Page 14

She’s curled on her side in the center of the bed, fully dressed, her phone clutched in her hand. She stirs when I enter, blinking awake with the disoriented panic of someone who’s been sleeping in a strange place. “Fawn?” Her voice is groggy. She sits up too fast, looking at me with wide eyes. “Oh my God. Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I tried to come find you, but that guy, Malcolm, he wouldn’t let me leave the room, and I didn’t know if…”

“I’m okay.” The lie comes automatically, practiced from years of reassuring Bailey that I have everything handled. I sink onto the edge of her bed, pulling the spare blanket around my shoulders, suddenly aware of my nakedness. “I’m fine. Are you okay? Did Malcolm hurt you?”

Bailey’s expression shifts. She looks down at her hands, then back at me, and there’s a softness there that makes my stomach clench. “Malcolm didn’t hurt me,” she says quietly. “He was actually...kind of sweet, in a weird way. He took me to a hotel room a few blocks away. We watched TV and ordered room service. Steak and lobster, can you believe that? Like this whole fancy spread.” She laughs, a small disbelieving sound. “He didn’t touch me. Barely even looked at me, honestly. He just made sure I had food and the remote.”

I stare at her, trying to process this. Malcolm. He took my sister to a hotel room, fed her steak and lobster, and didn’t lay a finger on her. “He asked about you,” Bailey continues, her voice dropping to something almost fond. “Kept checking his phone, saying he needed to make sure you were safe. He seemed...worried, Fawn. Genuinely worried. I don’t think he wanted to be part of whatever they did to you.” The fondness in her voice when she talks about him makes me want to scream.

He’s one of them. They’re all one of them.

Confused, I don’t say anything because Bailey is still talking, twisting the hem of her shirt like she does when she’s processing something emotional.

“We stayed there most of the night. He ordered dessert around midnight, this chocolate lava cake thing that was basically just a puddle of sugar, and we ate it while some crime documentary played in the background. He fell asleep in the chair. I fell asleep on the bed. And then Kipton came to get me this morning and brought me here.” She looks at me, and her eyes fill with tears. “I was so scared, Fawn. I thought...I thought they were going to kill us. Or worse. But they didn’t. They didn’t hurt me at all.”

I pull her into my arms, and she comes easily, burying her face in my shoulder. She’s shaking, the delayed adrenaline finally hitting her, and I hold her while she cries, stroking her hair. But my mind is racing. They didn’t hurt Bailey. They fed and protected her, treated her like a guest while they were...while I was... I shove that thought down. I can’t think about what they did to me right now. I can’t think about his hands washing me in the bath, or Noah’s forehead pressed to my shoulder, or the way I came apart between them. I especially can’t think about the look in Ryker’s eyes when he made me that promise, when he swore Bailey was safe. The realness that was there. Like he meant it…cared, even. “Let’s get some sleep,” I whisper against Bailey’s hair. “We’re safe now. We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

She nods against my shoulder, and we climb under the covers, like we used to when we were kids and the world felt too big and scary to face alone. The bed is impossibly soft, the sheets cool and smooth. I should be grateful. I mean…I am grateful.

So why does my chest feel so hollow?

Bailey’s breathing evens out first, her body going slack against mine. I lie awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the city through the windows. Every time I close my eyes, I see them. Feel them. The weight of three men who blackmailed me, threatened me, trapped me...and then made my body sing in ways I didn’t know were possible. I hate them. I hate what they did to me. I hate that some broken part of me already misses them.

Eventually, exhaustion drags me under, but my sleep is restless, haunted by phantom touches and dark eyes and the echo of a promise I’m not sure anyone intends to keep.

The knock on the door wakes me. I jerk awake, disoriented, my heart hammering against my ribs. Checking the alarm clock on the nightstand, I realize we have slept past noon. Bailey stirs beside me, mumbling something I can’t quite make out.

“Room service,” a voice calls through the door. “Compliments of the gentlemen.” I stare at the door, frozen. The gentlemen. Like we’re in some Victorian novel instead of a Mafia-owned hotel suite where I was gangbanged last night by three criminals. The contrast is so absurd I almost laugh.

Almost.

Bailey is already climbing out of bed, her curiosity apparently stronger than her fear. She pulls the door open without checking the peephole. I want to scold her for it, but I’m too busy staring at the parade of staff rolling in carts laden with food. There are four of them, uniformed and professional, arranging silver-domed plates across the dining table with the practiced efficiency of people who’ve done this a thousand times. Steam rises from beneath the lids. The smell of bacon, pastries, and freshly brewed coffee fills the room, and my stomach growls so loudly I’m sure everyone hears it.

“Where would you like the buffet set up, miss?” one of them asks Bailey, who looks as overwhelmed as I feel.

“The table is fine,” I say, finding my voice. “Thank you.”

They work in silence, uncovering dish after dish. Eggs Benedict, Belgian waffles, fresh fruit arranged like art, smoked salmon, croissants that look like they came from a Parisian bakery. A pitcher of orange juice. Coffee in a silver carafe, cream and sugar in crystal bowls. It’s ridiculous. It’s excessive. It’s more food than four people could eat in a week. Bailey watches them with wide eyes, her tears forgotten. When the staff finally leaves, we stand in silence staring at the spread.

“They really went all out,” Bailey says, reaching for a strawberry. “This is...this is insane, Fawn.” I pull one of the plush robes from the closet and wrap it around myself before approaching the table. My body still aches, still carries their marks, but the smell of food makes me dizzy with hunger.

We eat in silence at first, the kind of comfortable quiet that only exists between people who’ve shared everything. But my mind won’t stop turning. The way they treated me after. Like I was something precious, something he feared breaking.

No. I need to think about what came before.

They trapped me.

They used me.

They made me feel like I had no option but to submit.

So why the bath? Why the gentleness afterward? Why the steak and lobster for Bailey, this ridiculous breakfast buffet, and the promise that we’re safe?

“You’re doing that thing,” Bailey says, breaking into my thoughts. I look up from my plate, where I’ve been absently pushing eggs around with my fork. “What thing?”

“The thing where you overthink everything and spiral into a conspiracy theory.” She pops a grape into her mouth. “You’re wondering why they’re being nice after they did what they did. Why they threatened us and then acted like...like this.” She gestures at the food, the suite, the general absurdity of our situation.

I set my fork down. “Aren’t you? Doesn’t any of this seem weird to you? They trapped us, Bailey. They made me...they made me do things. And now we’re in a luxury hotel suite, eating a breakfast that costs more than our grocery budget for a month. It doesn’t add up.”

Bailey is quiet for a moment, her expression serious in a way that reminds me she’s not a child anymore. She’s twenty-one, old enough to understand the world’s complexities and have her own scars. “I think,” she says carefully, “that people are complicated. I think maybe they’re not all good or all bad. Maybe they’re...stuck in something, too. Malcolm told me some things while we were waiting. About their world. About how dangerous it is. He didn’t say much, but I got the impression that they’re not exactly living easy lives.”