Dead Girls Don't Run ✔️

10 | Fuck Tainted Memories

The summons came this morning.

I knew it was coming as soon as they'd announced who won the fight last night.

I take a small barely perceptible breath as I reach the double doors leading to Charles work room, the scratches in the thick metal doors spelling out my doom. No noise comes from inside, though that doesn't surprise me, this is the same room he has all his dealings in, and those he deals with never seem to leave in one piece.

In fact, the whole manor was silent, everyone having fled for the morning, no doubt at the request of the master.

I blow out the breath and knock before pushing the doors open and slipping in.

My heart pounds in time with the tap of my feet against the bloodstained concrete, layer upon layer of Colton's enemies staining the once grey floor.

It had always been red ever since that very first day I'd moved in.

Moved in, being a nice way of saying that I'd been kept. Bought. Owned.

God knows, my own blood has tainted this floor one too many times.

I shut the door behind me with a snick and look up.

I hide my shock quickly when my eyes connect to Ethan's, who stands off to the side, hands behind his back and chin dipped slightly, staring straight ahead, a soldier ready for orders.

I look to Elijah next, one quick glance before finally looking to Charles.

He an attractive man, but the emptiness behind his hazel eyes stops anyone from finding attraction in him, unless you were stupid or desperate and thought sleeping with him gave you power or protection.

Those people never lasted long, always disappearing when Charles was done with them.

His eyes are hard, his face like granite but the blazing fire behind those whiskey hued eyes of his has me freezing.

"You wanted to see me?" The words are like sandpaper up my throat, but I force them out, just like I force myself not to look at Ethan. Or Elijah.

"Don't play dumb Natalie."

I only blink in response.

"You threw the fight last night." It's not the words but the way he says them that has my heart beating double time.

I count the beats to distract myself from what I know is coming soon.

"I lost." I mutter, keeping my back straight even as the scar on my forearm flares almost as if in warning. I refrain from looking at the scar from when he had paid an opponent to not stop - even if i was unconscious. I woke up to a shattered cheekbone and my arm broken in three places.

I was thirteen.

It was my fault anyway, I'd talked back.

"You don't lose." He says quietly, lethally.

Silence follows his words as he gets up from behind his large desk slowly, a predator waiting to strike.

"You. Don't. Fucking. Lose." He sneers through clenched teeth, followed by his fist slamming on the table with a death rattle.

I hate myself for the flinch that takes over me.

"You don't lose until I fucking tell you to lose and I didn't tell you to throw that fight."

"He was better than me."

"Bullshit." The words are like a slap to the face, stinging with its delivery. "I taught you myself."