Chapter 25
ANNA
The second I closed and locked my apartment door, I ran to find my cell phone.
It was still in the same place on the floor, one long crack running across the top of the screen. That didn't matter.
What mattered was that when I swiped the screen and looked at my new notifications, there were a few Google Alerts with my name, my daily affirmation, and my horoscope.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, from my mother.
No missed calls.
No text messages.
Nothing.
She watched while a known violent mafia figure carried me out of the Kennedy Center, and she did absolutely nothing. She actually accused me of fabricating the event for attention.
I didn't know why I’d still hoped this time would be different, that she would reach out, say something, or at least check in on me. I knew better than to think she had a single maternal bone in her body. But the rejection still stung.
I couldn't help it.
It was like the little girl desperate for her mother’s approval, for someone to love her, was still there inside of me and still heartbroken every single time that woman failed me.
No wonder my fractured psyche found something so twistedly comforting in Darius's attention.
Of course I fell for his bullshit, for his sweet touches and soft words.
It was the only time I had ever experienced anything like it.
I knew it was an imitation of the real thing, but it was still the closest I had ever had.
I was the embodiment of emotional starvation, the walking result of weaponized parental neglect. I grabbed one of the empty notebooks, the ones that I never touched because I didn't think my thoughts were important enough to record, and I started scribbling.
Words filled the pages. Some lyrics, some random thoughts; I just needed everything out.
When I was done, there was nothing left. Just that cold, aching, empty feeling inside of me that I was terrified of never filling.
When I looked up from the notebook, convinced that “Emotional Starvation” would be the greatest name for an all-girl indie rock band ever, I looked at the time and saw that it was a quarter to ten.
I was supposed to stay put. To be a good little girl and do as I was told. I was to sit and wait for instructions.
Fuck that.
I stepped into a scalding hot shower and washed as much of his touch from my body as I could. The water burned. I let it.
My skin turned pink, then red. Still not enough.
I scrubbed until my flesh felt raw, until the soapy loofah left abrasions across my collarbones, my wrists, between my breasts—everywhere he'd touched.
And then I got dressed in a cute yet modest dress, one that felt like me. I even did my hair and makeup the way I liked it.
When I looked into my floor-length thrift store mirror again, I didn't see the femme fatale of last night. I saw the quiet rebel, the girl who was working on building her own path. All except for that damn necklace that was still around my neck.
I ran my fingers over the cold stones, remembering how, when Darius took it off last night, I actually missed the weight. Maybe I really needed to talk to someone about this? Missing the weight of a bomb around your throat had to be a sign of some type of mental breakdown.
I shook my head, not willing to think about that right now, and then grabbed a cute scarf from my dresser and wrapped it around my neck.
It wasn't my favorite look, but it covered the diamonds, and that was all I could ask for. Then I headed downstairs and opened up the record store.
Edith only worked one day a week. The other six, she spent at her assisted living facility. She relied on me to keep the outdated music store running. And I would not let her down.
If Darius had a problem with that, he could talk to me, and I would tell him exactly where to shove it. After all, I was still in the same building.
The building I had worked in day and night for years, and I had never been in any danger until he walked through those doors.
Immediately, I got to work.
Edith had taken in a few used records that needed to be cleaned, tested, cataloged, and shelved.
Then there was the dusting, checking the receipts against the till, all of it.
After a few hours of quietly working in the shop, rearranging the records, I felt almost grounded.
If it weren't for the heavy weight on my chest, I might have nearly felt normal.
This was my comfort zone. I truly loved it, and I was back in it. And with any luck, this was what I was going to be doing for the rest of my life. Edith had already talked to her lawyers, and we had everything in place for her to leave it to me.
I didn't care that the store was outdated, that it didn't generate a lot of money, or that, according to my mother, it was beneath me and the private education she had invested in.
None of that mattered to me.
I never wanted a high-stress career, working day in and day out in a high-rise for prestige, toiling away to make other people rich, to pad my bank account at the expense of others.
A high-stakes career was just as appealing as a high-stakes marriage. I had absolutely no interest in either; my skin crawled at even the idea of a life in the spotlight.
I saw what that did to my parents. The pressure, the whispers, the rumors, the people trying to interfere—I didn't want any of it.
All I wanted was a quiet life in my own quiet corner of the world.
This was the life that I wanted, and as soon as this situation with Darius was over, I was taking it.
No more waffling about. No more maybe I should do this, or maybe I should compromise.
This was my life, and I was going to do what I wanted to do.
My mother had already made it clear that whether I lived or died was of no consequence to her, so how I lived my life shouldn't be of any consequence either.
I was actually feeling good about my decisions, even if I had only made the proclamations to myself. I fell into a groove, working in the store, and I could almost forget about the necklace and the man who put it on me.
The bell above the door chimed.
I turned around to greet the customer. Instead, I was greeted with an all-too-familiar man in skinny jeans and a suit jacket. His overly styled sandy blond hair and designer sunglasses proxies for his lack of personality and charm.
My stomach dropped.
"Peregrine," I said with a forced smile. "How can I help you?"
"I want to know why you think you can make a fool out of me," he demanded.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said.
"I'm talking about your whoring around last night on the arm of another man at one of the most important fundraisers of the year. You're supposed to be my girl."
"Peregrine," I said slowly, like I was talking to a toddler. "We never dated. My mother set up a PR relationship for her last campaign. It was never real, and I haven't even talked to you in seven months."
"It doesn't matter," he bit out as he slammed his phone down on the wooden counter between us. The sound cracked through the empty store.
I flinched.
The screen showed an article from some gossip site. The headline, in bright red letters, read: "Senator's Daughter Looks Not So Innocent on Arm of Mystery Mogul."
"How could you do this to me?" he said, then sniffed and rubbed his nose. For a second, I almost wondered if he was going to cry, and then I saw the white powder residue on his jacket.
Cocaine.
My pulse kicked up. This wasn't just Peregrine being entitled. This was Peregrine high and unpredictable.
"Peregrine," I said again, slowly reaching under the desk for the bat. "Our relationship was never real. It was a political fiction. I didn't embarrass you because I don't belong to you. And I never have."
"I don't care, bitch," he yelled. "I have an image to maintain as the man who's going to tame the rebellious senator's daughter.
You are part of that image. I'm supposed to be with you and tame you and then put you back where you belong, and now you're ruining everything.
Do you know what your mother promised me if I could get you to—"
"Stop," I said, not wanting to hear any more. I reached for the bat again, only my fingers brushed empty space on the wooden shelf. It wasn't there.
Gone.
Panic flooded my veins, cold and sharp.
His face turned red and he snarled, his eyes wide and his pupils tiny pinpricks as he reached out to grab me.
I backed away, barely staying out of his grasp, trying to find a phone, or something that I could use as a weapon—anything to help me out of this situation.
His eyes were wild as he stalked behind my counter, getting closer.
Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth around his yells at me.
"This is all your fault. I was promised an obedient little bitch who would give me children and never ask questions when I fuck other people.
Why do you have to ruin everything? I was supposed to ride your scrawny ass all the way to the fucking White House. "
I couldn't find anything to protect myself. The bat was gone, and the only things around me were delicate record albums. But even if I were willing to use them to defend myself, they wouldn't do anything.
My back hit the wall.
Nowhere left to run.
"Peregrine, you need to leave," I said with a strength that I did not feel.
"You don't get to tell me shit, you worthless little bitch." This time, when he reached out to grab me, I didn't have anywhere to go. He wrapped his hand in my hair and slammed my face down on one of the glass cabinets.
Pain exploded across my cheek.
White light burst behind my eyes.
The world tilted.
"Stop," I cried out as my ears rang and my cheek throbbed, a small, warm trickle of blood oozing out.
"You think you can fucking embarrass me?
Who the fuck do you think you are?" he screamed, and his words slurred together, coming out faster and faster.
His spit flew, landing on my other cheek, and I couldn't get away from him.
His fist tightened in my hair, sharp pain radiating throughout my entire skull.
I tried to twist away. His grip held.
My scalp burned as some of my hair was ripped out at the root.
"Help, please, someone," I screamed, not knowing what else to do. He was too strong, the drugs making him unpredictable.
My heart pounded, and I wished Darius were here. He was a monster too, but he didn't scare me. Not in the same way.
"No one is coming to help you, bitch," he yelled.
My vision blurred at the edges.
The scarf around my neck loosened, and when he dragged me back up by my hair, it fell open, revealing the diamond collar.
They caught the light. Brilliant. Damning.
"Is that what you are whoring yourself out for, bitch? I'm not good enough for you now? You need some rich sugar daddy to buy you pretty things?"
He was beyond reason. The timbre of his voice got higher and higher. He slammed me against the counter again and this time held me there.
Then his other hand was on my dress, tearing at the thin fabric.
"No," I screamed. "Stop, get off of me." I saw him in the reflection of the now red-tinted glass as he raised his hand, ready to hit me again.
His face was twisted. Unrecognizable.
A stranger wearing Peregrine's expensive clothes.
His fist descended toward my face when the door opened.
The bell chimed again—cheerful and absurd.
Peregrine said something I couldn't quite make out. The words came from underwater. Everything muffled.
Then, the distinctive click of a hammer being pulled back on a gun.
That sound cut through the fog. Crystal clear.
"Otoydi ot devushki," an unfamiliar but heavily Russian-accented voice said.
Peregrine let go of my hair, and I collapsed.
My knees hit the floor. Hard.
Pain shot up my thighs.
I looked up to see two of Darius's men, both armed and staring daggers at my fake ex.
Peregrine bolted through the back door, and the men followed.
Their footsteps thundered. The back door slammed.
Then nothing.
Silence.
I didn't understand what was happening and couldn't move from where I'd fallen.
My fingertips skimmed over my injured cheek. A hiss escaped between my teeth. My hands shook. I watched them tremble like they belonged to someone else. Thank god there wasn't as much blood as I feared.
I should've felt something more—physical pain, stress, emotional distress, anything. I was completely numb, which probably should've scared me even more. And I was sure once I could feel again, I'd be terrified.
My breath came in short gasps.
In. Out. In. Out.
I couldn't get enough air.
The diamonds at my throat pressed tight, a collar, a leash, a brand.
I wanted Darius.
I hated that I wanted Darius.
But I wanted him anyway.
I didn't know how much more of this I was going to be able to take before I completely shattered.