After a night plagued with visions of shadow men and swirling lights, I prise open my eyes, which are stuck together with sleep dust, to soft daylight that filters through the gaps in the wooden shutters. Groaning, my head thumping again, I look around and jump when I see a middle-aged woman waiting a little way away, a soft smile on her face.
“Sorry to startle you, dear, especially in your condition,” she says, her voice gentle, and although I’ve never met her before, she puts me at ease instantly with her calming vibe. “I’m Jacky, and I’m going to be your nurse and midwife from now on.”
I can’t help the way my jaw suddenly gets tight at the fact that my autonomy has just been taken from me, but it’s like I can’t grasp my anger enough to throw it back at her creepy, smiling face. Gingerly sitting up, trying to ignore the dizziness and throbbing headache, I have to swallow a couple of times before I can answer.
“Um, sure, uh, do you know where I am?” I ask, my voice raspy. “Where is Ash?” She immediately goes over to the side table and fills a glass with water before handing it to me. I eye it for a minute, but I just can’t grasp what my mind is trying to tell me, so I bring it to my lips and glug the cool water down in one go. “Thanks,” I say, handing the glass back to her. Her brow is lowered, which makes my own dip down.
“You’re in Wiltshire, dear, at your uncle’s house. He’s looking after you, and the baby,” she tells me brightly, her arm coming round my upper back to help support me as I try to get up and out of the bed.
“Wiltshire?” I pause, feeling unsteady and wobbling slightly as I get to my feet. I’m not sure if it’s the thumping headache or the news that I’m back in England, with my uncle, that leaves me stumbling. “Adrian’s house?”
“That’s right, dear,” she replies, keeping her arm around me, and helping to guide me to the bathroom door, somehow knowing that I need a piss, like yesterday. “Right, let’s get you washed and dressed, shall we? You’ll feel right as rain then, and I can do some checks on the baby to make sure all is as it should be.”
I should feel embarrassed that a complete stranger is helping me sit on the toilet, then helping me into the shower and to wash, and a small part of me is mortified, but it’s like it’s buried deep inside me, drowning and unable to make it to the surface. I can’t seem to get my feet and legs to function normally. I’m like a newborn lamb, unable to get my feet underneath me enough to walk on my own. My head feels full of cotton wool, and all the colours of the room are dulled and lifeless like an old T-shirt washed too many times, so I’m mostly glad for the extra help.
After dressing me in a soft, cotton nightgown that she found in the chest of drawers, which, although clearly new and unworn, smells musty. Jacky supports me as I lie back on the bed then takes mine and the baby’s vitals. She listens to the heartbeat which makes tears sting my eyes, the steady rhythm grounding me as it always does, calming my fluttering nerves at this new reality that I’ve woken up in. She also takes blood samples and all the other things that Lisa, my midwife back in Colorado, used to do. The tears threaten to spill at the homesickness which fills me up at the thought of Highgate and my guys. My Knights.
“Where’s my husband?” I ask once she’s finished up.
“Husband, dear?” she questions, her eyebrows dipped as she helps me up again and leads me to a small table near the window that has a covered tray similar to last night’s on it. “I bet you’re hungry, dear,” she tells me, taking the lid off to reveal a large salad with fragrant marinated grilled chicken and buttered bread that looks and smells freshly baked. My stomach takes that moment to growl loudly, and she chuckles. “I’ll open the shutters, shall I? It’s a lovely day out.”
I nod, sitting down, and immediately shove a forkful of the salad with chicken into my mouth, thinking that I’m sure I just asked her something, but now I can’t remember what it was. The room is flooded with light seconds later as the shutters are flung open with a clatter, and once my eyes adjust, I see that she’s right, the sun is shining and the sky is a beautiful light blue, not a cloud in sight.
My fork pauses on its way back down to my plate as I notice something that sits at odds with the beautiful day outside.
Bars.
There are metal bars outside my window, and as soon as I see them, a wave of claustrophobia washes over me, leaving my skin tight and itchy and my breathing shallow. My wide eyes look up into Jacky’s brown ones, which are full of a gentle sympathy.
“Why are there bars?” I ask, my voice soft and small as I try to make sense of what is happening here, but my mind is too foggy, and I’m unable to grab hold of a thought for too long before it flies away like a petal on the breeze.
“Oh, dear girl,” she says with a sigh, coming to crouch next to me as my gaze goes back to those lines of metal that are trapping me in this room. “Your uncle is just trying to take care of you and the baby. He doesn’t want anything to happen to either of you, dear.”
I look back down at her. “Where is Ash? Loki? Kai and Jax?” I question, my voice trembling, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be held in familiar arms that chase all the nightmares away. Again, there’s a flash of softness in her eyes that I can’t work out the meaning of, the corners crinkling as she reaches out and takes my cold, shaking hand in hers.
“Why don’t you finish your meal, and then I can take you back to bed? To rest. You look so tired, dear.”
My eyes fill with tears. I don’t want to rest, I feel like I’ve lost so much time already. Letting go of Jacky’s hands, I, once again, pick up my fork and spear a piece of chicken, bringing it up to my mouth.
But as I continue to eat, washing it down with a glass of fresh fruit juice, I do start to feel so bone-weary that my fork clatters onto the plate as if I can’t hold it up anymore.
“Come on then, dear. Let’s get you back to bed,” Jacky tells me, helping me out of the chair and back into bed, tucking me in like a child. I’m sure I hear her whisper something that sounds suspiciously like, “poor delusional girl,” under her breath.
All too soon, I’m dragged under into blackness once more, unable to fight the crashing wave of exhaustion any longer or the nightmares that await me.
The next few weeks follow the same routine. Jacky is always there when I wake up, ready to aid me in getting up and dressed before taking me over to the window to look out at the manicured grounds and the woods in the distance of my uncle’s estate. I can see quite far into the distance, being on an upper floor, and it’s a mixed blessing as it taunts me as well as gives me something to gaze upon. Like a bird in a cage, placed next to an open window and being able to see freedom but not taste it.
I give up asking about Ash, my husband, or any of the guys as each time she expertly distracts me and avoids answering until I feel as though perhaps it was all a wonderful dream. Perhaps I dreamt of going to America, meeting the guys, and falling in love.
Maybe I’ve been here all along?
My mind clearly likes to torment me as I am plagued with nightmares of arms banded tightly around me which do not belong to any of my Knights. Of sweet words whispered in my ear, of being called Violet. The worst are the nights where I dream that I’m back in the library with cunt-face Robert, his hands in places that they have no right to be, and his breathing heavy in my ear.
After those nights, I wake up covered in sweat and feel sick to my stomach, my pillow damp and dried tears on my cheeks. I notice small bruises on my waist, hips, and breasts, yet I have no knowledge of how they got there.
My mind struggles to focus on even menial tasks. It’s getting worse and increasingly muddled the more time passes until I can barely remember what my life once was.
Before this room.
Before the bars on the window.
The silence that surrounds me. The night terrors that haunt me.
One day I wake up, and after assisting me with washing, Jacky gets me dressed not in another nightgown but in a soft, blue pantsuit that looks like it’s from the early two-thousands.
“Why am I getting dressed? In proper clothes I mean?” I ask, giving her a quizzical look.
“Well, your uncle and I agreed that you needed some fresh air and to stretch your legs,” she tells me, her face split into a big smile as she takes me over to the small table, and I sit down, a bowl of creamy porridge in front of me. “So, after breakfast, I’m to take you out for a walk.” She beams at me like this is her life’s biggest achievement thus far. Shit, maybe it is for all I know. I hear a familiar masculine chortle that makes my head swivel, expecting to see Ash next to me. But then I remember that he might not even be real, just a figment of my imagination, otherwise he’d be here, right? Jacky would know about him, right?
Shaking my head at my apparent craziness, I feel excited flutters in my stomach at the prospect of leaving my gilded cell, and I rush to finish my food. I do pause as the depressing thought that this is what my life has been reduced to hits me.
Helping me to stand, as I’m still so fucking unsteady on my feet, we make our way towards the door, and I can feel my pulse becoming faster the closer we get to it.
Taking a small, silver key out of her pocket, she unlocks the door, opening it into the room. It’s funny how an object so tiny can exert such control over my life. In front of me sits a wheelchair, and I baulk at the sight, halting our movements.
“It’s just to help you get outside. You’re very weak, dear,” she tells me kindly, her face sincere.
Taking a deep sighing breath and nodding, we move forward once more, and she supports my arm whilst I sit in the chair, tucking a fluffy wool blanket around my thin legs. Even with all the food that I’ve been given, my muscles have started to waste away with inactivity, so I’m determined to at least try and walk a little today, in the hope that I’ll build my strength back up.
Jacky begins to wheel me along the corridor, and I realise that I do recognise the light blue colour of the walls and the various old portraits and landscape paintings lining them. We go past the carved wooden staircase, stopping in front of a light-coloured panelled door that looks the same as all the others that we’ve just passed. Stepping away from me, Jacky presses a brass button, and a second later the door slides into the wall revealing a lift.
“That’s new,” I mutter, not remembering it from before as she pushes me in, pressing the down button. The doors close with a soft swish, and I feel a jolt as we descend. For a moment, the wild thought that I’m descending into Hell flashes across my mind. Then I remember I’m already there; too weak to walk, in love with dark Knights that may not exist.
“Your uncle put it in specially, thinking that you might need it, especially once the baby arrives,” she tells me, her voice soft, interrupting my pity party.
“Huh,” I reply quietly.
Chewing my lip, I think on her words. On the surface, they show my uncle as someone who’s thinking of the comfort and ease of others, a selfless person who’d spend a small fortune ensuring that a relative has all that they might need. On the other hand, I can’t help wondering why he’d think that, as a normal, healthy, young woman, I wouldn’t be able to manage the stairs. Regardless if I’m pregnant or not.
We come to a stop, and the doors open with another quiet swish, disrupting my swirling thoughts. I realise with a start as we exit the lift, that today my mind feels clearer than it has in weeks. I’m able to hold onto thoughts, they don’t slip through my fingers like sand as they did just yesterday or the days before.
As we approach the double front doors with their clear glass panels, the sunlight floods in, shining all around the large entrance hall, making it feel light and airy. Very un-Hell-like. The tight knot in my chest lightens the closer I get to freedom. I can practically taste the fresh, English countryside, like newly mown grass and daffodils. A wide smile takes over my face when the doors are opened by my Uncle’s butler, Smith, and I can take a deep lungful of the sweetest air I’ve ever tasted.
We pause at the top of the entrance steps, and my eyelids flutter closed, the sun warming my face and heating my blood as though I’m a cold-blooded creature that needs light to survive, or I’ll waste away.
“Allow me, Miss, ma’am.” An unfamiliar deep voice startles my lids open, and I’m staring into laughing, brown eyes the colour of fallen autumn leaves. I study him as he bends down to grab the front of the chair. He reminds me of a slightly older Jax—if Jax is real of course and not a figment of my fucked up imagination—with his dirty blond hair tied in a messy man bun, and his facial hair that’s more than stubble but less than a beard. He’s less stacked than my Viking, though still muscular. “Rowan, give me a hand, will ya?” he calls in a pure west London drawl, and I look to the side to see the same man walking towards us.
Doing a double take, I hear Mr laughing brown eyes chuckle.
“Are you…” I begin, looking back at him.
“Twins? Yes,” he tells me as I feel the chair shift when they lift it and start to carry me down the steps.
“But I’m the better looking one,” a smoky voice says behind me—Rowan—and a surprised bark of laughter slips from between my lips, my hand flying to cover my mouth. The guy in front just smirks, and I must admit, if I wasn’t in love four times over with possibly imaginary guys, I’d be tempted to fall because of that smile alone.
“Thank you, boys, that was very gallant,” Jacky flutters, coming up next to me with a blush on her cheeks as they set the chair down at the base of the steps.
“You’re welcome, ma’am, Miss,” the first twin says, straightening back up as Rowan comes to stand next to him. They look at me intently with an unreadable expression, as though they’re studying me. “Anything else we can help you with?”
I interrupt before Jacky can say anything. “What’s your name? And why are you here?” I ask, my eyes narrowing, noticing their all black clothing, and the radios attached to the belts at their hips.
“Apologies, m’lady,” the first twin replies, hand on his heart, a boyish grin on his face that has my lips twitching, followed by a crippling twinge of pain that lances through my heart at the memory of another cheeky boy I know—maybe know—but with red hair instead of dirty blond. “My name is Roman Kent, this is Rowan Kent, and we are part of the security your uncle has hired to help keep you safe.”
My brows drop at his words.
“Safe from what?” I ask, but before they can answer, Jacky clears her throat.
“Well, thank you once again, boys, I’ll be sure to call if I need your assistance,” she says, her tone not unkind but a little brusque. “Right, dear, let’s take a turn around the house, shall we?” She starts pushing me in the damn chair, turning me away from the intriguing Kent brothers.
Feeling a prickling in my skin, a shiver that’s completely at odds with the warm sunshine, I turn around, leaning past Jacky, only to find both guys where we left them, one of them with a phone to his ear, staring after us.
“Oh, just look at those lovely daffodils!” Jacky suddenly exclaims.
My head turns to face forward again, and though my eyes see what looks like a lawn of yellow flower heads cheerfully bobbing in the slight breeze, my mind is still wondering who Roman and Rowan Kent are.
And what could my uncle possibly need to protect me from?
