I furrow my brows. "What?"
"Having parents you'd sacrifice everything for?"
"I mean, look where it got me." I shrug. "I haven't seen my mom since this all started. I don't even know if she's still alive. And my dad...I can't stand being near him, not anymore. Not after he lied and kept this from me. Not after he let me give myself to such a..."
London laughs dryly. "You can say it. You're not going to hurt my feelings."
"I shouldn't be saying any of this. He probably has this place bugged. And what happened to us not being able to talk? I thought you said he'd flip his shit."
"First of all, Daddy is highly paranoid so there are no bugs in the house. He's too afraid someone could hack them. Secondly, I have no doubt that this is a test. After the shit I pulled with the last girl, he's probably convinced I won't do it again. He almost killed me. The only reason he didn't was because I'm an asset to him. The moment you no longer provide that man value, he has no issue in getting rid of you. It’s not a lie that he doesn't want me to be friendly with his pets but when he told you my name and said I'd help you out of the house, he put the ball in our court. He gets off on people making mistakes, because then it justifies him punishing them. And that's all he really wants, is to punish people."
"He's a sick man," I say.
"Yeah, well, that's Daddy." London exhales and motions toward me. "Do you have everything?"
"Yeah." I shove my hand into my pocket to confirm my phone is there and realize somewhere along the way I lost my clutch. I had it when I left Alec's so either the man who kidnapped me took it or I lost it on the street when he nabbed me. Either way, that means I'm without my wallet.
And losing that means I lost my ID, my credit card, and the little bit of cash I took to the game yesterday.
"What's wrong?" London asks me.
"Nothing I..." I chew at the inside of my lip in an attempt to distract the tears from building in my eyes.
London comes closer, her floral perfume the best-smelling thing in this entire place. "Listen, we've practically already seen each other’s vaginas and are being tortured by the same man. Just tell me what it is."
"I lost my clutch."
"Was it Prada or something?"
I chuckle and wipe at my nose. "No. It was some cheap thing from the mall."
"I don't see the problem."
"It had my ID and money in it. I'll have to call and cancel my credit card."
"Oh." London snaps her fingers and reaches between her boobs. "Here." She digs into a tiny little compartment and pulls out a single, crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill. "It's not much but it should help, right?"
I meet her gaze. "I can't take that."
She shoves the cash into my hand. "It's my emergency fund, you know, in case I ever fucking escape this place. I'll replenish it. No big deal."
"Thank you," I tell her, the words meaning more than she's probably aware. "Wait...why can't you leave now? You're an adult, aren't you?"
"Twenty-three to be exact." London adjusts her cleavage and fixes her shirt. "Part of the whole daddy not following through with killing me was so that he could use me as a business transaction."
"What?" My eyes go wide. "You're not serious."
London makes her way toward the door. "Yep. Selling me off to the highest bidder and my luck, the biggest creep, too."
"Is that what he meant about your outfit and finding a husband?" I follow her toward the exit.
"He's getting rather impatient." London stops at the door and presses her finger to her ruby lips.
I keep quiet as we walk side by side down the hall and into a grand entryway. I want to ask her more questions, to dig up more information about her and her shady father, but she asked me to hush and I have to respect that, especially after what she's done for me when she didn't have to.
At first sight, I thought London was a bitch, but it turns out she's in just as bad of a situation, if not worse than me. I don't know if I'd be as kind and generous as her if I had to spend my entire life with that bastard. I’m a couple weeks into meeting him, and I've already killed someone and questioned quite a few of my morals. I can't imagine what twenty-three years would do.
London opens the oversized front door. "Good luck," she tells me, and even though we just met, I'm convinced she means it.
