“We know where to reach you,” Abel says. “You’re free to go . . . for now.”
And with that, I walk out the door and leave the life-altering change that room and those men just caused for me.
The elevator ride down feels like it lasts hours.
The walk through the lobby feels like it’s miles.
But I put one foot in front of the other, never more sure of two things. First, I’m sick of men feeling like they have power over me and asserting it. My uncle James, my brother-in-law Brian, Carter Preston, Ryker in the beginning . . . and now the FBI.
Second, this is my worst nightmare all wrapped up into one ball of barbed wire. No matter what I say or do, I’m bound to be cut and injured.
Nothing is safe right now.
Least of all me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Vaughn
I wander the streets of New York.
My wig still on. My heels still high. My outfit still impeccable. But everything about me an absolute disaster.
Time passes in corners turned, in blocks counted, in neighborhoods walked through.
At some point I hear my phone ringing.
I don’t know how many times Ryker calls before I answer it, more than aware that my every word is being listened to. My every verb scrutinized. My every noun analyzed.
“Hey.” Fake it till you make it.
“Vaughn? Is everything okay?” Concern edges Ryker’s voice, and I shove away the hot tears the sound causes with the back of my hand.
“Fine. Yes. I’m fine.” I take a left on the corner of Eldridge and Grand. Another walk to nowhere.
His silence causes me to stop. “You’re walking.”
“No,” I lie. “I’m out front. I had to get something out of the mailbox.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“For what?” I’m having a hard time focusing on anything, let alone Ryker. Everything hurts—my head, my heart, my body—exhaustion and fear taking their toll.
“You were going to come over after work. I was going to send a car. We’d have a late dinner. Vaughn?”
“Yes. Sorry. I’m—uh, I’m just not feeling well. The new client bought oysters. I think I ate a bad one.”
“I’ll come over.”
“No.” I say it more forcefully than I should. “My head’s fuzzy, and my stomach is upset, and I just want to lie on the bathroom floor and sleep.”
“Vaughn, let me take care of you.”
“No. I don’t want you—I don’t want to get you sick,” I correct myself.
“You said it was an oyster. If it’s food poisoning, I won’t get sick.”
“It could be the stomach flu too. It’s going around the staff at the club.”
“Vaughn.” My name says he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
“I have to go. I’m going to throw up,” I lie and end the call.
And then I stand with my back against some building, my face lifted up to the moonless night, with tears coursing down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the night.
But I’m not sure what exactly for or who the apology is meant for.
Lucy.
Samantha.
Ryker.
Me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ryker
“That’s the best butterfly of all butterflies I’ve ever seen drawn before,” I say about the asymmetrical multicolored butterfly on the construction paper in front of me.
“Auntie likes when I draw pictures of myself,” Lucy says, her smile wide, her eyes so alive and full of life. “She says I capture my spirit, whatever that means.” She rolls her eyes and then bats her lashes as well as any teenage girl can.
“It means when you look at the photo, it makes you feel just as good as being with you and hearing your laugh does.”
“So pretty good then, right?” She fills in some more purple on the wings. “That’s who I am, Lucy-Loo, the feel-good girl.”
I throw back my head and laugh and draw the looks of others in the art room of the facility. With a smile their way, I study my surroundings. Light-blue walls are coated in layers of art—some scribbles, others exceptional—with the large windows letting light into the room. If you look closer, you can see the wear and tear—scuffed baseboards, cracked chairs, uneven tables—but the staff’s smiles are all bright and their voices cheerful.
Still . . . this is no place for any of these kids.
My chest constricts at the thought. My home wasn’t one full of cuddles and kisses—unless we’re talking about my nanny—but this isn’t a home. This is a facility where people are paid to take care of and love children.
“Mr. Ryker?”
“Hmm?” I turn my attention back to the reason I’m here.