"Oh, don't look at me like that, doll," Aston said, his voice excessively polite. "It's not becoming."
"Where am I?" My voice was hoarse, my mouth dry. I could barely form the words. "Where's my son?"
"Oh, please tell me you recognize this place," he said. "It would be a tremendous disappointment if you didn't, after I put out the effort of bringing you here. Come on. You can feel it inside you, can't you? You've come home."
My heart felt like it stopped beating, and I inhaled sharply as I looked around the room, finally beginning to register my surroundings, the teak bed and the jewel-toned pillows. The smell of lemongrass and jasmine permeated the air, and nearly made me vomit again. Yes, I knew this place. How could I ever forget the place where my innocence was ripped from me?
"Where's Ben?" I asked again, my voice bolder than I felt. I pulled away from Aston in horror, walking toward the other side of the room. He watched me, the way an animal watches prey, his eyes following my movements. "Is he here?"
"I have plans for you, Meia. For both of you."
My blood ran cold. "What plans?"
"Now what would be the fun in it, if I told you everything right now?" Aston said, striding across the room to face me, gripping the bottom of my face with his hand. "There would be no excitement, no anticipation."
I struggled, and Aston squeezed my jaw tighter, then leaned in close to me. "And the excitement has just begun."
"Why, Aston?" I asked, my voice trembling. I reminded myself that I could endure whatever horrors he had planned for me. I could hold on. Ben's life was at stake.
"Because you're mine," he whispered. "I gave you freedom. Latitude. And you repay me by fucking some white trash biker? You seem to have forgotten who owns you. I owned you when you were a child, and I will always own you. You think you can have a life apart from me? I am everything to you. I give you breath."
"I'd rather die than be yours." I spat the words, before I could even think about their implications, for me or for Ben.
Aston let go of my face, and turned away from me as if to leave. His blow, a closed fist to my cheek, took me by surprise and I recoiled, my hands immediately going to my face as I stumbled back against the wall, covering my head in an instinctive attempt to protect myself. Pain shot through me, and spots colored my vision as the nausea from before overwhelmed me. I dropped to my knees, bile rising in my throat, and heaved on the floor.
From somewhere far away, I heard Aston's voice. "You will be mine until your dying breath. And, after that, Ben will be mine."
"No..." I choked out the word, the throbbing in my cheek so intense I could barely think about anything else.
"Ben is earmarked for a very special purpose," he said. "There is a group of very wealthy men who are interested in him."
Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I crawled on my hands and knees toward Aston, wrapped my hands around his ankles. "No, Aston," I pleaded. "Don't do this. Please don't do this to my son."
He looked down at me, with scorn in his eyes. "It's you who've done this, Meia. Until your last breath, know that it's you who've sent your son into the lion's den." He bent down, his face close to mine. "The men who will buy him? They are particularly fond of boys his age. They just...have a tendency to get a little, shall we say, carried away. They require new replacements due to their...vigor."
I heard myself wail, but it was like I was far away. Aston pulled away from me, and I knew he was leaving, but I dry-heaved on the floor, my stomach empty of everything. And when I couldn't expel any more, I lay there on the cool floor, curled up into a ball, unmoving.
Aston's words played in my head, stuck on a loop. It's you who've sent your son into the lion's den.
It was all my fault. I had been selfish, had allowed Hammer to get close to me. And now, my son was going to pay.
I was his mother. I was supposed to protect him, and I had failed.
There was no hope anymore, only darkness.
Benicio leaned forward, his elbows on the large mahogany desk, his hands under his chin. It was early in the morning, yet he was dressed in a suit, impeccably tailored to his frame, the same way he was the few times I'd seen him before. Two imposing men, clad in similarly tailored suits, stood behind him against the far wall, in front of the bookcases that ran the length of the office and rose from the floor to the ceiling. Their hands were at their sides, and they waited, unmoving, like London Palace guards or something. Looking forward, expressionless.
The ludicrous thought popped into my head that he must keep a tailor on retainer to outfit his staff.