Chapter 5
WILLOW
Malice’s words hit me hard, both in the heart and in places a bit lower.
I stare into his stormy eyes as he finishes speaking, believing with all my heart that he means it. Even though I’m still terrified and freaked out about everything, the conviction in his tone helps soothe me.
He means what he says, and he’s willing to face the consequences. All of them are.
I nod, acknowledging his words.
Malice holds my gaze for another long second, then slowly unwinds his fingers from my hair, letting me feel the power and control in his grip.
“Good. Then that’s settled,” Ransom says as the moment slowly breaks, leaning back on the couch. “It’s not the best as far as plans go, but…”
He shrugs, grimacing slightly.
“But we don’t have very many options,” Vic agrees with a sigh. “This was hard enough when we were just trying to figure out who X was. Now that we know, the stakes are much higher.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling like this is somehow my fault.
I’m the one who brought Olivia into our lives, after all.
Maybe if I’d turned down meeting my biological grandmother all those weeks ago at the hospital, we wouldn’t be in this mess—although judging by how well Olivia takes hearing no for an answer, I’m sure that’s not likely.
The second she realized I was still alive, the first domino fell, and there was no way to stop what came next.
Vic flicks his eyes up to me, a frown passing over his face.
“It’s not your fault,” he tells me, his tone serious. His way of speaking isn’t as intense as Malice’s, but I can tell he means what he says just as much. “Your grandmother took advantage of you, butterfly. And we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
I swallow hard, nodding at him. “Okay.”
He nods back, those clear blue eyes of his seeming to see right through me.
“We should probably go,” Ransom says after a quiet moment. “Just in case the guard does a sweep or something. It’s probably not a good idea for us to be found here.”
Malice’s face darkens, but Vic nods again, already getting up from his chair.
Ransom and Malice each kiss me one more time, and although Vic doesn’t, he gives me a look full of meaning as they head for the door.
“Let us know if you need any help getting dirt on your grandmother,” he says. “We’ll do what we can.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. All of them.
Watching them go makes me feel like I’m being torn in two, as if my heart is going with them. In a practical sense, it’s a good thing that they’re leaving, because I was worried about the guy watching my place finding them here, but I miss them as soon as they’re gone.
That feeling I had when I first moved in, of this apartment being too big and too empty, is multiplied now.
Especially now that I know it wasn’t so much a gift as it is a fancy prison for Olivia to keep me in until she makes me marry Troy.
She might not have decided to make me live under her roof until the wedding, but this isn’t much better.
It’s just an extension of her power, another piece of proof that she never cared about me in the first place.
I stand in the middle of the living room for a minute, gathering myself together, and then start trying to do normal things—anything to take my mind off the panic that still lurks at the edges of my consciousness.
My stomach growls loudly, and as it does, I realize I haven’t eaten anything since before the funeral.
It’s crazy to think that this is the same day, when it feels like the girl who was most concerned about laying her adopted mother to rest this morning was a completely different person than I am now.
I go into the kitchen and heat up some canned soup, watching the liquid bubble in the pot. I make toast to go with it, the way I used to when I was a kid, but by the time I settle at the kitchen table with the steaming bowl, I don’t even want to eat it.
I feel hungry, but my stomach twists in knots, my appetite low.
But I force myself to take small bites, dipping the bread into the broth and eating half of it before I give up and dump the whole thing into the sink. I run the garbage disposal, the harsh grinding sound grating against my ears before I flick it off.
As I move back through the living room toward my room, I turn off the lights.
It’s evening by now and has gotten dark outside, and I hope that keeping it dark inside as well will keep the guard on the street from watching me too much.
Just thinking about him out there, maybe reporting my movements to Olivia, makes me shudder and feel sick.
I also feel dirty, grimy from the long day and everything that’s happened, so I run the shower as hot as I can stand it and step under the spray, scrubbing myself clean.
It doesn’t really help. All I can think about is how if I have to marry Troy, I’m never really going to feel clean again.
Back in my old place, when I was feeling like shit, I’d stand under the hot water until it started to run cold, letting that be the signal for when I’d been in for too long.
Now I don’t have that signal, since the hot water heater in this apartment is much better, so I have to force myself to get out, shivering as I dry off and walk back into my room to put on pajamas.
As I get dressed, I glance at the places where I put the cameras back up. I know they’re still on, and I hope Vic is watching me. It makes me feel less alone to think of him in his room, sitting at his desk, keeping an eye on me.
I get into bed and grab my phone, opening my text chain with Vic. But instead of sending him a message, I decide to call him instead. I just want to hear his voice right now.
“Willow,” he murmurs, picking up after the first ring. “Is something wrong?”
“Hi,” I whisper. “No, nothing’s wrong, I just…. well, a lot is wrong, but nothing new is wrong.”
“That’s good. I think you’re full up on things being wrong for the time being.”
I let out a messy sigh. “You can say that again.” I glance at the cameras once more. “Have you been watching?”
“Yes,” he says. “I always want to watch you, but now I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Hearing him admit that warms my heart. It’s kind of hard to believe that I once thought Vic was cold and robotic. He feels things just as deeply as his brothers do—he just has less of an idea what to do with those feelings.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and then let it out, still holding the phone to my ear.
“Will you stay on the line as I fall asleep?” I ask quietly, my cheeks flushing a little. “We don’t have to talk. It would help just to hear you on the other end of the line. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Of course. You should get some rest if you can.”
“I know. I’ll try. Goodnight, Vic.”
“Goodnight, butterfly.”
I shift around, making myself more comfortable in bed, holding on to the phone like it’s my most precious possession. The sound of his steady breathing is as soothing as I hoped it would be, but I’m still too wound up and tense to fall asleep.
After a moment or two of silence, I speak up again. “Hey, Vic?”
“Hm?” he asks.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. There are so many things I could say.
I could tell him how much I appreciate him, or how glad I am that I’ve gotten to know him better.
I could say I still think about the time he kissed me, and how I wish he’d do it again.
Or I could tell him that I think I’m falling for him.
It’s right there on the tip of my tongue, but I chicken out before I can say anything like that.
Instead, I just swallow hard and whisper, “Thank you. For everything.”
“Of course,” he repeats, as if everything he and his brothers have done for me is the simplest, most natural thing in the world.
I can hear him typing on his keyboard through the phone, and I imagine that he’s doing what he always seems to do best—working away at his computer, using the skills he taught himself to try to help his brothers and me.
The steady clicking noises join the soft pattern of his inhales and exhales, and after a while, my eyes drift shut as I listen.
But even when exhaustion finally pulls me under, I don’t sleep easy.