Page 93 of Shattered In Darkness

I sit on the end of my bed, knees to my chest. My phone glows in my palm, but nobody texts. Nobody calls. Marcus leans against the door frame, watching me. His suit is perfect, not a crease out of place. He takes off his watch with a careful flick. That look in his eyes. Hungry, like he found a crack in my armor and he’s going to burrow in deep.

“Why are you hiding in here?” His voice is smooth, almost gentle. It slides under my skin. “Come out and eat with me. There’s no point sulking alone. Family is what you’ve got left, Lola.”

I want to scream. I want to throw my phone at his head. But I’m cold inside. My bones are little shards rattling around, and I can barely keep my teeth from chattering.

“I’m not hungry.” I sound stupid. Small and tired. My pajamas are two days old; my hair is a tangle. He likes me weak. I can see it.

Marcus crosses the room and sits beside me, pressing close. Heat blooms through the thin cotton of my shirt. He reaches out, his hand lands heavy on my knee. Squeezing. “You need to take care of yourself, sweetheart. Your mother failed you in the end, but I won’t. I’ll never leave you alone. Never.” His thumb circles, and I shiver. He leans in so close I can smell his aftershave, bitter and cold. “Cry all you want, Lola. Scream if you need to. But you always come back to me, don’t you?”

I try to shrink away but his hand clamps harder. My pulse stutters under my skin.

“She left you, but I never will.” His words coil, tight. “You don’t have to hurt, not when I’m here.”

His hand travels from my knee to my thigh. All slow, squeezing, like he’s testing how much space there is to fill, how much damage he can do before I crack. I don’t flinch. I don’t breathe. I just burn quietly under the mask I spent three years learning to wear.

He expects it.

So I let him touch me. I let the ache spread. I let him smother me with the weight of his words, breath thick as syrup in my ear. “You’re mine now, Lola,” Marcus says. “You always will be.”

He keeps his hand there, digging through cotton to mark what’s his. I want to disappear. I pretend I’m air, dust, nothing. The only thing worse than his touch is what happens if I fight it.

My phone buzzes. A tiny, pathetic sound in the dark. I look down at it, desperate for an excuse. Anything to pull me out of his orbit. He snatches the phone from my hand, glances at the screen. I see the name: Sophie. He studies it too long.

“Go on, then,” he says, handing it back. “But I expect you home by curfew. Don’t make me come looking.”

The way he says it is a spike through my spine.

I mumble, “I won’t.”

He stands and watches me rise, eyes tracking the curve of my ass, my trembling legs, my fucked-up everything. “By the way, there’s a party coming up soon. I want you to attend. It’ll be a good way for you to reveal yourself and show off your attributes for future opportunities.”

His voice stops me in my tracks.

“Who is hosting this party?” I ask. I don’t want to go to a party. But, if he demands it, then I have to.

“A friend of mine. Don’t worry about it. You just need to show up for reputation and business control.” Marcus watches me carefully, waiting for any negative emotion to strike down.

But, I don’t give him anything. I want to leave, so I will please him. “Okay, Marcus. Whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

He nods.

I hurry down the hall, his gaze on me, even when I hit the stairs. Even when the front door slams behind me and I’m outside, cold evening air is biting my cheeks.

I walk fast. I run. Wet leaves stick to my sneakers. His smell, his warning words, still coil around my neck. I’m sick from it, actually sick, like I might puke from the taste of him in my mouth. I don’t stop until I reach the house next door. Brody’s house. Sophie’s. It’s second nature where my feet take me. It’s always here, when I can’t stand the inside of my own skin.

The porch creaks under me, moaning like a haunted thing. I ring the bell, shaking all over. Maybe they’ll see it. Maybe they’ll pretend they don’t.

Sophie answers. Her face is all wild hair and concern, purple polish chipped at the nails. She sees my eyes and doesn’t say a word, just pulls me in and wraps me in a hug that’s too tight, too much, almost enough to keep me from unraveling right there on the welcome mat.

I want to cry but nothing comes out.

Brody’s at the top of the stairs, hands fisted in his pockets. He’s in sweats, no shoes. He tries to scoff, but his eyes go black and furious when he looks at me.

“What’s wrong?” His voice shouldn’t matter, but it does. It makes me want to lie down at his feet and sleep for a thousand years.

Sophie drags me onto the couch, tucking my bare knees up.

I shrug. “I just needed to get away from Marcus. He can be suffocating.”