21. Caroline
CAROLINE
The house has this eerie calm to it most days, filled with the quiet of money and secrets. No one visits me except to bring me food, and even then, they hold their heads down like a dog with its tail between its legs.
I don’t know how long has passed—a couple of weeks, I think.
It hasn’t been all bad, as guilty as I feel for thinking that.
If I weren’t worried about my children and for my life, I might even think it was a nice respite from my responsibilities.
The bed is comfortable, and I have free time to read for the first time since the boys were born.
I hear the doorbell ring before I hear the voices. It’s a long ring, the kind that obviously was programmed and means something, and it echoes through the large mansion, hitting the concrete floors and walls and sliding back to the empty halls.
My stomach tightens, a reflex I can’t stop, like I’ve just been caught sneaking out as a teenager. Except I’m not sneaking out. And I’m not doing anything wrong by being in this house. I’m being held here, in the prettiest prison I never could’ve imagined.
The voices get more intense, and I can almost make it out through the heavy door, that’s how loud it is.
I hear words here and there—“fine”—“trouble”—“nothing to worry”—“come in.” And then I hear Declan’s unmistakable footsteps, heavy and deliberate, like his knees have never learned to bend. And then lighter ones. Whose are those?
Then a tense voice calls, “Caroline?” A woman’s voice. Vaguely familiar.
Is that Alaina?
My feet move before I think, pulling me toward the door.
I press my cheek against it, straining to hear.
The footsteps are quick, slamming, and then coming down the hallway.
The lock is undone, the door cracked open like a geode.
Declan’s face, gaunt and intense, looks down at me, and he bares his teeth before gripping my hand.
He pulls me into him, his muscles pressing against me through his shirt.
He pulls my hair away from my ear and whispers, “Your friend is here. Breathe a word, and we’ll kill you both. ”
My eyes widen at the news, and when he steps back, I see her: Alaina. And with her my sons. “Mama?” Isaac’s small voice asks, like he doesn’t recognize me, like he’s afraid I’m a mirage.
My breath punches out of me.
They’re in slightly mismatched clothes, their hair tousled from sleep or the car or both. Isaac’s carrying his stuffed triceratops. Joshua is clutching the hem of Alaina’s shirt.
Alaina stands behind them, her expression a blend of exhaustion, concern, and barely contained fury. Her lips press together as she sees me, and something hardens in her eyes.
“There she is,” she says softly, too softly. The kind of softness that comes before the storm.
The boys run to me, and I drop to my knees, pulling them into my arms so tight that I might break something. I don’t care. I need to feel every rib, every breath, every bit of them that’s real and warm and mine.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Isaac pulls back and wipes my cheek with his sleeve. “Did you miss us, Mama?”
“So much,” I whisper. “So, so much.”
“Where have you been?” Joshua asks. “Alaina said you had a ’mergency. Where’s the fire?”
I look up at Alaina, and she crosses her arms. “I was wondering the same thing.”
I blink at her and pull Joshua to me until I’m holding one of each of my boys’ arms in my hands. “Boys, are you hungry?” They nod hard, their little heads wobbling. “How about you go into that room over there with my friends and ask for something to eat?”
I pat their bottoms as I push them into the room and stand up to face Alaina, making sure that my children are still in my sight.
Rian takes charge, taking a hand of each of the boys and asking, “Do you guys like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”
They nod shyly, and he says, “Okay, and maybe a glass of milk with that?”
“Do you have chocolate milk?” Joshua asks.
“We have chocolate syrup, so you can make it yourself, gasúr ,” Kellan says eagerly, and then whispers, “And I’ll even let you have a spoonful of it by itself.”
Venom catches in my throat, the sight of them in this space, Kellan using a nickname with my kid. It’s not right. It’s sickening.
Alaina steps closer to me, her brown eyes fiery, her mouth a straight line.
She whispers, “You want to tell me what the hell is going on? That guy that took you out—Paul—told me you had a family emergency. That you had to fly out last minute.” Her voice is low.
“Said you were fine. Said not to call. Asked me to watch the boys.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
She takes a step closer, her voice sharp.
“So I tracked your location. You shared it with me when you went on the date, remember? In case he was a weirdo. I kept thinking something wasn’t right about it, Caroline, that something was up.
So I left my kids with James and brought yours to you, and what do you know?
You’re right here, in a fucking nightie , looking just fine, and no dying family members around that I can see. ”
My heart hammers in my chest, the urge to confess so strong that my mouth is dry. I don’t know how I can convince Alaina to leave me here when she looks as angry as she does right now. “It’s not like that,” I manage to whisper.
Alaina looks around the entryway. The high ceilings, the polished floors, the air of restrained violence that somehow permeates every inch of this house.
“Then what is it like? Those men that let me in…I recognize Paul. But his accent’s different, and he’s going by Rian?
Please, Caroline, are they hurting you?” She leans in and whispers, “Just nod if they are. You don’t have to say a word. ”
I want to tell her everything. About the club. About the masks. About Rian—Paul—and Kellan and Declan and what I saw and what I lived through. About the way my body still remembers every mouth, every hand, every lie.
But the boys are here.
And so are the men.
So I swallow the truth and offer her a brittle smile. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”
Alaina rubs her hands over her face, then drops them. “So you really do have a family emergency?”
I nod. Of sorts.
Alaina doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way her jaw tightens, the way her eyes flick over my body like she’s checking for bruises.
I don’t blame her. If our places were reversed, I’d be dragging her out by the hair.
But she doesn’t make a scene. She just exhales hard through her nose and mutters, “I’m staying. Until I know what’s going on, I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“I’m not alone,” I say quietly.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
We stand in silence for a moment, staring down the hallway where my sons disappeared. Her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s fighting the urge to snatch them up and bolt.
But then I hear Isaac’s laugh—high-pitched and innocent. I move toward the sound, and Alaina follows.
The living room is massive, open and sunlit, with tall windows and heavy furniture that looks like it costs more than my yearly salary.
Kellan is kneeling beside Joshua, showing him how to stack the decorative rocks in a coffee table centerpiece.
Isaac is halfway into Rian’s lap, triceratops in one hand, the other pointing at a scar along Rian’s forearm.
“What happened to you?” he asks, curious and utterly unafraid.
“Shark bite,” Rian deadpans, raising an eyebrow at me like he’s daring me to contradict him.
Isaac’s eyes go wide. “Whoa.”
“I was there,” Kellan adds with a wink. “It bit his whole arm off. He had to grow a new one.”
Isaac gasps, and Joshua cackles. Alaina watches with narrowed eyes, but her arms don’t cross. She’s confused now, not just angry.
Declan stands by the fireplace, arms folded. He’s watching everything, watching me. When his gaze shifts to my boys, something unreadable passes through his expression. It’s not warm, but it’s not cold either. It’s…calculated. He catches me staring and nods, once.
My pulse hammers again. The walls feel too bright, too white, like they’re spotlighting every secret I’ve tried to hide. Alaina and my boys in the same place as these men doesn’t feel normal.
I inhale sharply and turn to her, prepared to kick her out, to tell her to leave. “Alaina?—”
“Caroline, let’s go get a coffee,” she says quickly.
“What?”
She looks up at Declan, whose scar is glinting purple under the harsh, white lighting overhead, and says, “I’d like to take Caroline out for a coffee.
Is that going to be a problem?” She narrows her eyes at him, daring him to tell her that we can’t leave so she can know for sure that this is what she thinks it is.
He looks at me, back at his brothers, and then at Alaina again in what feels like slow motion before answering, “Sure, you girls go out.” Then he looks at me and with a wide smile says, “And we’ll keep the boys.”
I freeze. That wasn’t a suggestion. It was a leash, velvet-wrapped and tight around my throat. Alaina’s smile falters. She feels it too. “No, that’s okay, I’ll?—”
“No, no, I insist. You two have fun. You haven’t seen each other in weeks. It’s clear you were worried about your friend. We’ll keep the boys company. It’ll be fun, won’t it, boys?”
“Yeah!” Joshua chirps, raising one of the rocks like a trophy. A stain of chocolate circles his lips.
Declan’s grin looks forced to me. Without light in his eyes, it’s like the painted expression of a doll. I wonder if Alaina can see it. He tilts his head and asks, “You trust me, don’t you?”
It hangs awkwardly in the air. I clear my throat and agree, “Of course, Declan. I trust you.”
He nods, looking down at Joshua with a sharp beam, his eyebrows lifting cartoonishly. When people don’t normally hang out with kids, they always end up exaggerating their expressions.
I look at Alaina, and I see the same thought tumbling around her brain: What did you do?