. .” The black-haired Latina in yellow-gold. “And Alina.” He motions to a girl with creamy brown skin and chocolate-colored hair, wearing orange stones. “They’ll shoot together.”
Fátima and Alina share a small kiss. Raj makes an involuntary sound beside me.
Amateur.
I’m more than a little glad when Father motions to the stage for us to take our places. I can’t see his colors, but I know he’d be dripping in the purple of pride when he introduces us to the room. All eyes are on me, filled with intrigue, as I take my place in front of the drums.
The son of Richard Rowe.
We begin playing, and I wish I could slam these sticks against the drums all night. I don’t want to think about what I’ll have to prove to these people later. Though I’ve attended my share of these events throughout my teen years, this one feels different. As I look out at the women dancing in front of us, I realize this party is no different than the others. It’s me who’s different now.
I try not to think about Anna, and what she’d think if she could see all this, but it’s impossible. She’s in my every thought, and this party would make her sad. Everything is artificial, eye candy. Things that aren’t okay by normal standards, like the objectification of women, are made acceptable and enjoyable within these walls. But it’s all temporary and shallow and fucking depressing.
Yet, I know it will feel good at the moment. I know too well.
Hours pass, and my arms burn at the finish of our last song. The room erupts into cheers. I look at my mates, flushed and sweating as they stare out at the sea of bodies, the breasts that defy gravity, the carefully crafted perfection of bodies there for the taking.
The sickening pit inside me deepens.
Father approaches, beaming at the crowd as he holds an arm out toward us. They cheer wildly again. He ushers us offstage and a horde of women surrounds my mates and sweeps them away into the party. The Harvest Girls are on all sides of me, having lost their bejeweled tops somewhere along the way. My eyes are locked on Father’s knowing grin as acrylic nails run down my arms, and extended eyelashes flutter up at me. But beyond all of the fakeness is warm skin, and that is real.
My chest is tight. Father thinks he owns me, but he cannot control my mind. I choose to work tonight, because I refuse to give him the power of ordering my death.
Anna believes there is a purpose for me, but I’m not certain. I used to think this was my purpose, jobs like this, but I was wrong. I don’t know why I’m here, on earth, other than to love her and protect her if I can. I can’t do that if I’m dead.
So, I know what I must do. I must let the beast have complete control. I must live another day.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Chill of Winter
“When you’re living a life that you gotta deny,
When you feel how we feel, but you gotta keep lying.”
—“Secret Love” by Hunter Hayes
In spite of the sunny southern California weather, it’s possibly the worst winter of my life. I’m filled with self-loathing over my work in New York, I’m missing Anna like mad, and I’m certain she and Kope are together now. I expect a call from Marna any day to give me the bad news.
At Christmas I get the call I’ve been waiting for—the one I’m certain will break me for good. But to my surprise, the call is from Kope himself. My initial thought is that something’s happened to Anna, and my innards plummet.
“Hallo?” I stand in the middle of the television room, gripping my mobile.
“Brother Kaidan.” His voice is too smooth. Too bloody calm.
“Kope. Is everyone all right?”
“Yes. Everyone is fine.”
Then why the fuck are you calling me? I nearly rail at him, but I contain it, needing to match his proper tone. I ask, “Then to what do I owe this pleasure?”
He pauses and I want to reach through the phone and wallop him.
“Anna says you will not speak with her.”
I stand there, momentarily stunned. Who is he? Her BFF? The last person I need to explain myself to is Kopano.
“What is your point?” I ask tightly.
“My point . . . she still cares for you. I wish to know how you feel for her.”