I once watched a documentary on lions. During one particularly traumatizing part, they showed a lion stalking its prey, hiding in the underbrush, its golden belly flush with the sand. Then its mouth opened, its gaping maw revealing row after row of glistening white canines, and it pounced, landing on the gazelle who couldn’t even attempt to flee.
That’s what Aria’s smile reminds me of.
The lion…just before it pounces, tearing into flesh.
“You, my dear child.” Aria licks her lips, savoring my discomfort and the growls from the men around me. “Youwill be the entertainment tonight. After all, it’s not often we have a goddess in our midst.”
18
ELLIE
Aria leaves the study shortly after her ominous proclamation, claiming she has “things” to attend to.
I don’t even want to know what “things” she’s referring to. Whatever it is can’t be good.
“I fucking hate this.” Zane begins to pace, brisk, angry strides that eat up the distance of the room in less than a few seconds. “I really, really fucking hate this. Have I mentioned I hated this already?”
“Once or twice,” Dominic drawls. He claimed one of the love seats, his legs kicked out in front of him. But despite his lackadaisical pose, I can sense the tension radiating from him, the strain in his shoulders and neck.
“Maybe three times,” Beckett pipes in.
“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.” Zane abruptly stops moving directly in front of the desk. With a growl, he reaches for the miniature globe residing there and tosses it into the nearest wall. It crashes, dozens of plastic pieces raining in all directions.
Beckett arches his eyebrows. “Did that make you feel good?”
A pout touches Zane’s lips. “Not really.”
“Look.” Dom stands, bracing his hands on his thighs to push himself up. His emerald-green eyes survey the three of us. “I don’t think any of us like this. At all.” He turns toward me, and a muscle in his throat bobs, his jaw clenching. “We were supposed to protect you, yet we somehow walked you straight into POP’s arms.”
“Technically, I walked myself into POP’s arms,” I point out, trying to make light of the situation. I hate the tension saturating the air. The guilt swarming in my men’s eyes.
“We fucked up,” Beckett breathes, sagging against the wall. “We were supposed to give you the world, yet you’re here. Imprisoned. About to endure who the hell knows what.”
“I vote we just kill them all,” Zane pipes in, his gaze fixed on the jagged plastic pieces. Carefully, he bends down and grabs one, turning it around and around in his hands. “Do you think I can stab someone with this hard enough for them to bleed?”
“Depends on where you stab them,” Dom inserts.
“And how hard,” Beckett adds. Then a frown tugs at his lips. “Or is it how deep?”
“How hard and how deep,” Dom clarifies.
Zane nods and then dramatically thrusts his arm forward and up, like he’s jabbing someone in the chin. “How’s this?”
“Harder,” Dom drolls.
“Deeper,” Beckett says.
Zane once again pantomimes jabbing the plastic shard upward. “Better?”
“Need it to be harder,” Dom insists.
“And deeper,” adds Beckett.
The laughter I’ve been holding back finally bubbles free. I throw my head back and laugh until tears prick my eyes, then eventually cascade down my cheeks. All three men watch me with varying expressions on their faces.
Adoration.
Love.