Chapter 18 Kaia
KAIA
“Fine. Keep an eye on the market. You’ll see Kaia front and center on stage within the day. Private bids only.”
My stomach drops right out of my ass and the cup of tea in my hands, a peace offering I brought with the intent of sitting down and having a real, proper conversation with Flynn, slips down my fingertips.
He’s going to sell me?
No, no, no, no!
There were rumors a long time ago that the Gallaghers were involved in the skin trade, but those rumors circulated back when I was a child.
Barely anyone deals in that kind of business these days, yet Flynn speaks about it like it’s as common as getting tickets to a sports game.
The furious buzz from my uncle’s voice doesn’t bring me the comfort I expect; in fact, he doesn’t even sound shocked that Flynn would stoop to such levels, and he’s certainly not alarmed to learn that the skin circuit is alive and well.
I can’t think.
My heart begins racing in my chest and every following beat is painfully hard like my heart is fighting to rip free of my ribcage.
Nausea sweeps over me and the only thing I can do is focus on my hands to ensure the cup doesn’t fall.
The last thing I need is for Flynn to know I’m right outside the door.
My armed guard remains at the far end of the corridor, where he always stops each time I’ve approached Flynn’s office and he shows no visible signs of being able to hear what’s happening in the office.
He’s going to sell me.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
A little human contact, some warm moments with his daughter, and mind-blowing sex, and I was ready to forget who he is, ready to reason that what happened to my family was something beyond my understanding.
I came here, ready to accept that forgiveness could be on the table because Flynn doesn’t seem as bad as the rumors say.
I was so wrong.
Wobbling on shaky legs, I make my way silently back down the corridor and hand the tea off to my guard.
“Flynn doesn’t want it?” he asks, staring down at the cup.
I can only shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
I’m so fucking foolish.
How could I let myself be blinded by misplaced guilt and lured by Flynn’s sweet Irish charm?
He’s a monster and at some point, I tricked myself into thinking I was okay with that.
It’s a blur how I get back to my room, but as soon as the door closes behind me I crawl onto the bed and bury myself under the pillows and sheets as the nausea pulls tighter through my gut.
Sold.
Like some kind of animal.
Flynn didn’t even flinch with that taunt, and somehow that hurts. Everything I’ve buried down deep suddenly rears to the surface and I’m forced to use a pillow to smother my sudden pained sobs.
I had that man on the floor, dying at my feet, and I should have let him die.
I would have if not for Angie.
Angie.
Flynn has the cheek to act like he cares for his daughter and in the same breath send someone else’s daughter off to be sold to the highest freak willing to pay like they’re nothing more than stock on a graph.
I can’t let that happen.
I refuse.
Buried under the covers, I spend my sleepless night coming up with a rather weak and desperate plan, but it’s the only one I can put together between my body being wracked with nauseating shivers and tears of hopelessness welling up inside me.
Angie is the key, as much as it sickens me to admit it.
She’s seemingly the only thing Flynn cares about, which means if she’s with me my safety is guaranteed.
And if I can get her away from a monster like him then there’s a chance she’ll grow up and have a safe, normal life away from the sick, twisted mind of a man who uses people like cargo.
My plan gets cobbled together in time for the sun to peek over the horizon, but I force myself to remain in bed for a few more hours.
The minutes drag past like each second is quadrupling in length and my heart continues to pound.
By the time mid-morning rolls around, sweat coats my body and I’ve thrown up in the ensuite three times; none of which eased the nausea rampant in my gut.
Suck it up, I scold myself as my trembling fingers slip against the belt I’m trying to loop around my waist. You have to do this. If you don’t, you’re dead. So suck it up. Suck. It. Up.
Knowing my fate doesn’t make this any easier, but after biting the inside of my cheek bloody as I step into my dress I steel myself and try to shove every emotion down into the depths of my soul where I can’t feel them.
Then I clear my throat and call out for my guard.
“David?”
No reply.
“David!” I call louder, stepping closer to the door. “David!”
A grunt follows and I quickly dart away from the door to the other side of the room.
“What?” David barks through the door.
“I’m stuck! The zipper on my dress is caught and I can’t— I can’t get it down. I can’t even get out of it! Oh my god, I’m panicking, David please—!”
He grumbles again and then the handle dips as he lets himself inside.
Tossing my head to one side, I mask the back of my dress with my hair and watch him over my shoulder.
“See? I’m all twisted and it’s making me panic! You have to help me get out of this blasted thing!” Thankfully, my utter fear of ending up a slave adds an extra flare of desperation to my words, and David takes pity on me.
He walks toward me as my bedroom door slowly closes behind him and his face twists slightly.
“I can’t even see what you’ve done because your hair is in the way,” he says.
“Then push it out the way!” I bounce onto the balls of my feet. “Oh god, I want to rip my skin off, this dress is too tight!”
“Hey, no need for that.” An awkward laugh escapes David and he reaches forward toward my dress. “Let me just…” His words trail off to a murmur under his breath while he reaches for the zipper and tries to brush my hair out of the way.
As he does, I toss my head to my other shoulder and block his view once more.
“Kaia, your hair is—.”
“Help me!” I interrupt with a gasp. “Oh god, it feels like I can’t breathe! Get me out of this damn thing!”
“Let me—!” David’s fiddling with the zipper, I’m twisting my body and tossing my hair to make it difficult for him all the while my hands are shaking like a leaf and my heart is about to break out of my chest.
“Stop moving,” David snaps, “I can’t get a good look at what’s stuck!”
“Get me out of this dress!”
“Kaia, you’ve got to stop—!”
“Help me, dammit—!” Kicking my leg back, I bring my heel down hard on David’s foot, then throw my weight back against him as if I’ve tripped.
As he stumbles, his arms go up and he gives me the small window I need to snatch the handgun from his waist.
My fingers wrap around the cold grip and I jerk it free from the holster, twisting my body and shoving my shoulder into David’s chest.
Nothing stops him from falling to the ground with a grunt and our eyes meet for a second.
The fear of being sold off like a piece of meat thankfully keeps any hesitation at bay as I snatch my pillow from the bed and shove it over David’s chest while throwing myself down on top of him.
The gun goes off twice, the blast muffled by the pillow and David’s body jerks violently and then goes still. I lie there on top of him, the gun pressed between us, and wait for the inevitable.
Maybe I missed my mark and David will attack me any second.
Or someone else was patrolling nearby and heard the muffled shots.
A minute of silence drags on for an eternity.
David doesn’t move.
No one comes.
Slowly, I lift my head and come face to face with David.
His mouth’s open and slack, his eyes staring up unblinking and they still hold the shock I glimpsed when I threw myself down.
Oddly, there’s no guilt.
There’s none of the sick, cold emotions I expected to feel given how horrible I felt each time I tried to kill Flynn.
Maybe it wasn’t the act of killing that threw me off, but the fact my target was Flynn.
No matter.
There’s no time.
“Get up,” I whisper, still caught locked with David’s dead gaze. “Get up, Kaia.”
Dragging myself to my feet, a curl of nausea rises up my gut, but I’m too stressed to focus on it and shove it down as I rip myself out of the dress and grab a t-shirt and yoga pants from the clothing pile.
After shoving my feet into sneakers, I grab the gun again and run.
My escape is likely going to be caught on the cameras pretty quickly, so I need to get my hands on Angie as fast as I can.
Down two flights of stairs, through the kitchens and into the west wing, I sprint as fast as I can.
Reaching the playroom, I almost trip inside in my rush and quickly hide the gun behind my back.
“Florence!” She sits near the window with Angie on the floor at her feet pouring over a book, but both of them look up at my entrance.
Florence frowns slightly in concern while Angie beams at me, and for a second, I waver.
Florence has always been nice to me. I can’t shoot her. I just can’t.
But I can’t get Angie while she’s right here either.
“Are you okay?” Florence asks, her voice filled with worry.
“No, I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could!”
“What’s wrong?” She rises from her seat and shifts herself in front of Angie.
“Flynn’s looking for you. He’s super pissed.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry before, and I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard him saying all these horrible things, so I ran here because you’ve always been so nice to me, so I wanted to give you a heads up.
” The lie rushes out of me along with several gasps for air until I’m leaning against the doorframe, panting.
“Oh no,” Florence whispers and she presses one hand to her abdomen. “Is this because I was late with Angie’s medication?”
I nod quickly. “I did hear something about medication.”
“But it was the last dose and she doesn’t— can you watch her?” Florence rushes up to me and grasps my arm while I angle my body to keep the gun hidden. “I’ll straighten this out. Angie needs to finish her reading, though.”
“Yeah of course.” I smile brightly even as I crumble on the inside. In a perfect world, I’d bring Florence with me too, but as sweet as she is there’s no guarantee she’s as innocent as she looks.
“I’ll be right back, Angie,” Florence calls then she rushes out of the room.
I wait a few long seconds, then walk into the room while hiding my gun. “What are you reading?”
Angie closes her book and shows me a cover adorned with a white witch and a lion.
“Oh, that looks so fun. Although, it’s really sunny outside. Why don’t we go read in the garden?” I hold my hand out to her and smile. “I want to find something really sunny to paint.”
Angie doesn’t take long to decide that reading outside will be much more fun.
She climbs to her feet and clutches her book under one arm, then has a moment of confusion between how to balance her book and her giraffe.
In the end, she tucks her book tighter against her armpit and clutches her giraffe, then takes my hand with a bright smile.
As much as it makes me waver, I tell myself over and over that I’m saving her.
Growing up in a world like this is terrible for anyone, but more so for Angie when she’s clearly already been injured and has a father who’s one terrible argument away from selling her.
I have to do this.
Hand in hand, we walk outside and Angie hums softly as we take the stone path down through the garden.
The sun warms my skin, cooling the anxious sweat that clings to my hairline, and soon the fence comes into view.
Just as it does, a terribly shrill alarm erupts from inside the estate and Angie jumps out of her skin.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I gasp as I drop to my knees and pull the giraffe and book from her grasp. “This will be scary, but I’m trying to save you, okay?”
Angie frowns at me, but I shove aside the strange knot in my chest, scoop her up into my arms, and run.