Page 25 of Caging Liberty
I wanted her years ago, and I let myself walk away, thinking she’d be a distant memory before I ever left New York City. But that didn’t happen. I thought about her, occasionally checked up on her, patiently waiting for her to come to her senses about Robert Gaumond. I was merely curious, but when I fed that curiosity, time and time again it turned into something bigger. Something, dare I say, obsessive.
She didn’t leave Gaumond. She married him. And that made it so much worse because underneath my success, my calm, my patience, I’m a child who can’t stand the idea of not getting something I want.
So to finally get the opportunity, to finally get the chance to scratch this itch just to have it swept away in one careless move, would drive me mad. It’d forever be there, like the shiny toy in a claw machine when I’ve run out of quarters.
“Which room is she in?” I ask.
Sawyer sighs, pressing his tongue into his cheek. He takes his time answering. “On this floor. Cooper is standing guard.”
I give a curt nod and start down the hallway.
“Careful, friend. She’s armed and dangerous.”
I wave a hand over my shoulder and continue without looking back.
I find Cooper standing in front of a bedroom door, and I don’t bother to address him when I approach. He must sense my conviction because he steps to the side and looks straight ahead like he doesn’t see me.
I fling open the door and step into the room.
8
Angel
My eyes lock with Lib’s, and I watch her posture change as soon as she registers it’s me.
The taut muscles of her shoulders relax, and her face softens from fearful to relieved. For a moment, that trips me up. I have to remind myself it’s what I want and what I was trying to achieve.
It isn’t bad, just … different. I’ve grown close-ish with a few women in the manor, but when they first arrived, it took each one of them a while to relax around me. They hear too many rumors.
“What do you want?” she asks, her eyes darkening like she just remembered she’s supposed to keep her walls up.
Her hands are tucked underneath the comforter, and I move my eyes between them and the headboard. It’s one of those with small wooden rods lined up across the back, and one of the rods is missing. Wood is splintered at the top of the headboard where the rods attach.
She couldn’t possibly be more obvious.
I sigh and walk up to the bed, holding out my hand.
She glares at me and shifts with her hands still beneath the comforter.
“Give it to me, Ivy.”
Her teeth are clenched, and her long, wavy hair frames her guarded face in a way that makes her look more cute than fierce. The pink cami top with white lace at the seams doesn’t help her warrior act either.
We stare at each other, neither of us blinking until she finally looks away. She slowly pulls the wooden rod, split at the tip to form a jagged edge, from beneath the covers, and she hands it to me.
I toss it across the room, then turn back to her and shake my head. “You have to stop doing this shit.”
“I will. Just as soon as you let me go.”
I open my mouth to respond but end up closing it and pinching the bridge of my nose. She knows she isn’t going to be let go. There’s no point in saying it.
A frustrated breath rushes past my lips as I sit on the side of the bed. I roll my shoulders and take deep, slow inhales, trying to ease my annoyance.
A wooden rod? Really? That’s what she thinks could take me down?
“I thought you said you wouldn’t be back.” I assume she means for her tone to be condescending, but I catch the hope in it. She’s glad I’m here. Why, I’m not sure. As far as I’m aware, she’s no longer being starved.
Does she want something else?