7. Hellena

7

HELLENA

" W hat would you like for breakfast today, Miss Hellena?"

"Hmm… I think I would love some French toast. Ooh, and bacon!"

"Right away. Chef is so thrilled to have someone so appreciative of his food to cook for!"

"Happy to keep him busy," I groan, stretching out in the cool, smooth sheets.

Margaret opens the curtains to let some of the golden morning sun in. I almost marvel at it.

Just like I almost enjoy the feeling of the high thread count. The late sleeping hours. The gourmet cooking.

However, the wall that I built in the darkness won't let too much through.

I can't be over-stimulated. I can't fully enjoy anything.

Maybe ever again.

To let that part of me awaken would be a worse torture than what they've done so far. Down that path lies madness.

Humor helps alleviate some of the need for solace.

Anger helps smooth over the rest.

But I can pretend that I'm fine and that I'm adjusting to the way of life expected of me.

I can play the part expected of me. Especially if it keeps me out of that dungeon.

"Oh, and I think I will take breakfast in the sunroom!" I announce with a wide smile.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Most days lately, I wear my robe and slippers, comfortable things for the first half of the day. Call it an indulgence, but it keeps me calm until the horrors of my nightmares fade. Like a weighted blanket of dissociation and other coping mechanisms.

Usually around noon, or a bit after.

It also serves to send the message that I am the princess of this palace, if not the queen. The guards all but ignore me, most of them unaware that only a few days ago, I was locked up under the house. Which in retrospect, I am very glad for because the attentions of most of these men would have been all the wrong kind.

Less attention is better. No attention is best.

The shape of a plan has started to form in my head since Marco assigned Sing to be my shadow. With that oversight, Marco has been more lenient, less involved. I think he's preoccupied with affairs down south.

Which means he spends most of his time on the phone in his office.

Or leaves for a day at a time.

Leaving me the run of the place. So, I've explored a bit, done as much digging as I can without arousing suspicion. I can't exactly take over his office, but I've poked around.

I found some passwords, things I may be able to use when the time is right.

And I've slowly begun to test the waters with what I can get away with. Ordering a guard here and there to do my bidding, to run some odd errand in town for me, shows me how they see me.

Mostly harmless. But clearly, to be obeyed…

I'll have to see just how far I can push that.

My breakfast is as scrumptious as expected. Only the best for Marco Vice and his future wife.

Ew.

Fucking. Gross.

But it's a truth that defines my reality for the time being. Denying it, ignoring it, or thinking way too much about it only makes me sick with worry and dread.

I take a final bite of syrup soaked bread when he slips into the room, always perfectly silent. Sing takes his seat across from me, crossing one leg neatly over the other and folding his hands on his lap.

"Good morning, Mr. Senegal."

He blinks, which is his way of saying that he's alive. Left twitch means not great, right twitch means fine.

"Good morning, Miss Hellena," I reply, deepening my voice to mimic him. Not that I have much of a clue what his voice sounds like. He's said all of two words to me since we met.

"Coffee?" I offer, gesturing to the cup I always have the maid bring for him.

Sing inhales, exhales. Stares at me.

"I would love some, certainly, but it gives me the grumble-guts."

"Ah, we can't have that, can we?"

"Indeed. I must be ever vigilant for your safety in this fortress. No time for diarrhea."

And he doesn't even crack a smile!

It's become a test, a game, for me to try to find his buttons.

All I've managed to discover is that he doesn't like cottage cheese. This only based on the fact that I asked him if he liked it, then proceeded to slather my toast with it. His upper lip twitched once as he watched me eat it.

This time, however, one eyebrow raises, just a fraction.

Aha. So toilet jokes and immaturity must be a source of annoyance.

Or he's fucking with me.

"So, Sing, may I call you Sing? Splendid. What's on the docket today?"

"Well, your highness, you have a list about a mile long of very interesting things to see to, but I've highlighted the most crucial," I parrot.

"Proceed!" I wave to my left before tilting to my right and putting back on my mockery of his stern visage.

"First, we should take a field trip down to the water. A walk on the beach would do wonders for your mood and complexion. You've spent far too much time indoors being tortured."

"Excellent. Thank you for noticing. Perhaps after, we might head into town, grab a bite to eat, do a spot of shopping?"

"My thoughts exactly," ‘Sing' replies. "Your wardrobe is positively atrocious and does not suit you."

"You thought so too? I didn't realize you had such a sense of fashion?—"

"Ahem." He clears his throat, interrupting me.

My eyes widen as he looks up at me from under hooded lids, looking almost… irritated?

Hedging my bets that I actually might get an answer, I push on.

"What kind of music do you like?"

His lips press together slightly.

"Classical. Mostly." His voice is higher than I thought it would be. Silky. Smooth. Musical. Good gracious, I would have never guessed.

My mouth snaps shut when I realize I'm gaping at him.

"And folk music."

"W-wha? Wait, like 70s Cat Stevens type stuff or more like country?"

One eyebrow flicks up. "Yes."

"That wasn't a yes or no question…"

He shrugs.

"I can't imagine you liking country."

Blank stare.

"Fine, I can't imagine anything about you."

"That's on purpose."

Which explains why he's avoided one on ones, waiting just out of conversation range most of the time. Not that I haven't tried to engage him.

Or figure out where the hell he goes at night.

It's like he vanishes as soon as I close my door. And I'd know, because I've tried to sneak out to follow him three times, now.

"Do you know when Marco is coming back?" I say suddenly, trying to maintain the momentum of what qualifies as an extensive conversation with him.

Sing shakes his head, looking away, out into the gardens. He raises three fingers, then four.

"Hmm. Three or four more days? Interesting," I muse, leaning back.

This is the longest Vice has been gone so far.

And he took the three stooges, Grico, Vance, and Lonnie, with him.

Leaving who in charge? Sing?

I need to figure out the hierarchy in the guards.

But Sing isn't the best place to start.

"Where are you from? California?"

"Sure."

"Liar."

"It's where I lived longest."

"After…"

A long sigh.

"Thailand," he says finally. But the snappy way he says it is a slap in the face, a clear indication that I shouldn't press on the issue.

Besides, teasing him reminds me of Evan and Tell, teasing and bickering over one of Gavin's meals around our table at the safe house, at my dad's house…

All thoughts of food or coffee fade.

And with my mostly one-sided conversation puttering out, I stretch, pondering what I might fill the rest of my day with. The theater room has just about every movie imaginable. I'll probably take a bath. Explore the upper floor.

A bored, resolved sigh slips through my lips.

Sing blatantly ignores it.

With his typical smooth grace, he slips out a newspaper from inside his coat, spreading the pages open and dropping his eyes to read. I swear he doesn't actually read any of it.

It's just to get me to shut up or to keep me from pursuing conversation.

But today, I read the front page headlines as he scans some article inside.

"What the hell?" I whisper, genuinely stunned, but maybe leaning into it a bit.

Sing looks up to my tone, his brow furrowing more than I've ever seen it. A tilt of his head asks the question and I point to the front page.

"‘ Zombie Found on Venice Beach, New Drug Suspected' . I didn't realize you read tabloid garbage, Singy," I comment as he turns the paper to read the headline.

After reading the first few lines, he glances up, his lips tightening.

"What?"

He sighs, sliding the paper toward me.

The article is mostly fluff. Speculating where the guy came from, the strange, mindless, wild behavior witnesses noted the man displaying before he dropped dead on the sand.

Until I get to the description of the body found.

Desiccated, like he hadn't eaten in days. Signs of infection ignored.

Raving, unintelligible speech. Skin and clothes appearing stained with mud.

But none of that strikes as sharply as the picture of the patch on the ratty jacket the guy was wearing.

"Holy shit…"

It's undeniably the emblem of the Holy Ghosts.

I'd recognize the hooded, white, skull-like design anywhere.

How the hell did one of them wind up in North Cali?

And what does it mean for Sanctum?

The paper is dropping to the table when I see the last quote at the end of the article.

" The only thing I understood him say clearly, right before he died, was, ‘Seven! Seven! Seven! They'll be the death of us all! '"

A cloud passes over the vibrant sun, darkening the sunroom. But more than that, a shadow passes through me.

For a moment, I forget Sing is there, staring in stunned silence at the page.

"Miss Michaels?" he says, and I jerk, looking up at him, second-guessing that he spoke at all.

"I–I'm fine. Just creeped out."

Without another word, he scoops up the paper, tucking it under his arm and sweeping from the room like a specter. The way he moves without a single sound makes me shiver again, rubbing my arms.

Or maybe it's the sudden, deep, lonely feeling that settles over me.

Go figure, I would start to appreciate having him around constantly. Even if I do try to ditch him all the time, playing hide and seek and trying to sabotage his job.

Any presence is comforting at this point.

But I'm on my own. Always. So I get up, leaving my breakfast plate and coffee half finished, and head back upstairs.

An hour later, I'm soaking in the massive tub.

It's a sort of mid-morning ritual that I've assumed, unwinding, usually with a glass of white wine.

Yeah. I know.

Morning wine.

I'm winning at life.

Forced staycation. Shut off from doing anything to help the people I love.

All of my plans so far have come up against the walls of this elegant prison and the guards patrolling outside. There has to be some way for me to get ahead.

So I put my mind to work, drifting in the hot water, the steam.

Meditating. Or at least shutting off my busy brain of anxiety and useless ruminating, hoping that a spark of inspiration will come.

Additionally, the bath time is devoid of any interruptions.

Margaret won't come in unless I call. Sing won't bother me.

The first couple of days, the only thoughts I had were of breaking all of Marco's shit. Smashing the trophies he took from Sanctum.

But it's short-sighted.

I need him to let me in close enough to end him.

He likely knows better than to let me near him in that way, which might explain why he hasn't shown any interest in becoming intimate with me.

Thank every god across the universe for that.

Shoving that thought aside, I drift back toward Sanctum in my mind.

Home.

However, when I think of home, I realize that it's not the place I think of. Or not just the place.

It's them.

My three guys.

The scalding bath eases my tension as images of them flit freely behind my closed eyes. Their faces, Tell's sparkling emerald eyes, Evan's smoldering gaze, Gavin's hint of a smile.

Instantly, I feel my body flush from more than just the heat of the soapy water.

Maybe it's the wine, hitting a little harder than usual.

I let myself sink into the quiet that Tell taught me those months before.

The same calm I used to survive my hell at Grico and Lonnie's hands.

Only now, I see my lovers, their muscular bodies shifting around me, skin grazing against skin, lips brushing my shoulders, my neck, my breasts. Fingertips scraping along my full, thick thighs.

My hands are theirs as I stroke circles over my belly, down my hips.

Each of them had a way, their own special way of touching me.

Each time I touch myself, I flash through all three, the memories of the sensations setting my head spinning, my body arching in anticipation of more.

Evan's eyes lock onto mine as he pinches my chin between his fingers, raising my lips to his, claiming my mouth. Just as Gavin's massive hands find those curves, the dip right inside my hips, massaging his fingers down toward my center. All the while, Tell nibbles my ear, my neck, tweaking my nipples and sending chills through my entire body.

Reaching back, I grip him, his rigid length flexing in one hand. The other finds Evan in front of me, guiding him toward my core, slipping his rock hard shaft between my thighs, dragging my clit along him, all while Gavin presses into me from behind. He slips up between my slick, soapy ass cheeks, idly grinding into me, driving me wild with the promise of that pumping rhythm sliding into me instead.

In seconds, I'm burning up, sweat beading on my forehead.

Two fingers spear into my folds, spreading me apart. Getting me ready for them.

Another hand slips down behind me, caressing my other entrance, toying with the idea of being with all three of them, of taking them all at once.

Tell's thumb spirals over my clit, making me bite down on my lip hard.

Right before a finger slips into my opening, curling tightly against my front, pressing that sweetest spot. But just for a second.

I need them to make it last.

To build the tension and anticipation until I want to fucking scream.

God, I love the way they all made me scream.

"Evan…" I moan, his cock plunging into me.

"Tell," I whine, his fingers massaging every inch of my skin. Then he's in my mouth, swallowed to the hilt.

"Gav…" I whimper, already feeling the pulsing waves washing through me as he slides in, filling me completely.

Water splashes and ripples with my writhing, rocking back and forth.

"F–fuck…" I gasp, my legs tightening around them, bracing for the onslaught of bliss burgeoning within me.

In that moment, they're all there, all around me.

In me, against me.

Gavin, then Evan, then Tell.

Pounding their love into me, one at a time, then together.

My mind won't settle on one scenario, flickering between highlights of our passion in the past and fantasies of more to come.

They know every nook and sensitive spot, how to make me unravel.

I don't bother covering my mouth as I begin to shake, splashing water all over the bathroom floor.

"Yes! Yes!" I cry out, planting my feet and pushing back into the wall of the tub.

An all-consuming aura cascades down from my scalp to my toes as I soar over the edge. One wave, then another, of searing ecstasy barrels through me, keeping me clenched around my hands until they hurt. But I don't let up until the final rush explodes like a starburst in my core, releasing every bit of stress.

In the afterglow, I trace circles on my skin as the water level drops.

Must have knocked the drain plug loose.

Which is perfect, the cool air prickling my skin, hardening my nipples and relieving my scorching blush. Sighing, I slump back, catching my breath.

Tell's visit wasn't nearly enough.

No number of visits from them ever could be.

And I cannot afford to dwell in that place, that deceptive hope.

Sobering almost completely, I sit up, rinsing off the remnants of the slick and bubbles. With the release comes a softening of my resolve, but also clarity.

Gently, I close that door inside myself, shutting off the ache.

I won't let my heart break again.

Not now.

It's right then that it clicks.

Right as I hear the shouts outside, the clamor of a car roaring up the driveway and unloading. Rising quickly, I peek out the small window above my tub. It only slides open a few inches, but it's enough to see that one of the scout cars has returned.

One of the scouts from Sanctum Harbor.

And with no one else here to receive them, to report to…

It's time for Marco's queen to meet with her soldiers.