Chapter 7

Ariana

7

By the time Spike comes up with breakfast and a fresh change of clothes, I'm already bathed and dried, sulking by the window with puffy eyes. Except Spike isn't alone. A young woman joins him—she's tall, with long, luscious black hair and curious dark eyes. She reminds me of someone, though I cannot, for the life of me, think of who. Then again, my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting and contradictory thoughts. It's a miracle I can even focus my eyesight on a single person at once.

"So, this is the infamous Ariana," the woman says with a wry smile.

"Be nice, Shiloh; those were the terms and conditions," Spike gingerly reminds her as he sets the food tray on the dresser and leaves the clothes on my bed. "For you. Shiloh wanted to come up and have a look at you before she goes out shopping for your stuff."

"I wanted to make sure I got the right size," she adds, measuring me from head to toe.

All I can do is give them both a faint nod. "Thanks. I don't think it matters, however. It's not like I'm going to survive this, anyway."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shiloh replies, her brow furrowed, her tone clipped. "We're taking good care of you, aren't we?"

Spike gives me a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I forgot to introduce you. Ariana, this is Shiloh, my old lady."

"His wife," she specifies. "We're actually married."

"Good for you," I mumble.

"She's also Sky's sister," Spike feels the need to add.

That's why she seemed familiar. Sky's sister—I can see the resemblance now. The common features are the fine contours of their faces. They're both cut from the same cloth, clearly. I wonder if she, too, is a monster or if she's just a spectator to this entire charade. "And you're okay with me being a prisoner here?" I ask her.

She shakes her head and crosses her arms while I notice her choice of clothes—a tomboyish ensemble of jeans and a '90s tee that is one size too small but brings out her curves and then some. Her arms are slender but toned and covered in rose tattoos. I spot dark smudges on the backs of her hands. A ring of keys jingles from a chain clipped to her leather belt. She comes across as tough, but her gaze seems soft, kind even, to a degree.

"I'm anything but okay with what they did, but I do understand why they did it. The mayor didn't leave them with any other choice," Shiloh sighs. "These are dire times, Ariana. But don't think for a second that anybody is going to hurt you."

"Your brother said I need to behave or else."

Spike looks away, almost embarrassed. Maybe he knows something I don't.

"Trust me, girl. As long as I'm alive and kicking, nobody is going to touch you," Shiloh says. "I guess they have to tell you that kind of stuff to keep you in line. You're obviously a handful."

"You tried to escape last night," Spike adds.

I shrug. "Worth a shot."

"Of course. But now you understand that there is no escaping this place," Shiloh bluntly replies. "You're better off staying here and doing as you're told. They just want you to be as cooperative as possible, Ariana. Nobody wants to hurt you. They only want your father's attention."

I shrug in confusion. "Listen, I understand that everybody hates politicians, but I didn't ask to be born a David. Where's my fault in any of this?"

Spike clears his throat. "Ariana, I'll be honest. I've been instructed not to even talk to you, but you seem like a nice girl. Totally different from that—"

"Shitbag father of yours," Shiloh interjects, and Spike gives her a hard glare.

To my surprise, she softens under his wordless reprimand, giving him the floor. "The point is, you seem like a nice girl," Spike continues, "and I shouldn't be telling you this, but you deserve to know. They have every intention of returning you safely to your father once they're done."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, at least she's not dumb," Shiloh chuckles dryly. "I mean, at least she's cautious and suspicious. I would've been more worried if she actually believed you."

"You are not helping," Spike lovingly admonishes his wife.

I want to believe him. Last night's events led me to think there's another side to these men, a side I have yet to see. But none of that changes the facts of the situation. I am still a prisoner. I am still unable to go home. And if I stir crap up and try to escape again, there is no telling what they'll do to me.

"Just stay here and don't try to escape again," Spike says. "You'll be okay."

"And you're also more or less my size, so I know what to shop for," Shiloh adds.

"I don't need any new clothes, thanks. I told you; it doesn't matter."

"And I'm telling you, I don't really care," Shiloh replies and sashays out of the room as though she's walking on clouds.

I like her. She's got spunk and plenty of attitude. I can see why Spike is so head over heels with her. Having met Shiloh makes me feel extra awkward for hitting on him the other day, though I'm sure he knows and understands why I was driven to do it in the first place. Hell, out of all the people involved in this, Spike seems the most human.

"Take care, I'll be back later," he says.

I watch him leave, and then I hear the key turn in the lock.

It's a sound that's now familiar in my life.