Number Thirteen (13 page)

He lets my mouth go and stands, exiting the room before I can say anything.

What is there to say?

He just rocked my world, and I don’t quite know how to process that.

I’m thirsty.

My throat is dry, and it hurts.

I’ve been down here for twelve hours, and no one has come down to see me. I’ve cried so much my body is beyond dehydrated. It aches, and my heart constantly hurts. All I can think about is Number Three. Her life was cut short before she had the chance to remember who she was. No one deserves that.

I want to hate William for it, but if what he says is true, how can I?

It still doesn’t explain
why
he has us. Why would anyone want to save thirteen girls? Why not two, or twenty? There are so many broken people in the world, so why did he pick us? Why were we good enough to try and fix? My entire body a {entpan> yches, and my heart is jumping around in my chest to a point where it actually hurts.

None of this makes sense.

Every time I close my eyes I see Number Three launching herself off that roof. I remember her words just before she turned and let herself soar. “I want to be free.”

She looked like a falling angel as she so gracefully took her own life.

Just thinking of it has a pained cry escaping my lips. I thrash my head from side to side, wanting the image to just leave me alone. I don’t want it there. My body begins to shake as I let the reality of this entire situation sink in.

“I don’t like doing this.”

I snap my head up, not having heard anyone enter. I see William in the shadows. He walks closer, and but in the darkness I can’t see him properly. I turn my eyes away anyway, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see the man who is bringing too much pain to my life. He walks over and kneels in front of me, then he pulls something out of his pocket, I lift my eyes enough to see it’s a gag. I gasp, and push myself backwards, only to collide with the wall behind me.

“Don’t, please.”

He takes my head gently, leaning in close. I shake my head from side to side, angry tears cascading down my cheeks. This close I can see he’s got a patch covering his eye. Why is he wearing that? Is there something wrong with his face?

“I’m sorry, Number Thirteen. I do wish you would just understand that if you gave me a chance, this wouldn’t happen. You will go another twelve hours with this in your mouth, and perhaps by the time I take it out, you will stop running your mouth off and begin doing the right thing.”

He reaches up, taking my chin. I jerk my head out of his grips, still sobbing like a small, broken child. He strokes a tear from my cheek, and then leans down, so close his lips are nearly touching mine. “I’m not here to hurt you,
frumusețe
. I just want you to learn.”

I shake my head, but he’s got too firm a grip on my chin. He leans down closer, and I can smell him. He smells masculine, with a hint of red wine. I stare at his lips, watching as he slowly licks his lower one. I feel that right down to my belly, and warmth floods over me. I hate him, I hate...

His lips press against mine.

And for a moment, I stop feeling.

Everything seems to come to a standstill as his mouth covers mine, warming my insides, easing the burning in my heart. I open my mouth and gasp as he slides his tongue out and traces my lips with it. My entire body comes to life, hating that the feeling I’m having right now isn’t one of despair, but one of lust. He’s getting to me. He’s breaking through my wall.

He pulls back, and I realize I’m panting. Big puffs of air escape my slightly parted lips as I stare at his devastating face. He strokes my cheek once more, then he lifts the gag and gently places it in my mouth. The feeling of having something restricting the ability to speak, hell, to even breath properly, is terrifying. My entire body stiffens, and I make a pained sound in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, standing and disappearing into the darkness.

I kick out in my chains, and the saltiness of my tears burns my eyes.

I hate him. God. I do.

But part of me...just a tiny part...is warming towards him.

I won’t give in.

I {wid="c won’t
cry out.

My back, my body, my legs, my he
ad, hell—my mouth.

S
he’s b ~e darknes="1emroken.

There’s a moment when a person gives in, and their face changes. Her determined glare is now replaced with an empty look of resolve. It’s not where I wanted her to be, but I can work with her now. I can show her that giving in will only work in her favor.

If she would just let me in, I could show her that she can trust me.

“Sir?”

I swing my office chair around, tearing my eyes off Number Thirteen on the camera. George is standing at my door with a phone in his hand.

“It’s Ben.”

I nod, and extend my hand. He walks in, dropping the phone into my palm. I cover the mouthpiece and murmur, “Get her out and back to her room, now.”

George nods, and leaves the room. I press the phone to my ear, leaning back in my chair and tapping my finger on my keyboard to bring my computer to life.

“Ben.”

“Been trying to get hold of you for over a day now, Will. Where have you been?”

“Busy.”

He makes a growling sound. “Don’t give me one-word answers, brother. We’re past that. What went down at your house? I heard there were cops everywhere?”

“One of my servants jumped from the roof.”

“What?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t know she was depressed. Turns out she had come from the streets. The cops said she didn’t even have a family.”

It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know what I’m doing here. He’d never understand. It took a lot of careful planning to get past the cops. They came close to finding out what I am doing here. I can’t let that happen again.

“That’s horrible. I’m sorry, man.”

I shrug, even though he can’t see it.

“She was unhappy; there was nothing anyone could have done.”

I wish that were true. I shove aside the pain that invades my chest at the thought.

“I’m still sorry, all the same. Listen, I called because it’s Dad’s birthday in less than three weeks.”

“And?” I mutter, feeling my body stiffen.

“Come on, Will. I know you hate him, but what about Momma?”

Momma.
My chest clenches as I think of the frail, broken woman that used to be my mother. She’s not now. She’s just a hollow shell. I feel a certain level of guilt about that, even though I shouldn’t. It’s not my fault this happened, no matter how much my father thinks it is.

“Momma wouldn’t even know,” I say in a dry voice.

“You haven’t been to see her for months, Will. You know she adores you. I’m going to organize a dinner. I’m giving you this now, in advance, because you’re going to come.”

“Am I?” I snap. “Since when do you decide what I do and do not do?”

“Since you can’t pull your head out of your fucking ass. Now, we’re going to have a dinner, you decide where. I’m sure for one night, you can smile long enough to ease some of the pain in your mother’s heart.”

Ouch.

“Fine, Benjamin,” I grunt. “You organize it for here.”

“You’re having us over to your house?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, I’ll let them know. Don’t let me down, Will. I know Dad is an asshole, and I know why you hate him, but Momma doesn’t deserve to pay for his behavior.”

“I know, Ben,” I say, sighing in defeat. “I agreed, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. Listen, I have another question.”

I make a rumbling sound in my chest. “Haven’t you asked enough for one day?”

He chuckles. “It’s just a question, brother.”

“Fine, let me have it.”

“The girl that works for you, what’s her name?”

I feel my body tingle, and then stiffen. “Which one?” I grind out.

“The tiny one. Blond hair, eyes that make you want to melt on the spot, sweet spoken?”

He’s talking about her.
Number Thirteen
. I stare up at the cameras, and I see she’s been returned to her room. She’s sitting on her bed, staring out her window. Her long blond hair is falling over her shoulders. Hell, sometimes it looks like there’s more hair then there is her...she’s so small.

“What do you want to know her name for?”

He’s silent for a minute. “She’s sweet. I wanted to take her out.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Why not?” he snaps. “Has she got a man?”

“Yes,” I almost spit. “She does.”

“All the good ones are taken,” he grumbles. “Well, can I at least know her name?”

Her name.

Her name.

I close my eyes. Not even she knows her name, I can’t just give it to my brother. He can’t have a piece of her that no one else but me has.

“I don’t remember it. There’s too many of them.”

He’s silent again. “William, are you
lying
to me?”

My chest seizes. Just the thought of lying to someone has everything inside me coiling up. I hate liars, and I hate people who do wrong. I just lied to my own brother. I just became what I’m trying to teach the girls not to be.

“Yes, sorry,” I mutter. “Her name is Emelyn.”

Just saying her name has my entire body breaking out in shudders. Such a perfect name for such a broken girl.

My broken girl.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “It’s as pretty as her.”

“Are we finished here? I have work to do.”

He snorts. “Always the charmer. Send me the reports you did up last week. I need to go over them before sending them in.”

“I’ll do it now.”

“Also, the figures for January are due up tomorrow. You got them ready?”

“Yes.”

“Right, if I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you at Dad’s birthday.”

“Later.”

I hang up the phone and sigh deeply.

This isn’t going how I’d planned.

“S
end Number Twelve in,” I order George.

He nods and walks out. I head over, switching the light off and taking a seat on the lounge with only a dim lamp on. I have been narrowing it down between the three girls for the past few weeks. Number Seven has no interest in giving herself to me; she’s too timid, and finds it difficult to speak to me. It’s now between Number Twelve and Number Thirteen.

I have a strange connection with nne8217;s tooNumber Thirteen. She makes me feel, which is something I rarely do. She challenges me, she brings out the best and the worst in me, but she’s stubborn, and she’s quite determined to fight me with this the entire way. Number Twelve is sweet, and is slowly allowing herself to trust me. She’s letting me in, but she’s dong it so easily. Almost too easily.