15. FIFTEEN
FIFTEEN
" T eagan? Teagan, are you in there? Open the door!"
I recognize the voice. My sister, Blakely, pounds on the door of my hotel room as I force my eyes open. Sunlight streams through the window, hot against my cheek, and I roll over to escape it. I feel sick…really sick.
Then, I remember last night, and my heart stops.
Fuck…oh, fuck.
I'm back in my own room, and I'm alone. They left me. They left me again, and I…why would he do that?
Or worse…I imagined everything. The roof, the hotel room, Luca, Declan, the bathtub…
But it was so real—so real I can smell Luca on my skin even now. I remember the way Declan's scar felt against the palm of my hand and smelling smoke on him when he carried me over to the bed and laid me down beside Luca. How could I make up something like that?
"Teagan? Come on, open the door!"
I sit up far too quickly, my stomach threatening to empty its contents, and look down at my body.
I'm still in Luca's shirt. I reach under the soft material, searching for the heart etched into my chest.
It's there. That means it was real. But if it was real, then why—
"I'm calling the front desk to have someone open this door if you don't do it now!"
"Just a second!" My voice comes out raspy, my throat like sandpaper.
I drag myself out of bed and over to the door.
"Hey," I say when I pull it open.
"You missed brunch. Did you forget we had reservations?" she asks. "I called the room like ten times, and..." She pauses, taking in my appearance. "I thought you went to bed early—you look like shit."
"I didn't hear it," I tell her. "I'm sorry. I feel like shit. I think I ate some…bad sushi or something. I was up all night vomiting."
"You look like it," she says. She looks me over, likely considering whether or not to be angry. "Well, we have a cabana by the pool. We're headed down now. Come and join us when you're feeling better."
"I'll try," I tell her. "I think I'm going to go lie back down."
"Well, don't forget the show at six," she says.
"I won't. Hopefully, I'll feel better by then."
"Yeah, hopefully," she says. "If you're not going to be there, you need to let me know." She adjusts her beach bag and turns away from me.
"Okay," I say as she walks away.
She pauses, turning back to add, "You should call the restaurant. That's supposed to be a nice place; that's not okay."
"I'll consider that," I tell her.
I close the door and go back to panicking, running through last night's events in my mind.
It was Declan. He put something in my water, and then he must have put me back in here.
And then, he left me… again. I run to the bathroom and throw up, then lean against the side of the tub until the room stops spinning. Once it does, I pull myself up, splash water on my face, drink water from a glass beside the sink, and then return to the bedroom. I dig through my suitcase until I find some underwear and a pair of shorts and pull them on. Then, I grab my key and rush down the hallway to the elevator.
After what feels like forever, the doors finally open in front of me. I step inside, waiting for the doors to close again before pushing the button for the forty-second floor, where Declan brought me last night, over and over again, but it doesn't light up.
It must be broken. What the fuck?
Someone must call the elevator in the meantime because it begins moving upward, stopping at the thirty-eighth floor. I get out and look for the staircase, climbing until I get to the door marked '42,' and I'm met with the sounds of power tools and construction workers moving in and out of rooms on the floor.
"Excuse me, miss," one of the men shouts. "You can't be here."
"I have a friend staying in one of the rooms," I tell him.
"Not on this floor," he says. "You must have gotten the wrong room number. This entire floor is closed for construction; there's no one staying here."
"Are you sure?" I ask. "Can I check? It was room 4223."
"Lady, I'm sure," he says. "I have men in that room working on the kitchen right now—no one is staying here. Now, I'm going to ask you to leave one more time, and then I'm going to have to call security—it's a safety hazard."
"All right, fine. I'm going."
Sighing, I turn and head back out to the stairwell, then down to my own room. After stepping inside, I move to the window, pull the blinds closed, and then kick off my shorts before climbing back into bed. I pull the covers over my head, and feel it—the emptiness in my chest, the ache of longing and loneliness.
I picture myself as I was hours ago, leaning back against Luca's chest in the jacuzzi tub, laughing with him under the covers. The shirt, the heart—could I have made all of that up? But no…the room was under construction—I remember. The kitchen was missing its countertops and the walls had been stripped in the living room; there were tarps over the furniture and on the floors. I couldn't have known that.
I didn't do this to myself.
I try to remember what Declan said to me before I passed out—he said it was important that I didn't tell anyone I saw him, and that he wasn't going to leave me again.
But he's lied before. And he's gone now. What was the point?
I close my eyes, sinking back into the memory. A part of me wishes Fake Luca would show up right now and tell me I'm going to be okay.
I must have fallen asleep again because when I wake up, the clock on the bedside table says it's after four in the afternoon. I still feel a little sick, but not like I did this morning. After using the bathroom, I grab the room service menu from the bedside table and order some food. Then, I grab the television remote from the table, jumping when I notice Sebastian leaning against the closet door.
"Jesus! What the fuck are you doing?"
"Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
I shrug. "I haven't checked it. I drank too much last night. I've been sleeping. Is that why you're here? Because I didn't answer my phone?"
"You sure that's it?" he asks. "You didn't do anything bad, did you, Teagan?"
"I was on my best behavior," I tell him. "You said you'd give me space."
"You didn't seem like you wanted space," he says.
"Like I said, I got really drunk, and I got a little bit lonely—it's not like I can really talk to anyone else—but I'm fine now. You can go."
"I don't think so."
"Suit yourself. I have shit to do."
I walk to the minifridge and take out a water bottle, closely inspecting the cap to make sure it's sealed.
"Do you want to play monsters instead?" He runs a hand down my back and then over my hip. "The Order owns a club here under one of the hotels. Wait until you see the things they do there…the things people will come here to pay for will have you so wet, you'll—"
"No," I say, shrugging him off.
"Come on," he says. "You know you're curious."
"How long have you been sitting there watching me?"
"A couple of hours," he says. "What's your problem?"
"I'm sick and tired and hungry," I tell him. "You weren't supposed to be here. I didn't come here to play monsters; I came here to maybe have one last good memory. And so that maybe when I think of my sister, I can think of her the way I did before everything happened. Maybe she can think of me that way, too—after she thinks I'm dead."
His eyes darken. "You know, no one living has ever spoken to me the way you do," he says. "Do you have any idea how hard it is not to cut you into pieces? How many times I've had to stop myself? I think about sticking my knife in you almost as often as I think about sticking my dick in you."
"Do you want me to thank you for not killing me? Don't hold your breath, Bone Saw," I scoff. "There isn't much that scares me anymore."
His hand shoots out, grabbing me by the throat. "Don't. Call. Me. That."
There's something different in his eyes now—something I haven't seen before. I'm momentarily taken aback, thinking I must be misreading it.
But when I blink, it's still there. He's hurt.
"I'm sorry, Sebastian," I whisper.
He must realize his mistake, letting that sliver of real emotion seep through the surface, because he breaks eye contact, dropping his gaze to my chest, and tightens his grip.
Running a finger of his other hand over my nipple, he says, "There's blood seeping through your t-shirt. How's normal working out for the Queen of the Bloodsluts?"
"About as well as you'd think," I force out through my constricted airway just before I hear a knock on the door.
"Room service!" the voice on the other side calls out.
Sebastian releases me, and I glare at him with my hand at the base of my neck, breath heaving, before moving toward the door. Before I can pull it open, his hand closes over mine, stopping me, and he looks through the peephole.
"You have a shitty sense of self-preservation," he says. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"Yeah…Declan."
His eyes narrow before he opens the door and retrieves the food from outside, removing the lid and taking a bite of one of the nachos before setting it down on the bed.
"Those are pretty good," he says.
But more importantly, it's the same tray with the same nachos I ate in bed with Luca last night long after they were cold.
"Yeah, you're welcome," I say, shrugging. "So, what now? For you, I mean. I have plans with my sister; she's already upset that I missed brunch and her pool day."
"You're acting strange," he says.
"I am strange," I tell him through a mouthful of food.
"Yeah, but…where did you say you were last night?"
"I was here."
"What happened to your chest?"
"I told you already," I say. "Someone sent me a bloody drink and said I was her queen. We hooked up and it got…well, bloody. In a fun-for-everyone kind of way. No one died, I promise."
"And that happened in this hotel?"
"Yes."
"In this room?"
"No. It was her room."
"Which floor was it on?"
"I'm sorry," I laugh. "I woke up at four in the afternoon. Do you think I remember what floor it was on? A low one, maybe. I think I remember taking the elevator up afterward."
"Okay…"
He stands there, watching me eat, the air thick with tension I refuse to acknowledge. He thinks I'm lying, and he's waiting for me to slip up.
"Are you jealous or something?" I tease, attempting to keep my tone casual.
"Yes," he says plainly.
I shoot him a puzzled look.
"What?" he asks. "Not the answer you expected?"
"No, it's not."
"You shouldn't be so surprised," he says. "I told you that you're my favorite song— mine. Remember?"
"You said you wanted to put me on a shelf."
"Exactly. I don't play well with others, Teagan. I don't like sharing. You belong to me now, whether you like it or not. I told you I wouldn't hurt you, but I can't say the same about anyone else. I hope you enjoyed your night because the next time you let someone else touch your body, just know you've signed their death warrant."
I swallow hard. "Got it."
"Do you?" he asks. "Because what part has your nipples hard and your pupils dilating? Knowing that I am your master now, or the idea of me ripping some poor, innocent man or woman to shreds for making you come? You don't want to test me, Teagan."
Both. As long as it's not Declan or Luca.
"I won't test you. I have enough innocent blood on my hands."
"Good," he says. "But just to be clear, anyone who touches what's mine isn't innocent."
"I need to get ready. You can have the rest of these if you want."
I get up from the bed and begin rifling through my suitcase.
"That's not what I'm hungry for, Teagan."
"I can't be late." I pull a pair of shorts and a cropped baby tee from the bag. "Turn around."
"You're joking, right? No."
"Casually dressing in front of someone else is boyfriend territory," I tell him. "You're not my boyfriend, right? You don't love me."
He shakes his head, standing and crossing the room until he's right in front of me. "Why are you so hung up on those meaningless words? Why do you still think that's something that you need? Hmm? Arms up."
I sigh, slowly lifting my arms, and he pulls Luca's t-shirt over my head before tossing it aside. Hungry eyes settle on my bare chest.
"She did this to you?" Sebastian asks. His fingers trace the still-open cuts on my chest, and it stings.
"Yes," I tell him.
"It's cute," he says. "I hate it."
I slip my arms into my bra straps, and he places a hand on my shoulder. My heart jumps before he turns me around, pushing my hair over my shoulder and running his knuckles down my back before fastening it for me.
"See? You've seen the way I take care of the things on my shelves, Teagan. I can take care of you, too."
He leans in, pressing his lips to my neck, and I close my eyes, holding my breath and fighting the urge to melt into him.
Things are different now. I'd never be no one with him when I could be loved by them. And I'm already too close to Sebastian. He does things like this and makes it hard for me to remember I can't trust him.
That he doesn't even consider himself human.
"Turn," he says.
I do as he asks, and he holds out my shorts for me to step into before pulling my shirt over my head. "You asked me what my plan was," he says. "I said I would give you space, and I will. But I'm going to be watching you the entire time." He presses his body into mine, ensuring I feel the hard ridge of his dick straining against his jeans as he runs his hands over my ass. "And I'm going to be hard like this the entire time. When I do finally get ahold of you, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."
"I thought you said you take care of your things."
"I do," he says. "This is how I take care of you."
"I learned a little late but…I'm a little more complicated than that." I force a smile, placing my hands on his cheeks before standing on my toes and kissing his lips. I can't quite explain it, but I don't like lying to him. He's Sebastian right now—the closest thing I've had to a friend since all of this happened, but he's also Bone Saw. "I should go take care of my makeup before I'm late."
"You'll forget about it, Teagan," he says, throwing himself down on the sofa. "With the right training, it won't take long."
"What do you mean with the right training?" I ask. "Who's going to train me?"
"You don't need to worry about that right now, little monster. Just put on your pretty makeup, go play normal girl. You only have a few days left anyway."
I hate lying to him; I know I probably shouldn't since all he's ever done is lie to me, but I do. It doesn't feel right. And although I know what he is, and I'm just the pet that keeps coming when he calls anyway—even if I am his favorite one—part of me still just wants to stay here in this room and pretend it's something else.
"Sebastian?"
"Yeah?"
"Nothing, I just…wish things were different. That's all. What if we—"
"Wishing is for children. Grow up."
And there he is.
"All right. Good talk."