Dry prickles roll down my back and across my arms, lifting the fine hairs. I can’t give in to panic. I try to focus on things I can see inside the limo. The wooden minibar, the grainy pattern on the leather seats. I need to keep my head together. If I think about Zia Teresa lying dead in the hospital or the gunshots in the hallway where Adriano was, I’ll scream.
It’s my fault Zia was killed, just like it’s my fault Adriano was shot. I seduced him into taking me to the hospital. I did what Eli Morelli forbade and escaped. If Adriano is still alive and he’s told the Velvet House men what I’ve done…
But of course Adriano is alive. He has to be. He’s a minotaur. He’s going to follow me around forever, watching me dance. Just like Doc is going to insult me and Bobby is going to lift his eyebrows and ask if I’m okay and Eli Morelli is going to wear beautiful suits and oh my God, why did I think I could escape? Why did I think I could make anything better? I should have stayed trapped in my wing at Velvet House where the only person suffering was me.
The limo stops. I look outside and see a large manor house.
“Baskerville, go get Emilia,” Mr. Parker says.
The leery blond guy opens the door. I glance at Mr. Parker, expecting an explanation, but he drops his gaze to his phone.
A few minutes later a girl climbs into the limo. Her floaty red hair and wide blue eyes remind me of the little mermaid. She doesn’t look happy to be here. She looks terrified.
“Hi,” I say instinctively as she sits beside me. “I’m January—”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Mr. Parker says as the blond guy gets back into the limo. “January, this is my girlfriend. Emilia, this is my fiancé, January Whitehall.”
Emilia draws back like I’m going to hit her, but all I can do is stare. Girlfriend? So, the whole time Mr. Parker and I were engaged, he had someone? Or did he meet her after I was taken?
“Emilia’s been mine for almost two years,” Mr. Parker says as though reading my thoughts. “Haven’t you, my little cum-dumpster?”
Emilia nods super slowly, like she’s drunk or maybe high.
I feel Mr. Parker watching and I try to rearrange my face into something calm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emilia.”
Mr. Parker cackles. “What a good little whore you are. Say hello back, Emilia.”
Emilia slouches, so her red hair covers her eyes. “H-hi January.”
The shake in her voice sends goose bumps down my arms. What’s happened to make her act this way?
Mr. Parker leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know what? I want a better hello. You girls kiss.”
I blanch. “What?”
Mr. Parker pulls a gun from his coat and all the air seems to leave the limo. He points the dark circle at me. “Kiss each other. On the mouth. Now.”
Emilia’s cold hands close around my cheeks, turning me toward her and then she kisses me. Her lips are very small. Mr. Parker hoots and the bodyguards stare. Not all of them. Out of the corner of my eye I see the blond looking away, and feel a surge of affection for him. Although he might not be polite. He could just be homophobic.
Emilia and I separate and Mr. Parker claps, his round face red with excitement. “Again. Tongue this time.”
Before I can think, Emilia is pressing her small wet tongue into my mouth. She’s more obedient than I am. Or maybe she’s learnt better than to disobey.
There are louder whoops and cheers.
“Touch her, Emilia,” Mr. Parker says. “Grab her tits.”
Emilia’s tiny hands clutch me through my dress, squeezing my boobs like they’re cantaloupes. I inhale but nothing happens, I can’t drag air through my nose. It’s like being underwater, but I can’t panic. If I’m calm, I’ll be allowed to rise again.
Eventually Emilia pulls away and I stay limp, though I’m dying to wipe my wet lips.
“Very good,” Mr. Parker says. “Come here.”
“Me?” I ask, but Emilia is already moving carefully across the limousine. She doesn’t sit beside Mr. Parker, instead she drops to her knees. My stomach churns, sure of what’s going to happen next. Mr. Parker keeps his eyes on me as he unzips his fly. “You like watching?”
I don’t say anything. The blond bodyguard is still staring purposefully out the window. I try to copy his passive gaze. Emilia bends her head toward Mr. Parker’s lap and slurping sounds fill the limousine. My skin crawls as he jerks his head at me. “Look at me, January.”
I ignore him, focusing on the street blurring past the window.
