Diamond Kisses (The Jewelry Box #4)

Just a glowing golden disc, a cloudless sky, and a monstrous acropolis ready to swallow us whole.

Chapter Five

………………………….

Henri

“YOU HAVE ONE HOUR,” THE head guard muttered as he shoved Peter into one suite, dragged Ily to the next and shoved her inside, then pushed me into a room opposite.

I spun just in time to catch Ily’s eyes as a guard stepped inside with her and slammed the door.

Peter’s door shut with a loud clang.

And the two remaining guards shoved me deeper into my chosen chamber before kicking the door closed and standing by it with their arms crossed. “Wash. Your time starts now.”

“Why can’t I stay with them?”

“Wash.” The head guard—a man with a shaved head and cold black eyes—snapped. “No questions. No requests. If you don’t wash, we’ll be forced to do it for you.” He grinned. “And we won’t be gentle.”

My heart thundered with fear for Ily.

I hated her being away from me.

I’d hated the dungeons too but at least we’d been together.

Now I stood in a room decorated in beiges and blacks and it was somehow worse than the month in a dank, dark cell.

Every inch of me itched to attack the two guards blocking my way. I needed to protect Ily but…it’d taken all my strength to walk up here. My ankle ached beneath my cast, my ribs throbbed, and my vision kept popping with black bubbles.

If I didn’t sit down soon, I’d probably pass out.

Fuck!

Turning on my heel, I studied the suite. With sandstone-coloured wallpaper and curtains, black carpets and bedding, the room seemed regal as well as oppressive. Larger than my old quarters, I guessed—judging by how many floors we’d climbed and general location—this might be on the level beneath Victor’s residence.

High enough to do some serious damage if I leaped out the window.

Too high to be able to escape intact.

Stepping toward the bathroom to the left, I tripped over the threshold as my gaze caught mine in the copper-gilded mirror.

Jesus.

Drifting forward, I grabbed the basin and stared.

I didn’t recognise the man staring back.

Shaggy hair, thick beard, grey sprigs that hadn’t been there before, a few sores from sleeping on bare plywood with only a scratchy woollen blanket for protection, and an aura of despairing death.

My eyes were flat and dull. My nose had healed from being broken in the fight but remained slightly crooked. My cheekbones almost cut through my skin, and my cheeks which had always been hollow, now seemed especially gaunt.

I dropped my stare to my tattered black shirt and slacks. Every inch of exposed skin almost matched the material in colouring. I wore layers of grime and filth, dried blood and dirt.

“I don’t hear that shower running!” the guard shouted from the door.

Ignoring him, I reached for the tap and turned it on.

The sight of running clean water had my thirst leaping for joy. The stale rations in our water buckets had never been enough.