The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 20

None of this made any sense. I should have been dead. Again. And yet somehow, for some reason, Brandon had managed to secrete me away in this room, with its huge bed, ornate furnishings and luxurious carpet even though Daniel and the rest of the clan would have given anything to tear me apart. Then there was the question of Walter and Noble themselves. Brandon had said they didn't know that I was here, wherever here was, and clearly he didn't want them to know that he had me. Yet despite whatever twisted notion he might have about us, was he really going to defy Richard and Grayson, not to mention their mysterious client, for some fucked-up fantasy that could never, ever work? How long could he keep me hidden here without them knowing? Maybe he thought that now they had Lucius, as long as I was held here in secret, I could never be a threat to Mr Drachmann and whoever it was that he represented. Drachmann gets Lucius. Walter and Noble get paid. Brandon gets his trophy. Everyone's happy.

Moving over to where the thick drapes covered the window, I pulled desperately on the embroidered fabric, crying out in despair when I saw the heavy industrial-looking metal shutter that had lay hidden behind the curtains. Running my hands around the edges, I tried frantically to find some small gap to prise open the shutter but there was nothing, no gap, no padlock, no button. Nothing. I slammed my fists against it, the metal vibrating and the noise resounding through the room. Staring at that blasted shutter, a cold voice whispered in my ear, sending icy tremors scattering like spiders across my skin.

He had them put there for you. All of this is for you.

I crumpled onto the chair in front of the antique dresser, wrapping the sheet around my body and tucking my feet up underneath me. Another mirror greeted me, the same girl with the same damn face; the one that told me it was pointless to fight, the one that told me to accept my fate, the one that told me that there was no escape from this.

I could do nothing but wait for my husband to return.

*************

By the time Brandon did return, the first signs of hunger had begun to nag in my stomach, like an insistent pull on my insides the way a child would tug on your hand to remind you he was there and needed your attention. As my veins lamented their thirst, I heard the scrape of the key in the lock and felt the panic rage through my muscles.

 When Brandon appeared, his face was etched with a fierce tension that soon dissipated when his eyes fell upon me. I noticed that when he shut the door, he did not lock it behind him. Instead, he just leaned his back against it and exhaled deeply, his body visibly relaxing as he watched me. I, on the other hand, sat upright in the chair, my knees pulled in tight to my chest and hands grasping the sheet.

His eyes drifted to the open curtains behind me, the metal shutter still on show. With a frown, he pushed himself away from the door and stalked across the room. I flinched as he passed me, and then again when he grabbed the drapes and swiftly pulled them shut, straightening out the fabric as he did so.

"I know it's not really fitting with the feel of the room," he said, shooting me a reassuring smile and walking over to the where I sat before leaning down and planting a small kiss on the top of my head. "But it was a necessity, I'm afraid and besides, if you keep the curtains closed, you will never know that it's there." He stroked my hair and arranged some tousled locks on my shoulder, almost as he had done with the drapes.

"A metal shutter is pretty hard to forget, curtains or no curtains."

"It's for your own good," he replied stiffly, moving away and sitting on the edge of the bed. His forehead wrinkled under his dark curls and he shook them off his face, just as he shook away the tension that had resurfaced in his eyes.