9. Chapter 9

9

M y eyes tear open with panic, and immediately I'm staring at Jace's face. His eyes are closed, and the sunlight shines through the window curtains. This is the first time I've been this close to him, and I can't say I hate it. It could be because he's asleep and I have the upper hand, or because of last night. He saw some of my scars and he didn't freak out or ask questions about it. After we were taken, I wore a short-sleeved shirt once, until a guard made snide comments about my wrist burns and how I enjoyed being tied up. After that, I wore long sleeves and hid in the shadows. It was safer.

I was safer.

Jace lets out a sigh, reminding me that I'm still, in fact, in bed with a man. One that didn't force himself on me or hasn't hurt me. Jace continues to surprise me. I figured after I threw a knife at him or stabbed him the first time, he would get tired of my shit. But he hasn't. Not yet, at least.

I watch Jace for longer than I should, his light brown brows furrowing as he sleeps. His lips are partly open, and the rise of his chest has me mesmerized. For the first time, I want to feel his skin underneath my fingertips. To feel the roughness of his beard on my palm. So much so that my hand hovers over his cheek, the overwhelming need to feel him. I want to know what the softness of a man's touch would feel like. I want to ask Jace. I want to feel his skin against mine, to stop the fire burning inside my chest. But I can't.

I can't let a stranger in. I can't trust another guard.

Dropping my hand, I let out a sigh. I need to get out of bed, shower again, and find something to eat. After the eventful few days, I'm more exhausted than I have been in a while, but I also don't feel comfortable enough to continue sleeping. Not that my body would let me.

Slipping out of the covers, I ease my way across the bedroom and into the bathroom. Closing and twisting the lock, finding that it doesn't lock anymore. Fuck, he broke the door . I peel my clothes off and start the shower. My shoulder still aches, but I pay no mind to it as I step under the sprayer. Doing my best to avoid my shoulder, I get myself clean before I hurry up and get out. Pulling my clothes back on, I ignore the mirror. I've seen enough of my scars.

Pulling the door open, finding that Jace hasn't moved, I tiptoe across the room, hoping he doesn't wake up. Once I'm out, I feel like I can finally breathe until I turn around and find Luna standing in the kitchen looking at me.

Jealousy shoots through me as I remember the way she looked at Jace last night. He says there wasn't anything between them, but I know he's lying. He was just trying to save her because I was moments from shoving those scissors into her eye.

"Good morning." Luna smiles. "Coffee?"

Coffee does sound good, but she probably poisoned it.

"I can make a fresh pot. I'm sure Jace will want some when he wakes up. Is he awake?" she asks.

Shaking my head, I shove my hands into my pockets, feeling at ease when the pair of scissors rest inside. Jace isn't here to protect you.

"I feel like you don't like me," she says as I step into the kitchen.

I shrug. I have no reason not to like her. Just for the fact I have some type of feeling for Jace and there's history between them. I just don't like it, and I hate these emotions .

"Jace has feelings for you," she blurts out. My eyes snap up to her, confused about what she's talking about. I'm just a job to him, which is unfortunate when I'm having these feelings.

"I'm sorry to just throw that out there, but you were…staring at me all weirdly. I know we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I don't know what you've been through, and I… the look in your eyes when I made that stupid comment yesterday. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it, and I want you to know that, well, Jace, he's a good guy," she rambles on, turning quickly, Luna begins grabbing coffee grounds from the cabinet.

Tilting my head I watch as she fumbles around making another pot of coffee. I enjoy the fact that I can watch her and know what she's putting inside the coffee. I would like to think she wouldn't poison Jace. Me, on the other hand, I'm sure she wants to.

Glancing around the cabin, I fully take in the space around me. It's a typical cabin, with a decent-sized couch, a rocker off to the side, and side tables with a few books. The fireplace sits in front of the couch with a low fire already burning.

"Blake?" Luna calls from beside me. Flinching, my hand tightens around the scissors. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she mumbles, backing away. "I… I asked if you wanted any cream or sugar for your coffee."

Peeking around her, I take note of two mugs sitting out and vanilla creamer next to them. Turning back to Luna, I'm not sure what to say. I hate this awkward chit-chat; I should have stayed in the room. Or at least woke Jace up before I just ventured out here. He might not understand what I sign, but at least he somewhat understands the feelings I have.

"I don't want to be rude, but I… is it me?" I frown, confused about what she's saying. She must sense from my furrowed brows that I don't understand before she's rushing to clarify. "The reason you don't talk. I assume the reason you won't speak is because you hate me."

Immediately, I shake my head. If only she knew.

"Oh. "

Motioning with my hand to write, it's much easier to do that than to try and sign. Luna nods her head, running off to her bedroom. In no time she returns with a pad of paper and a pen, handing them over to me.

Taking a deep breath, I write down, I'm mute.

Handing it over, Luna reads it, glancing up and then back down at the paper. I'm used to those not understanding why I don't talk. Sometimes I don't even fully understand it. I used to try and open my mouth, to make the words come out but they never do. They get stuck in my throat, and I can't force them out.

"That's okay, I guess. I'm glad it's not because of me," she mumbles, handing the paper back over. "Are you hungry? I'm sure you are, after, uh, last night."

Nodding my head, my stomach decides then to growl. Pressing my lips together, I roll my tongue between my teeth.

"I can make something if you would like," Luna shrugs. "You can sit at the island if you want. I'm sure Jace will be awake soon."

Just the mention of Jace has me glancing behind me, wishing he would suddenly open the door. Only he doesn't, and I know Luna is waiting for me to answer about making me something to eat. Grabbing the pad of paper, I write down Do you have cinnamon rolls?

Sliding it over, Luna takes it. "Oh! I do!" She chuckles. Dropping the paper back down, she turns around and gets into the fridge. While she makes the cinnamon rolls, I watch the coffee pot, wanting to get myself a cup, but feeling anxiety rising in my throat. I know nothing bad would happen, but I can't stop the panic rising the more I continue sitting here with her. The worst part, the idea of Jace walking out of the room brings some sort of comfort. It's all I can think about, the need to be around him.

I don't want to need him.

I was fine on my own.

I was fine being alone.

But now? I feel like if I don't see Jace he's going to end up leaving me behind. That he's going to get a better job, that something or someone better is going to come along.

Like Luna .

She has her shit together from the looks of it. I mean, for fuck's sake, she can talk. They can laugh and have conversations together. What am I going to give him? Taps when he only asks me yes or no questions. How can he even stand me now? Not only did I throw a knife at him the moment we met, but I've stabbed him twice. I locked myself in rooms because I couldn't bear the idea of being near anyone. He asked me last night if I trusted him alone in the room with the door locked and I said no. But that wasn't true, not fully. It scared me that I wanted to say yes. That only a few days alone with this man and I was willing to let my guard down so quickly.

I hate it.

I can't help but love that there might be someone that I can trust and let go with, just a little anyway.

The sound of the door opening has me up and out of the kitchen island chair faster than I'd like to admit. Jace fills the doorway, sweatpants hanging loose on his hips and bare chest on display. Narrowing my eyes, I know for a fact Luna is also staring at him.

"Good morning," Jace's raspy voice fills the silent cabin.

"Good morning," Luna of course answers.

Frowning, I drop back down into the chair. Keeping my head down, I watch from the corner of my eye as he walks into the kitchen and grabs a cup of coffee. Of course, he would feel comfortable enough to walk around almost naked, and to get coffee. I should've known he was lying about them either having a past or that something was going on with them.

I try my best to ignore Jace as he walks around and drops into the chair beside me. But he doesn't make it easy, not when he notices the paper and pen.

"Blake," he utters.

Biting my inner cheek, I refuse to acknowledge him. It's better to ignore him than to get my feelings hurt. I'd probably end up stabbing him again, and I'd rather not do that. I just black out sometimes and end up doing something harmful.

"I know you can hear me, and I don't like being ignored. So, tell me, how do you sign good morning? "

That shocks me and I glance up at him. Jace sips on his coffee, waiting for me to answer him. Cocking my head to the side, I try to think of what ASL is for good morning, but since I've only been signing for three years, I'm not a master at it. Dragging the paper over, I write, I'm not sure. I don't think I've ever signed good morning to anyone.

Jace glances over the paper as I write it, nodding along.

"That's a shame, we should look into it so we can learn it." He smiles, taking another drink of his coffee. "Is she making breakfast? I'm starving."

I nod my head to his question, only Jace doesn't seem satisfied with that answer.

"I like it when you speak."

Frowning, I tilt my head to the side.

"I would like it if you would write what you're saying down and teach me sign language so I can talk to you. It's going to take an old man like me a few tries, but I'm willing to learn. That is, if you'll teach me?"

What?

I'm sure it's written all over my face how confused I am, and that I'm shocked. He wants to learn ASL, and not only learn, but he wants me to teach him.

"Come on, write it down, teach me. What's she making?" he asks. I know he can see what Luna is making. Not only can you smell the distinct scent of the cinnamon rolls, but the package is still on the counter.

"I can wait all day, Sunshine."

Rolling my eyes, I grab the pen and paper once more. Writing it down, I wait for Jace to read it before turning his attention towards me and my hands. Once again, I wasn't sure if there was ASL for cinnamon roll, but I knew I could spell it out. Slowly I repeat the word before Jace starts to mimic me. After the tenth time, he finally grasps the idea and is able to sign it.

"Now, I'm assuming that long sign language wasn't the actual word cinnamon roll."

Shaking my head, I drag the paper over, ‘ No, but again, I'm not sure what it is. Or if there is a word for it, but that was how you spell it. In case you didn't know how, you know, cinnamon rolls.'

Jace chuckles. "Ah, so you are a smart ass. I like it."

"They're done," Luna speaks up, sliding two plates over.

I pick up the fork, seconds from taking a bite when Jace switches our plates. I look over, confused as to why he did, and Luna must be wondering the same thing. But neither of us gets to ask before he's answering our unasked question.

"What? You gave me more, but she likes her sweets, especially cinnamon rolls."

And if I didn't think I could like Jace any more, he just proves me wrong.

After breakfast, Luna and Jace talk in the kitchen while I head back into the room and lie down. After eating almost five cinnamon rolls and half an egg, due to Jace telling me I needed more than just sweets for breakfast, I could feel my eyes drooping, and tiredness crawling in my head. I wanted to sleep, but no matter the amount of tossing and turning I do, I can't get comfortable, and I'm afraid it's because I fell asleep for once with someone else in the bed with me. And I felt safe.

Damn him.

Rolling onto my back, I let out a silent sigh, listening to their muffled voices through the wall. The only way I ever get to sleep by myself is with the bed on the floor and up against the wall. I'm safe, no one can get me from behind, and I can keep my eyes on the area around me. I can't like this—someone could be hiding under the bed or worse, come in through the window .

Just at the thought of it, my eyes snap to the window, the sun shining through. Grabbing the blanket, I jump off the bed and head into the bathroom. The second option is the tub. It isn't ideal, since he broke the door, but I can at least crawl into the tub and cover myself with the blanket. The skylights let just enough of the sunlight in that I can see clearly, but it's dark enough that the moment I close my eyes and focus on counting backward, I drift off to sleep.

" Think we can just sell her?" One of the men asks behind me. I try to open my eyes, to remember all their faces. I need to remember, but I can't. They did something to me and now I can barely move. My body is numb. I can barely feel when they bring the poker stick closer to my body.

"Yeah, once we find out where those shipments are," another one answers, chuckling under his breath.

"I want to sample her beforehand," Henry growls.

That grabs my attention, but I can't move. I try to lift my finger, but I'm too weak. Dad would be ashamed of me. I might not have spoken, but I'm breaking.

"Sample her?"

"No," I weakly mumble. I don't know how I get the strength to tell them that, but I know it's not enough. I've already tried and begged for them to stop.

"What was that?" Henry's whiskey-filled breath hits the side of my face. I gag, acid filling my mouth as his rough hand presses against the back of my neck.

Against my better judgment, I mumble, "No," again. This only stirs him more, Henry cackles, putting more pressure on the back of my neck. I don't have time to fight, or the strength. I barely hear the sound of his pants being unzipped before Henry rips my underwear down. He shoves into me, ripping away my virginity in one thrust. I scream at the top of my lungs, tears streaming down my face. I claw at the ground, trying to crawl away.

"Oh, fuck," he grunts above me. Shoving the side of my face into the ground, I'm aware of those standing around me, hoping one of them will realize how wrong this is. But none of them care. I'm their enemy's daughter. They think my father would have told me where the shipments are. I guess if they couldn't get to Tobias, they were going to take someone.

I open my mouth to beg them to stop; I shouldn't have. It gives one of them a chance to claw my mouth open further, the sensation burning. I don't realize what they're doing until I smell burning flesh. Then the pain comes, and my tongue explodes with pain.

They're burning my tongue.

Blood coats my mouth, leaking down my chin into the concrete ground.

I jerk awake, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. The memories of what they did to me, what Henry did to me. I just want to forget. I want to shove a hot poker stick into my eye and give myself a damn lobotomy. Then I might be happy. I wouldn't remember what they did to me, what he felt like. I hate it.

I hate them all.

I should've died in that basement, and the sad part is, part of me did. I might not have told them where Dad's shipments were or where Tobias was. But I broke inside. I lost my voice and no matter how much therapy Mom thinks she can get me, nothing works. They all say the same thing, they're dead. But Mom and Dad don't know. Tobias and all of them, they only killed a handful. I might have been out of it, but I remember everything. I paid attention to all the details. Half of the group left when shit hit the fan. The cartel knew that my father was going to tear them apart, and he did to the ones who stayed behind. But not all of them.

And I can't tell my family.

Soon the cartel is going to come looking for me.

It'll just be a count down on who is going to get to me first, the Italians or the cartel.