I drop the earring and cup my mouth, just in time to catch a sob before it wakes Hunter up. I’m so overwhelmed, so worried, and I don’t know what to do to fix it.
When I was in that room with a table full of strangers, I could barely process all the pieces of information being thrown at me. It felt like one blow after another. There was so much, and yet, it felt like not nearly enough. As if they held all the answers, and were merely offering me scraps to keep me satisfied. Even afterall these hours of processing, I still don’t understand the full picture. I’m not any closer to leaving here and saving the guys. I can’t even save myself.
A whimper escapes me as my heart twists painfully.
How am I meant to do this? I’m not the girl who charges in and rescues people. I’m not a fighter. I’m not who they think I am.
Princess of the Bay.
Princess, my ass. I’m not royalty or a mafia leader.
I’m not Skylar Moreau.
I’m nothing.
“Ella?” Hunter murmurs. I squeeze my eyes shut, tightening my hold on my mouth. Fuck. I didn’t want him to wake up. His arm slides around my waist, tugging me against his body, and my hand falls, spilling my demons into the silent room. “Fuck. Baby, look at me.”
I shake my head, bury my face into a pillow, and cry. He tenses for a long moment, then lets out a breath and bundles me in his arms. The feeling of him wrapped around me is all I need to let everything go; every worry, every anxious thought. All the ugly images I’ve pictured in my head are woven with the terrifying things I learned about Gus, about the man who holds my men captive.
Once the floodgates open, they become impossible for me to close again. Everything hits all at once, making it difficult to breathe.
Fears about the unknown, my shaky future, the fact I witnessed my own parents dying. Every ounce of pain about my newly recovered childhood, the love I felt from Miles and Charlotte—my parents.The years we lost at the hands of a madman.
Evelyn and Daniel’s betrayal. The secrets and lies they told to keep up the pretense of being my foster parents. They watchedme self-destruct. Fall apart. Attempt to kill myself. They saw it all and said nothing. Did nothing.
Why? Out of some obligation to Madeline and her dictatorship? For fear of being discovered by Augustus?
If they were that fucking scared, why stay in the city at all? Why not bundle me up and run away with me?
What am I missing?
At the root of it all is her…Madeline. The woman I thought to be my mother.
And despite my anger toward her, I can’t help but remember the sacrifices she made to remain at my side in a world she never asked for, pretending to be my mom, while never having the chance to have a family of her own. I recall the tears she used to hide, the blank look on her face when she thought no one was looking. How gaunt she was back then. She was tired and depressed.
Was she lonely? Did she watch the way Miles and Char loved me, knowing the secrets they all kept, and long for a family of her own? Did she see the way Miles kissed Char and hoped for a love like theirs to come her way eventually? Did she hate them for what they asked her to do?
Did she hate me?
And after all that, she was right here in San Francisco, living a life with these people who knew and loved my parents. She was here and never once came for me. Whether her intention or not, the deep cavern of pain it causes hits just as hard. It makes me feel unwanted, and that’s something I’ve already spent a lifetime feeling.
Every question, every worry, is followed by another, until the room is spinning, and the urge to run is pulsing through me.
I gasp for breath, a hand clutched around my throat, and jolt upright. His arms fall from my body, and I feel his loss deep inmy bones. The room spins and I know I’m liable to throw up the meager meal I had earlier if I don’t calm down.
“Isabella,” Hunter rasps. “My love. Look at me.”
I shake my head, staring into the dark void around us, but seeing nothing. I feel him shift, the bed bouncing as he moves, and then I’m suddenly tugged on his lap. I blink rapidly, finding him leaning against the cushioned headboard with me straddling his legs. His hands come up to cup my face, forcing me to focus on him, and nothing else.
“That’s my good, sweet girl,” he murmurs, sending shocked zaps of pleasure throughout my numb body. “Keep your pretty eyes on me. Just like before. That’s it, baby. No one and nothing else can touch you here. No one can hurt you. I’ve got you. Do you trust me?”
His soothing, familiar voice breaks through the haze. I finally suck in a tiny breath and nod. He coos, praising me sweetly, and continues to murmur words of assurance and love until my body relaxes.
With nothing but a sliver of light to illuminate him, he looks worn down and exhausted. There are dark bags under his eyes, made worse by the shadows. The fine lines between his brows, the ticking muscle beneath his jaw, are all exaggerated, making him appear so much older than he is.
But under all that, he’s still my Hunter. My best friend. My rock.
He’s still my peace.
