a debt. She didn’t know at the time that it was a debt that she can’t seem to ever repay.
“Slowly,” Marcus tells her. “In through your nose and then out. One at a time, Ariana.” He holds her still damp hair out of her face as she heaves again. “Your body knows how to breathe,” he tells her softly.
She nods and then sits back, leaning against the cool tub now.
“You’re going to go through this in the days to come but you have to get something in you for the strength to fight this. Okay?” Marcus asks.
She nods without looking at him.
“You’re not dead, Ariana. Count that as a win.”
A win? Yeah right. She wonders if Marcus knows what she’ll be returning to. No one could call that a win.
As of right now, she didn’t even know what the hell is going on. She didn’t know why she’s here but she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Isabella to walk through those doors to slice her throat open.
Adam King. He was gone by the time she stepped out of the shower. There was a fresh set of satin pajamas folded neatly on top of the bed for her as well. It felt amazing on her skin. Soothing and cool against the fire that burned beneath.
The man was gorgeous the night she’d seen him at Eden. He’d been different from the others. He spoke to her like a person. Not a plaything even though she’d expected to be when Isabella had called her into the room.
He seemed kind and his eyes seem to read to the depths of her. And for the first time in a long time, she’d been ashamed to be on her knees next to him while he was fucking Isabella. Or getting fucked by Isabella. Except, when he’d held her hand that night, it felt like an apology of some sort.
It was her mind playing tricks on her. It was the pills that Cristian made sure she took an hour earlier. A concoction of pills if she had bothered to count them. Why would he be apologizing to her?
“Let’s get you back in bed,” Marcus says.
He stands and helps her up to her feet. Her legs feel like jelly. Her knees buckle and Marcus grips her around her waist to hold her up and help her walk.
“We can walk around the house,” he suggests, one arm still around her waist and the other holding her shoulder. “It’ll help with the muscle aches.”
She pauses at the suggestion, unsure if she can bear the pain that each movement earns.
“Come on, Ariana. You’ve got some fight in you. I know you do,” he coaxes her.
She obliges and takes a few steps with his help.
Fifteen minutes of walking in circles around the cozy living room and she was ready to call it a day. Instead of helping her back to the bedroom, he gets her comfortable on the couch. There’s no TV but she didn’t need the noise anyway. The noise inside her head is loud enough. The voice of her mother telling her to be strong repeats over and over. Louder and louder. It used to be a method of coping and to give her encouragement.
Now, the words only sound like a death sentence.
Marcus sits in the chair across from her. He seems stumped by the crossword puzzle book he’s working on. He must have felt her staring because he arches an eyebrow and looks at her.
“Wanna try?” he asks with a smile.
She shakes her head. She’d never get a single word right. Uneducated. That’s what Isabella and Cristian had called her. She barely finished high school and there was no way she would have been allowed to go to college. Her income, if anyone wanted to call it that, came from the Romanos.
“Do you know how I got here? Or why I’m here?” she asks.
“You’re here because someone cares about you,” he answers. He closes the book and puts the pencil inside his shirt pocket. “You’re here because you need help.”
Someone cares? Since when? She doesn’t ask anything about that for now.
“I’m a substance abuse counselor, Ariana. I wouldn’t be here if someone didn’t think you are worth saving.” He folds his hands over his lap and patiently waits for her to think over what he’s telling her.
He hasn’t answered any of her questions though.
“Who?” she manages to ask. “Who brought me here.”
“The Kings,” he answers. “I don’t know how they did it. I was only