Chapter 57
Lirael
The elevator ride down felt like descending into hell. Sebastian stood at the front, Celeste pressed against his side, his arm draped across her shoulders in a mockery of affection. Damian and I occupied the back corner, and I could feel the fury radiating off him in waves hot enough to scorch.
"What are you thinking?" he murmured, his voice pitched too low for Sebastian to hear over the soft jazz filtering through the speakers. "This is obviously a trap."
"I know." I kept my eyes forward, tracking the floor numbers as they descended with agonizing slowness. "But if we leave now, Celeste suffers. She's standing there because of me. Because I asked her to—"
"To take your place," Damian finished, his voice grim. "I know. But walking into his trap won't save her, Lirael. It'll just put you both in danger."
"Then I'll have to make sure we both get out." I glanced at him briefly, saw my own desperation reflected in his dark eyes. "He's using her as bait. If I run, he'll hurt her just to prove he can. At least this way, there's a chance I can—"
"Can what? Negotiate? Fight him?" Damian's hand found mine in the shadows, squeezed hard enough to hurt. "He's not just dangerous, Lirael. He's obsessed. And obsessed men don't play by any rules but their own."
"Neither do I," I said quietly.
Sebastian turned his head slightly, and I saw his smile reflected in the polished brass of the elevator panel. He'd heard us—or at least heard enough to know we were plotting, planning, trying to find a way out of whatever he had waiting below.
And he didn't care. Because he knew—had probably known from the moment he suggested this—that I wouldn't leave Celeste to face his games alone.
The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open to reveal a dimly lit corridor. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, and recessed lighting cast long shadows across the floor that seemed to move and shift as we stepped out. At the far end, a heavy oak door stood slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the gap like a lure.
"After you," Sebastian said, gesturing with mock gallantry.
If I got the chance.
Celeste moved first, her steps mechanical and uncertain, like a wind-up toy running down. I followed with Damian close behind, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, the tension coiled in his muscles.
"You know this is insane," he murmured as we walked down that endless corridor.
"I know."
"And you're going through with it anyway."
"What choice do I have?" I kept my voice barely above a whisper, conscious of Sebastian's enhanced hearing. "If we leave, he takes it out on her. But if I play along, maybe I can find a way to protect her. To get us both out."
"And if you can't?"
I didn't answer, because we both knew the truth: if I couldn't, we were both dead.
The corridor seemed to stretch forever, each step bringing us closer to whatever Sebastian had planned. My mind raced through possibilities, cataloguing potential exits, potential weapons, potential ways this could go catastrophically wrong.
We reached the door. Sebastian pushed it fully open with his good hand, and the scent of leather and expensive whiskey washed over me, underlaid with something sharper—gun oil, maybe, or polished metal, or the particular smell of a space that had witnessed violence and called it entertainment.
"Welcome," Sebastian said, genuine pleasure warming his voice, "to my playground."
The room beyond was exactly what he'd described—a private entertainment space that screamed wealth and excess and the kind of privilege that let you do whatever you wanted behind closed doors. Pool table to the left, its green felt pristine under an ornate hanging lamp. Full bar to the right, all dark wood and crystal decanters that probably cost more than most people made in a year. And straight ahead, mounted on the far wall, a regulation dartboard surrounded by vintage prints of bullfighting and big game hunting.
Predators and prey, frozen in frames.
How fucking appropriate.
Sebastian released Celeste long enough to move to the bar, already reaching for a decanter filled with amber liquid. "Can I offer anyone a drink? I have an excellent thirty-year scotch. Or perhaps something lighter for the ladies?"
"We're fine," Damian said curtly, his hand on my elbow keeping me close.
"Are you?" Sebastian poured himself a generous measure, swirled it gently in the crystal tumbler. "You seem tense, brother. Perhaps you should relax. We're just here to have fun."
"Your definition of fun differs significantly from mine."
"Does it?" Sebastian took a slow sip, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation. When they opened again, they found me, and I felt pinned by that amber gaze like a butterfly under glass. "What about you, Ms. Elena? Do you know how to have fun?"
"That depends on the definition," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Well then." He set down his glass and moved toward the dartboard with predatory grace, each step measured and deliberate. "Let me establish some parameters."
He opened a wooden case mounted beside the board, revealing a set of professional darts—tungsten barrels gleaming under the lights, precision-cut flights, the kind that could punch through playing cards at twenty feet.
Or through flesh, if the thrower aimed wrong.
Or aimed right.
"I mentioned I prefer games with stakes," Sebastian continued, testing the weight of one dart between his fingers. His bandaged hand moved with only slight stiffness—whatever damage I'd done last night hadn't slowed him down much. "So here's what I propose: a simple game of darts. But instead of the traditional target..." He turned, and his smile made my blood run cold. "We use a human one."
Celeste made a small, broken sound—barely more than a whimper, but it cut through the room like a scream.
Sebastian's gaze slid to her, and something in his expression shifted, softened into something that might have been tenderness if it weren't so poisonous.
"Come here, little moon," he said gently.
She moved like a marionette with tangled strings, jerky and mechanical, until she stood before him. He set down the darts and cupped her face in both hands, tilting her head up to meet his eyes with surprising care.
"You've been so good today," he murmured, his thumbs stroking her cheeks in a parody of affection. "So obedient. So perfectly behaved." She swallowed hard, and I saw tears gathering in her eyes, threatening to spill. "I'm very pleased with you."
Then he turned her toward the dartboard and gave her a gentle push between the shoulder blades. "Now go stand against the wall."
"Sebastian." Damian's voice cracked like a whip, sharp enough to make the air vibrate. "This is insane. This is—"
"Insane?" Sebastian retrieved his darts, arranging them in his hand with casual expertise. "No, Damian. This is ownership. This is what it means to have complete control over something." His eyes found mine again, held them. "She's my property. "