Woody was out here somewhere. Would he see me leaving? Would he try to stop them from taking me? I wanted to call out for him to stay back. Stay away. Stay alive.
If he didn't, he'd be dead anyway. If he killed Conrad and the other goon, my father would send people after all three of them. Not for revenge, but for taking away people who he'd trained to be as cold and robotic as him, his property.
I straightened my back. I had to pretend I wanted to go. Let him believe I'd played them. I could live with them never forgiving me. If they hated me, that was okay, as long as I knew they were alive. They could forget me. Go back to New York and pretend I never existed.
The goons led me over to a waiting car. Dark with tinted windows. The kind that said 'I'm up to something.' Steam rose off the engine, and it seemed warm, like they'd only just arrived. Presumably called by my father the minute I turned up at the party. All part of the plan.
I forced myself not to look around to see where Woody's car was parked. I had to appear to have no regrets. That I wasn't giving any of the guys a second thought.
"Don't worry, we already took care of it," the second goon said, grinning while holding up something that looked like it came out of a car engine. I didn't know anything about cars, but I suspected that was needed in order for it to start. They were making sure Woody couldn't follow.
I nodded. I supposed that was a good thing. It didn't mean they wouldn't appropriate another car if they wanted to follow, but would slow them down for a while.
"Get in." The second goon opened the back door.
I'd slid into the back seat, Conrad beside me while the second goon drove.
I didn't say a word. What was there to say? Instead, I watched the darkness slide by, the occasional glint of light flickering aswe passed. Houses. The people inside oblivious to what was going on fifty feet away.
We headed out of Saltgrave, back onto the highway. Back toward New York.
I closed my eyes, almost lulled to sleep by the movement of the car; the silence of everything except my heartbeat and the engine. The goon didn't put on the radio. No one sang along to anything.
I thought about humming something annoying, but decided it'd be a better idea if I stayed quiet.
That left nothing but the endless road and my thoughts as we travelled through the night. An hour. Two hours.
Houses gave way to buildings; taller, grittier, increasingly familiar.
That was the restaurant, where Forrest and I ate dinner. Harlow St. James' restaurant, another block or two away.
Was she there now with her four boyfriends? In my mind's eye, I saw them, armed with guns and knives, ready to swoop in and help at a moment's notice.
I wished they could help me, but I couldn't even ask. If I did, my men would die. I had to keep that uppermost in my mind.
Whatever happened to me, I had to keep my mouth shut. They couldn't die because of me.
I wiped a tear off my cheek, hoping these two asshole goons didn't notice. I didn't need them amused by my grief.
I needed to be as stone-cold as my father.
And my mother. Did she know about any of this? I wanted to think she didn't, but the truth was she probably did. For all I knew, this was her idea. A plan hatched after I called her to ask for an invitation to the party. Punishment for not being obedient enough. For not letting them break me. For not letting Wolfgang break me. For not letting the Senator break me.
That list made my heart want to break a little.
The guys said I was badass, that I was stronger than I knew. I didn't feel strong right now. I felt like a thread ready to snap. A pretty cashmere jumper coming apart, unraveling bit by bit.
Could I call them my men anymore? I was never going to see any of them again. They were going to think I walked away. As far as they were concerned, I wouldn't be theirs anymore.
But me? I was never going to forget, or move on. I'd always be theirs, no matter what.
"We're here," the second goon said, pulling up in front of a nondescript building I'd probably walked past a hundred times.
Not far from Forrest's penthouse, this was the kind of place no one would stop in front of to wonder what was going on inside.
The brick facade was covered with a smattering of graffiti. A few pieces of newspaper, and trash gathered around the door, blown there by the wind. Kept there because no one cared to clean it away.
Conrad climbed out and stepped around to open my door and jerk his head, indicating that I should get out too.
