5. Hellena

5

HELLENA

" E verything good?"

I hear the men outside question the "doctor" before he heads back up the stairs. He mumbles something about my vitals before saying quietly, "She's ready."

Once he's gone, I step into the doorway, having dressed and hastily cleaned up our disaster. Even so, I'm sure I look disheveled. Frazzled.

Tell did a number on me, for sure.

But I can't be weak anymore.

"I'd like to be seen to my room, please." It's carefully worded, carefully intoned.

Not quite a request, not quite an order.

Instantly, Grico straightens, giving me a careful look, like he's trying to see something that he missed.

"Your room is right there." He jerks his head toward the cell.

"Not that one. Please. Go ask Marco." Again, I'm careful not to beg or to lash out.

I see him debate with himself before heading toward the stairs. "Wait here."

So I do.

And within a few minutes, he returns and nods for me to follow.

Grico doesn't say a word as we head up the stairs, down the hall to the wing where I slept that one sweet night.

At the door, he stops, opening the way for me, stepping back.

Odd. He doesn't watch me go in, just closes the door behind me.

Where I find quiet again for the first time in days. My guard won't drop completely as I settle into the chair by the window, looking out over the water. But I find that I'm not terrified anymore of their coming to take me back.

The thought of going back down there is…

Just a thing that could happen. Or not.

Maybe they really did break me.

Or maybe I finally found that place past their mechanisms where I can protect myself. Like Tell and Gavin tried to train me so many weeks before. It feels like a lifetime ago.

There in the safe house, cooped up with my guys.

Recovering from a gunshot.

Later in the day, Margaret comes to bring me food. We chat.

It's small talk. Nonsense.

Something about the exchange, however, lets me know that the balance has in fact shifted. That Marco believes I've been culled.

Or he's testing me all over again.

Well, let him. I'm done playing into his hand. It's time for me to play my way.

But that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I rest, spend time in silence, shedding a tear or two for no other reason than to purge the last bit of my pain.

When I wake, the sun is bursting gloriously through my windows.

Margaret, always on call, enters shortly after, offering me breakfast, to lay out my outfit for the day. Like this is… normal.

So I treat it like it is.

I take my coffee and bagel at the table in my room by the window.

I ask her for something to read, and she brings me a tablet. It feels strange looking through headlines, looking at social media. Because the world went on without us, despite our struggles.

Which was always the point, wasn't it?

Sanctum Harbor was supposed to be different. Separate.

Not a single news story references anything related to a disaster, a flood, a criminal enterprise attempting to take over a West Coast town. Like we don't exist.

Like none of what I went through is real.

Once I've dressed, I decide to explore a bit, to test out how strict my stay in these quarters will be. Or if they'll be permanent at all.

The simple pair of designer shorts and a flowing blouse, both extremely nice, are so far from what I would choose.

But it's not like I have any clothing here of my own.

I'm just glad they fit. Never mind the fact that someone filled the room's closet with things in my size. Maybe it's just a coincidence.

Heading down toward the gardens, I pause just inside the double doors in a sort of viewing room. The entire space is filled with the oddest assortment of movie paraphernalia, posters, statues, props, all stacked along the walls. Must have belonged to the previous owner.

Stanger still, mixed throughout and scattered all over the house, are things that Marco and his men must have pilfered from Sanctum. I swear I even recognize a few of the decorations from some of the nicer houses near Tell's family home.

Out through the open glass doors, the spread is more elegant and clearly kept up by a groundskeeper. I inhale, keeping my eyes closed until I'm ready to take it all in, the bright light and the simple aspect of being outdoors.

I haven't been outside in…

The minute I open my eyes, I notice that I'm not alone.

He's slim. Tall. His jet-black hair matches his black shirt, his black suit, cut to tailored perfection. Something in the angle of his chiseled features echoes of Japanese or Korean heritage. But like everything else about him, it's subtle.

He stands perfectly stock-still. Only his eyes move, watching me from the shade of the overhanging second floor.

Maybe he's a guard or some private security.

He's absolutely out of place among the rest of the men I've seen patrolling the grounds.

They're all thugs in suits, either tattooed from head to toe and forced to meet Marco's dress code, or they're ex-military, ex-mercenary, with that clean-cut style, used to wearing a uniform, a tie. And they all look just as appropriate carrying assault rifles.

This guy's different.

He's deadly, for sure.

But in a quiet, subtle way.

Calm.

Still.

"And fucking creepy. Quit looking at me already," I mutter to myself as I cross the grassy expanse to inspect a stone path lined with flowers.

Water gurgles from somewhere ahead, several trees dotting what I am delighted to discover is a pond, more a lagoon by the size. A stone fountain constantly recycles the water into a cascade on the far side.

By the end of the hour, I've explored a fair share of the grounds and the house.

It's as luxurious as anything I've ever seen. And it's a freaking fortress outside.

Guards galore.

A coded gate, digital pads on all the doors.

For now, I just document all of it in my head, taking notes, making mental notes of any patterns I notice in the rotations, the way the guards carry themselves.

They all seem calm enough, but there's an edge there.

Could be discontent, impatience. I'll have to wait and feel out the mood among the ‘troops'.

I'm halfway back to the main hall when I realize how exhausted I am. Figures.

Haven't done this much walking in weeks.

Back in my room, I'm only on the couch a moment before I doze off.

"Miss Hellena?" a gentle voice hums.

"Hmm?" I stir, flinching at the crick in my neck.

Gingerly, I sit up, massaging my sore muscles.

"I did not want to disturb you, but it is nearly time for dinner." Margaret leans into my field of vision, smiling politely from the door.

"I'll eat in a bit. Thank you."

"Um. I took the liberty of laying out an outfit for you." She gestures, a little more insistently this time, toward the bed. "You are looking better already, I can tell. You need to eat to keep up your strength."

"Uh, sure." I stand, crossing to the plush comforter where she laid out a casual gown, flowy, a deep rust color. "This is beautiful, Margaret. Where did all of these clothes come from?"

"They belonged to the daughter of the previous owner. She rarely spent time here."

At least Marco didn't get any of them for me.

And what are the chances that she was a big girl like me?

Of all the things to go right for me…

"I think I'll just eat here tonight."

"I am sorry, but that is not really an option tonight," she says a bit uncomfortably, looking away.

"Ah. Don't feel bad. He ordered me to come eat with him, huh?"

"Requested. But…"

"Yeah. I get it. Have they treated you well, so far?" I ask, genuinely curious how things have gone since Marco clearly took this place from the owner.

"The men can be a bit stiff and scary, but the staff are fine. Mr. Vice pays us well to stay on, even if some of us are a bit nervous about the guns in the house."

"I'll see what I can do about that. You shouldn't have to live in fear."

That's rich coming from me.

And the concerned look she gives me tells me she doesn't buy it for a minute. Either that I have a say in the matter or the fact that I've been a prisoner in this house's basement for weeks.

Neither of us says another word as she helps me dress, does my hair and a hint of makeup.

I don't bother looking at my appearance in the mirror as I walk past, out across the wing's long hallway and down the steps. The formal dining room is on the far end of the house, closer to Marco's quarters, his office.

"Deep breath," I whisper right before I step into the ballroom-like space.

Seeing him sitting there at the far end of the table is more of a shock to my system than I thought it would be. Not crippling. Not world-shattering.

He was right the other night.

He broke that out of me. Now, it's just a dull, buzzing hum of apprehension in my bones.

Like a presence watching over my shoulder, keeping me poised. Tense.

"Hellena. You look well."

"I'm fine."

"So said the doctor. I regret the steps we had to take to get here."

Does he, now?

I bow my head just a bit as I cross to my chair, placed at the opposite end of the long table. At least I won't have to sit beside him.

"We are here, though. I'm ready to… behave." The words hurt coming out.

"It will all be for the best in the long run. You are a strong woman, Hellena. I needed to hone you, sculpt you into the woman you need to be to rule at my side. To cut away those foolish feelings you held so tightly. They only hold you back."

"I agree."

In a way. It feels easier than ever to imagine biding my time, now. Until I have a chance, whether tomorrow or in five years, to end his life.

"Then we are of an understanding? What a relief. Now you may indulge yourself a bit, if you like. We have time before we make another move, to plan, to rest. I have business down south to attend to the next few days. I trust you will take advantage of that time to pamper yourself."

"Thank you. I was thinking I might do more than that, though."

"Oh? Like what?"

"I want to learn more about your operation. Your plans for Sanctum. While I am resolved to joining you, I still care about the people there."

"Of course you do. And I would be a fool to try and keep you from assisting them. All in due course. For now, do not worry yourself with those things."

The finality in his tone tells me to drop it for now.

Dinner is served, along with wine, bread. Several courses, all spread out between us. It's a feast.

Marco waits until we've had a chance to take a few bites, to sip the dark red the butler poured us. It's decadent. Perfectly prepared.

Marco always had a taste for elegance.

"What do you think?"

"Spectacular."

"You used to throw a fit when you were little if there wasn't macaroni with every meal," he comments, smiling like we're actually family. Like the memories aren't fucking horrible.

Maybe they weren't for him.

"Well, I'll never turn down a good bowl of mac and cheese. But this wine is phenomenal."

"Ah, yes, it's actually from one of my vineyards in Sonoma. Excellent vintage."

"You own vineyards?"

"Two wineries. You know, in another life, I could have simply grown grapes. I love the science of winemaking. The precision, the artistry. You'll have to come with me for a visit one day. You won't want to leave."

"You think you'll ever have time for that?" I sniff, shaking my head. "Running an empire doesn't exactly scream free time."

"Ha, you are too right. But one day, things will be better. I may seem like a violent, oppressive man to you. In reality, I dream of a better world. That is why your mother fell in love with me, you know? We had such hopes. But she couldn't stomach the things I needed to do to get to the top of the heap." He sneers the last words, accenting them with a hint of disgust, either for his own actions or my mother's disdain.

"You're at the top. So now what?"

"A tenuous hold at best," he mutters into his glass, his eyes distant.

I just manage to hide my surprise. He's being unexpectedly candid with me.

"Things aren't going well in California?"

"I am stretched thin. This deal with the Sinful cost me dearly. And the man I was dealing with was a strawman, a pawn."

"Mayor Vanderbelt."

"Yes. he convinced me that he was one of them, the leaders."

Of course he would. Tell's dad had lofty aspirations, just like Devonde. They wanted to be the next in line for the Seven.

"And now, some powerful people, people I made promises to, are calling to collect. They want results, as do I. Which is why I had to cut through the chaff, find a real connection to the untapped power and wealth of Sanctum Harbor."

"Me."

"Yes."

"We found my father's house. His safe." It slips out before I can censor myself.

Marco perks up, his eyes glittering. "And?"

"And I was researching his journal, the files he left."

"What did you find?" He leans over the table.

"An explosion." I fail to hide my grin at his immediate scowl. "I was interrupted before I could put all the pieces together. Then I was… detained."

"If only you had been so forthcoming with me before, we might have combined our efforts. Where is this information now?"

"At my father's house."

"Damon. He always intrigued me, the memory of him, the mystery of him. Cynthia never spoke much about him."

Pressing my lips together, I grip my skirt to control my bubbling anger. He talks about her so casually, like he's not the one who broke her down for years, then killed her.

"I didn't know much about him, either. But what I did find… there's more. I know there is. He alluded to it. I just need to get back there and find it."

Bait dropped.

Plant the seed. Let it grow.

Because I can't let Marco know that I have no clue about the alleged treasure or secret of the Sinful. Or that my dad actually didn't say much of anything other than how I might go about taking over his seat of the Seven. Even there, I barely scratched the surface.

I really do need to get his things back, to keep looking.

"Ah, well. Enough of that for now. Enjoy dinner. Enjoy this place. There will be no more discomfort as long as we are on the level, yes?"

"I appreciate the reassurances," I droll, trying not to roll my eyes.

Alright, I can't keep from being sarcastic all the time.

And he lets it slide. This time.

"Good behavior merits benefits. Soon, that unpleasantness will be a distant memory."

The rest of the meal is… not pleasant . But as close to it as being around Marco could ever be.

He's so much more like I remember him as a child, when he was still trying to win me over with gifts and games, laughter. It's a mask, I know.

But it's better than the vicious, soulless side of him that watched me get beaten and half-drowned in the basement. This Marco is amenable. If I can keep him this way, I can make progress toward helping Sanctum.

"Before we retire, there is someone I would like you to meet." One finger rises to wave at a security guard near the door. The man slips out.

"In order to maintain order between us, especially when I am gone, I want to put safeguards in palace. For your sake and mine, to make sure that I can trust you."

"We don't have to pretend that we'll ever trust each other. Not completely."

"Always so blunt. One quality I admire in you, when you aren't using it to be a foul-mouthed brat. No, that is precisely why I decided that you should have a bodyguard. Someone who will help you stay out of trouble."

Immediately, I feel my stomach sink.

He's going to keep me on a leash.

"I am no fool, and I know you are not stupid, Hellena. We both know you ran away, what, almost nine years ago? Hid from me. Truly disappeared. To this day, I can't believe you pulled it off."

"Trade secrets. Magicians can't tell, you know."

"There's that abrasive attitude. A fault of yours. Just like it is a fault of mine, the need to know every secret. To uncover details. To know everything. Or at least try."

"So you want eyes on me, to find out the answers to my secrets?"

"Something like that. More accurately, I want accountability. Consider him… an encouraging presence for you to come to me with your discoveries. To come to me for permission when you want to offer aid, or whatever it is you have planned for Sanctum in the future."

"Him?" My hands start to shake under the table.

Who could he be placing with me, to watch me night and day…

When the doors open, a face-palming revelation washes over me.

Of course it's him.

The man from the gardens.

Still black-clad, smooth shaven, cold-as-ice calm. His almond-shaped eyes hover toward me, hiding any hint of emotion.

"Hellena, I would like you to meet Sing Senegal. He will be your companion, your assistant, your driver, your friend."

Friend. Right.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Senegal," I force out, meeting that stoic, unwavering gaze.

And the fucker just nods, cocking his head to the side slightly, not saying a word.

This is going to be a huge. Fucking. Problem.