was done.
I didn’t know who would be more ruined.
Eleanor.
Or me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MY FINGERS DUG INTO the wave-inspired vanity.
Water dripped from my clean hair. Tears dripped from my lashes. Sun and shame painted my cheeks.
You’re so stupid, Ellie.
My reflection mirrored a girl who’d tripped out of the shower. Who’d washed her burned skin a thousand times and rinsed her hair a hundred, trying to bathe away the atrocity of her situation only to slam face to face with reality.
That guest.
That guest who stared at me as if I were some prime leg of lamb, bleeding and freshly butchered in a shop window.
And Sully.
His touch when he’d confessed to me. His iciness when he’d told me to leave.
In this circumstance, I wasn’t naïve. I’d known the moment he’d asked me to leave what he’d offer the guest.
Me.
He offered me.
My nails dug deeper into the smooth vanity.
More tears cascaded down my cheeks.
I hadn’t bothered to grab a towel—preferring the air to dry my skin. I was clean, but I couldn’t wash away the attempt at freedom. Tiredness smudged under my eyes. Bruises marked my body where I’d bashed against the kayak when I capsized. Scratches nicked my chest and arms when I’d walked through the undergrowth.
Each imperfection brought yet more idiotic tears to my eyes. I cried because I was back here. I cried because of what I had to face.
Would Sully take me to Euphoria tonight? Would that be my punishment? To serve a man with elixir in my veins, draining me of my final reserves?
Or would he let me recover?
Will he forget his promise to make me pay?
Don’t be idiotic.
I sneered at my reflection, cursing my long hair that needed a brush, hexing the stupid girl who thought she’d finally understood enough about Sullivan Sinclair to at least protect her body and soul…just a little bit.
He won’t forget.
He had even more reason to punish me now.
I asked him to see me as an animal!
I dropped my head, clenching my teeth hard.
What was I thinking?
That wasn’t the right thing to say. What did I expect? That he’d suddenly be nice to me? That he’d treat me like he treated Pika and Skittles?
That he’d love me?
God!
A noise wrenched my head up.
I spun around, facing the bedroom.
I hadn’t closed the door—what was the point? I expected to see a tiny parrot, but instead, I found a goddess with my silver lilied robe in her hands.
With a sad, understanding smile, she entered my bathroom and passed me the dressing gown.
Jealousy didn’t look at my nakedness, and I felt no shame in being bare. I felt more protected and dressed being nude with Jealousy than I had wearing Sully’s shirt in front of that guest.
Tears itched my eyes, and I took the robe with a half-shrug.
I’d been kissed, mauled, fucked, and manipulated since I’d arrived on this heinous island, but I hadn’t been hugged. I hadn’t had sympathy. I hadn’t had a friend.
Jealousy vibrated on my frequency, and without a word, she stepped into me. My robe pressed between us as her arms went around my damp body.
The moment she encircled me in an embrace, I let go.
Tears rained but no noise accompanied my breakdown. I’d brought this upon myself. I’d gambled with Sully and lost. I’d fought for my freedom and failed.
Whatever came next, I had to be strong enough to face. Otherwise…well…
How else will I survive four years?
As my tears flowed, I slowly hugged Jealousy back. Her embrace switched from consoling to clutching. A hug wasn’t enough anymore. We needed more. We needed pain to affirm we could still fight. Still battle this life we’d been given.
We clung to each other. Strong women and strong hearts, letting their façades fall in the safety of each other’s arms.
I didn’t know how long we stood there, but by the time we broke apart, I no longer cried.
So be it.
I would be summoned soon.
I would sleep with another stranger who wasn’t my boyfriend. A boyfriend who probably thought I was dead.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
Jealousy let her arms drop. Something flashed black.
Grabbing her right hand, I twisted it until her wrist faced me.
A matching tattoo.
Biting my lip, I aligned my own inked wrist to kiss hers. Two barcodes. Two girls stripped to merchandise and sold.
“Mexico?” I whispered.
“Brazil.” She stroked mine, tracing the small numbers that meant nothing but demoted me to a belonging. “I ran away from home. Got a job on a cruise liner as a cleaner. We docked in Rio de Janeiro.