to be her. As much as I hate to admit it, I have to agree that they came after her because of her last name. A man like Damien Libellula doesn’t accrue as much power as he does without making formidable enemies. He only just survived an attempt on his life two weeks ago. Is Genevieve’s abduction retaliation for that?

Or something more sinister at play?

I got nabbed for a reason, too. That prick said that their boss has a problem with mine. If I had any doubts that this was syndicate-related—whether mine or Genevieve’s Family—they’re gone now. Whoever is running the show wants a pet Sinner and Dragonfly, and he has them.

What is he going to do with us? I haven’t a goddamn clue, and as awful as those first couple of days in our cage were—without food to sustain us, and my caffeine withdrawals a bitch to get through—I should’ve known that it would only get worse when our captor decided we were worth feeding after all.

He has a reason to keep us alive. I don’t know what it is, but as long as he has one, I thought we were okay. At the very least, I thought Genevieve was untouchable.

I was wrong .

If we count every time we sleep more than an hour or so at a time as another full night, it’s day six in our cage. By now, I’ve picked up enough on the routine to figure out some details to help us survive.

Food. We get fed twice, a meal we consider ‘breakfast’ and one that’s ‘dinner’. It’s never anything too elaborate. Mac and cheese. A cold hamburger from a fast food joint. A stale croissant from one of those coffee chains you find on every damn corner in Springfield. Pasta. We wash it down with sink water, and wait for one of the goons to pick up the plates.

The plates are always plastic, as though they’re worried we might smash a ceramic one and use the shard to go for their jugular. And if I thought about snapping one of the plates in half and seeing if that might make a good weapon, it’s pointless when the plates are too flimsy to break.

The goons. Turns out, there are at least three of them. Mickey is the squat one with a bit of a belly. Noah has the ponytail, mustache, and the gap between his teeth. Then there’s the bald guy who’s at least a head taller than both of them, who looms in the hallway as the other two take care of serving us the food.

He’s the one who gives me a bad vibe. Even as a kid, I learned to listen to my gut. I knew Chad was trouble the first time my mother brought him home, and I got the same unsettled feeling when Twig came to me to get his Sinners brand. When I saw Devil blow him away from disrespecting Ava the way Twig did, I knew my gut got it right.

I can’t only imagine what this guy is capable of, and I watch him closer than I do the other ones when they open our cage.

That, I realize too late, was a mistake. So concerned with the quiet, glaring bald guy, I completely missed the way Mickey started looking at Genevieve the way she did that first plate of pasta they brought us.

Like he’s starving for her.

By the time I caught on, I started moving in front of Genevieve so that he didn’t get to ogle her. That worked for two days, but on the third?

He doesn’t follow the routine.

First of all, the goons only come by our cage twice a day. Other than that, they leave us the hell alone. We had ‘breakfast’ already—a stack of dry pancakes we were forced to choke down—and only about an hour ago, Noah and the big, bald guy stood there as we used our hands to pick at a couple of pieces of oily fried chicken.

Genevieve barely ate a wing before declaring herself too full to continue. Before Noah barked at her to finish, I tore into the chicken breast myself. That satisfied the prick enough, and they disappeared down the hall.

We’d only just finished doing our best to wash the grease away without any soap when a heavy footstep echoed down the hall.

Genevieve’s eyes widen, both in curiosity and in fear.

I rise up from the cot in time to see Mickey fiddling with the keypad outside our cell. The door slides open, he steps inside, and almost immediately it closes behind him.

And he’s alone. No back-up. No help.

This is our chance.

I have every intention of doing something. Bum-rushing him, using my shoulder to knock him down, maybe even throttling him if I could get my hands around his thick neck first. Something. I would do anything to save Genevieve, and this seems like it might be my only chance.

And that’s when he reaches behind him, pulling out a revolver, and my plans are suddenly on hold.

“Sit down.”

I freeze in front of the cot.

He cocks the gun. “I said, sit down.”

“Cross, please,” whispers Genevieve.

I drop down on my cot beside her.

Mickey grins. “Better. Now, just in case you get any idea of trying to do anything funny, remember that I won’t hesitate to use this.” He gestures with the butt of the gun behind him. “ That door’s on a timer. In ten minutes, it’ll open again, and I’m walking out of here by myself. You can be alive at the end of the ten minutes, or you can be bleeding out on the floor. Your choice, da Silva.”

Keeping my voice as calm as possible, I ask, “And what takes ten minutes?”

The creepy bastard licks his lip. “All depends on how good she is. So why don’t you tell me?”

Next to me, Genevieve grabs my thigh.

I dare him to make another innuendo. I don’t give a hit that he has a gun. If he’s saying, what I think he’s saying…

Mickey sighs. “See? This is why I told the boss man that you should have your own cells. I wouldn’t need to keep the gun out if you were tucked away, but it is what it is. I came here to get what I’m owed…” He pauses for a moment, laughing as if he said something funny. “Maybe not one of the Owed. If I was, it wouldn’t be a lot easier to get that Haven bitch to play nice without breaking her.” His beady eyes land on Genevieve. “You gonna be a good girl, sweetheart, or you gonna need to be broken in, too?”

She blinks, stunned. “What?”

Mickey keeps the gun on me while addressing Genevieve. “See, now, the other bitch got booted when she went mute. I didn’t need her to speak to suck my cock, but without her here… this is one of the perks of dungeon duty. If I want to get off, I’m getting off. It’s been days. The boss said I needed to wait until you were settled in. Fuck it. I’ve waited long enough.” His eyes slant over at me. “Don’t try to be a hero, boy. Don’t try to stop me. You can get your piece of ass when I’m done, but no one said you can’t share her mouth.”

He’ll shoot me. This guy is just looking for an excuse to do it, and no one is going to stop him. No one is going to stop him from shoving his cock past Genevieve’s lips, making her gag on his length if that’s what he wants.

No one, but me.

I don’t even glance over at Genevieve. If I see the horror that has to be written on her face, I won’t be able to control myself. A dead man can’t protect her, so I need to be smart.

Too bad, my brain seems to haywire as Mickey keeps the gun trained on me as he uses his other hand to open his pants, pulling out his hard cock.

“No,” whimpers Genevieve. “I… no .”

Ignoring her, Mickey strokes his dick, making sure that neither me or Genevieve can miss what he’s doing. “Listen. Yeah? I’ll make this is as clear as I can: I’m not leaving until my dick gets wet, one way or another. And that means I won’t be going up to check in with the boss, or bringing down any more food for you. If I won’t, neither will Noah and Brady. Hey. Two days made you hungry. Maybe a week will have you realizing that sucking me off isn’t so bad when you get a meal out of it.”

Genevieve trembles next to me—and that seals it. I need to be smart. I need to have a plan.

This is the only one I’ve got.

“Fuck it,” I say, my voice a casual drawl that conceals the rage burning through my veins. “I’ll do it.”

Her fingers dig into my thigh, clutching me.

I pretend not to notice as I wait to see how this blackmailing asshole will react to my offer.

His face turns thoughtful, though his hand never leaves his dick. “Didn’t take you for a fag, da Silva.”

I expected as much. The slur, and the thoughtful caress as though he’s not opposed to the idea.

“I’m not. But you said it yourself. You want your dick wet. One mouth’s as good as another. The girl doesn’t want to do it so I guess I have to.”

The bastard’s eyes light up. Not in amusement or excitement, though. That’s sadistic pleasure, pure and simple. “You seem so eager. How can I refuse?”

Dumb fuck. He should .

I shrug. “Ten minutes, tops. Right? I blow you for ten minutes and you leave us the fuck alone.”

“For tonight,” Mickey greedily agrees.

No. Forever .

“Can I get up or are you going to shoot me?”

“Try something smart and I will.”

I don’t doubt it.

The second my ass starts to leave the cot, Genevieve reluctantly releases her death grip on me.

“Cross,” she breathes out.

I glance over my shoulder, giving her a quick look that promises that I got this, before turning to face Mickey again.

His smirk tells me all I need to know. This is a power play for him. Just like my stepfather. He’s a tough guy. A big shot. Someone obviously put him and the others in charge of the captives, and if he can be believed, he already abused another woman enough that she lost the ability to speak. I won’t let him touch Genevieve if I can help it, and if I have to potentially trigger my own abuse to protect her, I will .

Mickey’s getting off on my acquiescence already. I got it right when I said that one mouth’s as good as another because he’s gripping his erection by the base, angling the stubby cock so that I can wrap my lips around the head without any hesitation. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that I’m a man. He wants his dick sucked, and the fact that he’s got a Sinner willingly going to his knees might almost excite him more than forcing Genevieve to do it.

She sucks in a breath that might be a sob, but I don’t turn around this time. To make my legs obey, to bend my knees, to drop to one, then the other in front of a naked cock… I need all my grit and determination to do this.

For her. It’s for her, and I don’t think I can handle seeing a flash of horror twisting her features right now—or after.