Chapter 2
WILLOW
When we reach Olivia’s sleek, expensive car, we both climb into the back.
I slide across the seat, almost pressing myself up against the door on the opposite side of the car just to get away from her. I’ve never felt so stiff and uncomfortable around Olivia before. Just sharing air in this confined space with her makes my skin crawl.
In contrast, my grandmother seems relaxed and confident, radiating the kind of satisfaction that comes from getting your way so completely.
I hate that. I wish I could do something to shake her up, to make her realize she hasn’t won the way she thinks she has, but there’s nothing. Because she’s in control right now.
Once we’re settled in the back, Olivia says something to her driver, and he starts the car, taking us away from the cemetery.
As we roll down the street, I can’t stop myself from glancing over at my grandmother, wondering how in the hell I never saw beneath her facade. She played the role of being a kind old woman who wanted to help me so well, and I fell for it time and time again.
It’s a good lie, I guess. But still a lie, like so much of the world of the ultra-wealthy. Everything in her world is all about appearance, people lying about who they are on the inside and selling you on the glittering masks they’re always wearing.
My mind goes back to the three Voronin brothers as my fingers twist together tightly on my lap.
Not one of them has ever made any effort to hide who they are. That’s what scared me about them at first. Malice looked me in the face and told me that he and his brothers weren’t heroes from the get-go, and none of them ever tried to convince me otherwise.
But unlike Olivia, at least I can take them at face value. I knew exactly who they were when I started to care about them, which makes me feel like I can trust my feelings for them.
It makes those feelings seem more real, because they’re grounded in something I know is true.
Hell, that may be the only thing I know to be true right now.
The driver doesn’t say a word as he navigates us through the streets of Detroit, and I’m grateful for the silence in the car. I can’t imagine trying to make small talk with my emotions in turmoil like this.
I slump in my seat, looking out the window, watching the trees pass and wondering how this is going to go. I can feel Olivia’s eyes on me at one point, critical and assessing, but I ignore her, not glancing over.
“Sit up straight,” she says eventually. “Slouching isn’t becoming of someone of your status.”
I want to say I can’t believe she’d be concerned with appearances at a time like this, but I guess that’s the whole point.
She’s blackmailing me into being her puppet, and now she’s pulling on my strings, making me conform to what she needs me to be.
That thought makes fury and disgust rise inside me, but I don’t want to find out what will happen if I disobey her.
So I sit up straight, gritting my teeth and seething with hatred for my grandmother.
Luckily, or maybe not, we arrive at Olivia’s house just a few minutes later.
The large estate is familiar since I’ve been here many times, but everything about it feels wrong now. I shudder as we walk into the entryway, remembering how grand and impressive it all seemed the first time I saw it.
Now everything feels oppressive, all the chandeliers and pieces of art on the walls and vases full of flowers coming together to form some sort of a gilded prison.
“Come along, Willow,” Olivia says crisply. She snaps her fingers, her low heels clicking on the marble floor as she leads the way deeper into the house.
We end up in one of the sitting rooms, and my heart starts to pound in my chest. I don’t know what she’s going to do with me.
There are a lot of rooms in this house, and she could easily pick one and make that an actual prison for me, locking me up until Troy Copeland shows up to claim his prize and drags me away to a church to marry me.
As I wrap my arms around myself, glancing around warily, a man I’ve never seen before strides into the room through another doorway.
He’s tall and broad shouldered, with a bearing that makes me think maybe he’s ex-military or something, and his bushy eyebrows rise slightly as he looks toward Olivia.
She nods, inclining her head slightly in my direction.
He walks right up to me, and I flinch away from him immediately.
Olivia tuts under her breath, giving me a sharp look. “What did I say about your posture?” she asks.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from snapping back at her, but I don’t want to piss her off right now. Not when I don’t know what’s about to happen.
The man circles me slowly, and everything in me wants to bolt away from him. He reaches out and grabs my wrist, turning it over so that the smooth underside of it is facing upward.
He pulls out something that looks like a big syringe from his pocket, and my heart lurches, adrenaline spiking through my veins.
Instinctively, I try to jerk away from him. I don’t know what that is, but it can’t be anything good. I can hear my pulse thudding in my ears, and fear washes over me, cold and intense.
Behind me, surprisingly strong hands grab on to my shoulders, and as I suck in a breath, my nostrils fill with the scent of Olivia’s perfume. She’s holding me still, making sure I can’t run away.
“Behave,” she snaps. “This doesn’t have to be painful, but it can become quite unpleasant if you give me any trouble.”
The man doesn’t even react to her words. He takes the syringe and places it against my wrist, pressing down on the plunger until something sharp stabs into the sensitive skin.
I flinch at the burst of pain, my mind reeling and my skin turning clammy as I try to figure out what the fuck he’s doing to me.
“I want it deep enough that it won’t be easy to dislodge,” Olivia says. “She can be surprisingly clever when she has the proper incentive, and I need to keep an eye on her.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man says, his deep voice curt and professional. “Unless she wants to dig around in her own arm with a knife, it’s not coming out.”
They talk about me like I’m not even present in the room, and my head spins for a moment before latching on to the words.
When the man pulls the syringe back, there’s a small cut seeping droplets of blood where the tip of the syringe was placed, and when I flex my wrist, I can feel a deep ache in the muscle. I blink down at it, my breath hitching as I realize what’s just happened.
Olivia had him put a tracker in me. Under my skin.
I shudder hard, unable to hold back the revulsion that fills me.
I hate the thought of being marked like this.
Tagged like livestock or property, so I can’t get away.
It makes me feel like Olivia doesn’t even see me as a person, and I have to wonder if she ever did.
When she came to see me in the hospital after I escaped from Ilya, she looked so relieved to have found me, so concerned for my well-being.
But even back then, even from our very first meeting, she knew exactly what she wanted to use me for.
And like she told me back at the cemetery, when I didn’t let her manipulate me into doing it the “easy way,” she decided to force my hand and blackmail me into doing what she wanted instead.
This is the “hard way,” and I have a feeling I’m only getting a small glimpse of how awful the hard way will be.
My wrist throbs dully, blood welling to the surface from the puncture. I fight to keep my emotions off my face, not wanting to give away how much agony I’m in physically and emotionally right now.
I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.
The burly man steps away, and Olivia lets go of my shoulders, passing me a handkerchief to stem the bleeding. I take it, but don’t press it to my arm, indulging in this little act of defiance. I hope I get blood all over her fancy furniture.
But Olivia doesn’t even seem to notice.
“The range is as we discussed?” she asks the man.
He nods. “Yes. Nowhere to hide with one of those in her skin. You’ll get a ping for significant events, and you’ll be able to pinpoint the location within half a mile or so.”
Olivia nods. “Very good. That’s exactly what I need.”
She says it casually, as if she hires men to put trackers in people all the time. And maybe she does. Maybe she and her husband—my grandfather, I remember with a sickening little lurch—did stuff like this often, blackmail and extortion, throwing their money around until they got what they wanted.
I rub my arm, finally dabbing at the blood with the silken material in my hand just because I can’t stand to look at it any longer. I feel sick, my stomach roiling as the man packs up his things and takes his leave with another nod to Olivia.
“It’s just a bit of extra insurance,” my grandmother tells me once it’s just the two of us.
“I know you won’t run or try to get away.
Because I know you understand that I have enough resources to hunt you and your men down if you try to leave Detroit.
” She gives a sharp smile that makes her look like a viper decked in pearls.
“That won’t be very pleasant for anyone involved.
I know you understand how serious I am. So you’ll be smarter than to try to get away from me. Won’t you?”
There’s a clear warning in her voice, and I swallow hard, nodding jerkily.
“Good.” She clasps her hands together, her smile widening.
“Now, I will inform Troy that your engagement is confirmed, and then there will be a brief period so that we can all get ready for the wedding the two of you deserve. It will be a big, lavish affair, befitting the union of two such prominent families.”