distorted.
“My father never spoke to his collection. He just locked them away and watched them slowly break down. Did the Wolf ever speak of them? Did she know all about the careful curation she ruined? My father had spent decades finding the right bloodlines. Decades. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find pure bloodlines and a perfect package?”
I really couldn’t care less about his drivel, none of it helping me to escape and none of it even the slightest bit interesting. Why is it always the self-important, arrogant, perverted men that ramble on for hours? I don’t care what Illi said about it, from the way he’s pressing himself against the glass I can tell that it’s only a matter of time before he’s going to jerk himself off out there or do something else fucking disgusting.
I fucking despise men.
He rambles on and on about the beauty in me, the perfection and how freaking delicate I am. He’s just the next man in a long line to take a look at me and stick me in a box. Spoiled, pampered, rich brat who doesn’t like to get dirty. They all think I’m weak.
Every last one of them.
I bite my tongue so hard my mouth fills with blood, and I can’t stand listening to another second of his bullshit tirade so I finally stand up, rolling my shoulders back and stepping up to the glass. His words don’t falter as he watches me, describing how much of a lady I am.
I spit my blood out onto the glass.
You’d think I shot at him the way he recoils, horror etched into his face and finally his words come to a screeching halt. He takes a step back and then another. The claustrophobic feeling eases off a little in my chest.
I watch the blood slowly slide down the glass, and it’s a disgusting but necessary evil right now.
I couldn’t stand to hear his voice for a second longer.
“That’s not—you’re not supposed to do that. This is your home now; you can’t mess it up.”
I don’t want to listen to anything else this freaking psychopath has to say, but there’s no getting out of this glass enclosure without some clues. If he’s planning on keeping me alive, he has to feed me somehow, and I need to have a plan for when that happens.
He starts a whole new tirade about what’s expected of me in here. The sound bounces around the glass hell he has me locked in, and I feel that familiar snap inside my brain.
There goes the sane and rational girl.
I need to destroy everything. Start fresh after the destruction, after everything has been wiped away to make room for the calm again. I need to tear everything to the ground before I lose my fucking mind.
When I pick the bowl up and smash it against the ground, the man startles again, even though he probably can’t hear the sound of the crash, and then he turns on his heel and flees as though he’s running scared.
Fucking pathetic.
I’m furious at being held captive by such a spineless excuse of a human.
I break it all. I tear the books up until they’re in tiny little pieces. I smash every last item, even the desk which I manage to hurl against the glass wall in a fit of rage.
It doesn’t even scratch it slightly.
My temper gets worse, and I don’t stop until every last thing is in pieces. Tiny, sharp pieces.
This tiny glass room is like my every nightmare come to life. In here I’m an object, a pretty and defenseless little thing to be admired and coveted by others. I never realized just how much autonomy and confidence Lips and Illi’s training had given me. I had spent so long being protected by Ash and my family that I had started to think I was too weak to ever be able to take care of myself.
I know I can now.
If this wall of glass weren’t here, I would’ve done something by now.
Chapter Twenty
The Collector’s son doesn’t come back into the room.
After I destroy everything, I sweep it all to one side of the enclosure with my foot as best as I can and then I sit down, curling my legs up underneath myself as much as I can without my skirt riding up. I’m sure I’ll end up with tiny bits of porcelain cutting my legs open, but I don’t care. I’m beyond caring about any of this anymore.
I