Tossing her coat over the end of the bed, she left her room and headed for Syn’s. No doubt she’d left it in there, and maybe she would just take her nap in his bed instead of her own. She grinned as she entered his room, which still held the scent of their lovemaking from the night before. Yes, definitely in here. And when Syn came home, he could just strip and crawl under the covers with her.
Her body instantly went hot at the thought.
“That’s what he does to you, girl,” she mumbled as she entered his bathroom. She didn’t bother with the light. Her robe wasn’t on the hook beside the shower where she’d expected to find it, and she was about to return to her room and just sleep in the buff, when her gaze fell on the walk-in closet. Hanging up there, next to his suits and sexy black shirts, jeans and robe, was her lovely piece of silk.
Had he put it here? With his own clothes?
She went over to it, but didn’t pluck it off the hanger right away. Instead she fingered the charcoal gray sweater next to it. The fabric was so soft. She knew what this would look like on him, feel like on him, hard, unyielding muscle through soft cashmere.
She brushed the sleeve against her face and nearly moaned, but at that very moment, she heard a sound. Strange, unnerving, and coming from beyond the closet. Her instant thought was that it was the neighbors, but Syn didn’t have any neighbors. Or an animal burrowing in the walls? But the sound wasn’t animal-like at all. It was more of a metallic whine.
She let go of the sweater and ventured deeper into the closet. The sound was probably coming from outside. Maybe they were erecting another building close by or something. But when the sound came again, louder and stranger, her skin prickled with fear. At this point, she was really hoping it was an animal.
She moved her hand through a row of heavy coats and jackets, feeling for the back of the closet, or gods, an animal’s sharp teeth. When her fingers touched wood, she shook her head at her silliness and sighed with relief.
Then the wood moved.
Petra gasped, her gut clenching terribly. Instead of being solid, it gave way. Like a door.
Her breath now coming in quick, shallow pants, she told herself to turn around and walk away. But the rational part of her brain refused the call, and her curiosity and instinct propelled her forward, almost maniacally compelling her to part the jackets and step inside.
Everything happened unbelievably fast after that. One moment she was amid waves of wool and leather, and the next she was being pulled inside a dimly lit room by a shocked and pissed-off Synjon Wise.
“W-what?” she stuttered, looking from him to her surroundings. “What is this?”
He growled, hissed, turned away from her, then turned back with a ferocious glare. She’d never seen him so angry. “Bloody hell,
She gasped, her hand jerking up to cover her mouth. At first she thought her eyes were fooling her. Or that maybe she was actually napping and this was a nightmare. The room she stood in had no windows, but the ceiling had the same black covering that was on all the windows during the day, so she suspected the entire thing was glass. But it wasn’t the ceiling that disturbed her or made her gut twist and ache. It was the contents of the room. Whips, knives, machines—all things that were designed to torture, kill.
She whimpered against her shaking hand, her eyes moving over the scene again, back and forth. She didn’t even have to ask. She knew who this room was meant for.
“I’m the monster now, right, love?”
She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him.
“How long?” she asked. “How long has this been here?”
He exhaled loudly. “The room was already built when I bought the place. I customized it to my taste.”
The shock was starting to wear off, and horrific, nightmarish reality was moving in, quick and painful. “It’s perfect.”
“Petra . . .”
“You still plan on using this, don’t you?” She turned from the living nightmare and finally looked up at him. He was the most gorgeous male in the world, and the most haunted. She shook her head at him. “With me and the
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You don’t understand.”
“You lied to me!”
“Yes,” he ground out.
“Then I understand perfectly.”
“Petra—”
“Your emotions are definitely back, Syn. And they’re just as sad and dated and misguided as they ever were.”
She didn’t spare him or the room of torture another glance. She turned and walked through the open doorway, pushed back through the closet. She’d been so right to be wary when all she wanted was to believe in him, believe that he could let this shit with Cruen go so they could build a family together.
“Stop right there!” he called, coming after her. “Where the devil do you think you are going, Petra?”
“Does it matter?” she called back, hurrying out of his bedroom and down the hall.
“Of course it fucking matters!” he shouted after her.
She ignored the grinding pain in her gut, ignored the love she had in her unbeating heart. She would have to ignore it forever now. “I’m going home, Syn. Where I belong.”
When she reached the entry hall, he was right beside her, his hand hitting the front door at the very moment hers curled around the knob. “No.”
She turned around and pushed at him, but it was like trying to move a slab of ten-feet-thick granite. “You don’t get to say no to me.”
“We’re a bloody family, Petra.”
She froze. How dare he . . . How fucking dare he . . .
She whirled on him, poked her finger in his face. “You don’t know what that word means. You’re an empty shell, Syn. No life. Nothing real. And that’s been your choice from the beginning.” Her jaw as tight as her resolve, she glared at him. “No matter what you think happened that day near the caves, I didn’t save your life. Because you were already dead before I got there.”
His eyes went wide and his lips parted, but nothing came out. And the second he took his hand off the door, Petra yanked it open.
“There’s no future for those who continue to live in the past. Good-bye, Syn.”
A heavy sob threatened to burst from her chest, but she managed to hold back her tears until the elevator door closed and she was racing down to the lobby.
22
Syn stared down at the diamond key, glittering on the hardwood floor. When had she ripped it from her throat? When had she tossed it away so carelessly?
His gut tightened painfully and he groaned.
He was one to talk about careless. It was all he’d been for months.
He leaned down and picked up the key. It fairly burned in his hand. The platinum and diamonds didn’t want to belong to him. Not after they had been resting against someone, something so pure.
Fucking hell, what had he done?
His mind and gut screaming in unison now, he left the hall and stalked past the kitchen and the metal artwork on the walls to his bedroom. Her face. Shite, her eyes, when she’d walked through the door into his ready torture chamber. He would never forget it. It was imprinted on his mind.
Utter horror.
Entering the closet, he pushed through the wool and leather and stumbled back into the room. He looked around, trying to take in everything as if for the first time. Witness it as she had witnessed it.
