Chapter 2
WREN
“I will not put it down. It’s my violin.” Even if I wanted to, I’m locked in place with it as the last barrier between me and what amounts to a bad decision. I’m full of those it seems. I’ve never made any other kind.
The man’s eyes narrow, gun aimed at the case and my heart behind it. An improvement from between my eyes but not by much. Tattoos cover the man’s arms, from knuckles to the sleeve of his shirt.
Nope. This isn’t the saving grace I hoped it would be.
“You’ll let us check it, or you’ll keep walking.” His tone is cold and holds no mercy.
Squishing my toes in the dirt sends pain through my feet. They ache and burn, and now that I’ve allowed myself to think of them, pain radiates up to my knees and hips. Swallowing hard, I do my best to hide my cringe at the thought of walking.
I must whimper because the man’s calmer now. Somehow.
His dark edges smooth out, but not enough to keep from being dangerous. “Put it down and step away.”
I hesitate. Resistant.
Sucking in a ragged breath, I break my stance—my resolve—and do as he asks. I’m as gentle as I can be now that my limbs are shaking.
Is this what shock feels like?
My feet stumble me backward, and when I’m far enough away another man in an identical vest steps from building and approaches my violin.
The case opens with a snap and a thud, and I flinch.
“Please. Be careful. It’s delicate.”
The second man looks up at me, his features darker, skin ruddier, but he doesn’t hold death in his gaze the same way the first man does. But he obviously thinks I’m an idiot.
My heart thumps in my throat as my violin is lifted roughly from its bed.
I take a step forward without thinking about it, and the gun raises again. Aimed right between my eyes.
Stopping, I wring my hands, knees vibrating with the need to dash forward and take my most prized possession from the man. He’s going to break it. And I will have nothing left.
He examines the instrument roughly, and I skitter another few steps toward him. The gun follows.
I whimper again as he taps on the top plate. “It’s important to me. Please.”
It was my grandmother’s. The only thing of hers that I have left. It’s old. Worth more to me than anything else.
She played during a time when women rarely did those things as a profession. First chair in the orchestra when she was only twenty-four. It was a hell of an accomplishment. When she taught me how to play, it saved my life. From the spiraling depression threatening me as a caged preteen.
“Give her the instrument.” A voice says calmly from the entrance. I can barely glance up when the darker man offers me my violin.
I lunge forward—crying out softly at the pain—and take it, cradling it against my chest before I back away and let them poke through the rest of the case, finally looking up at another man in a vest. A gang. Isn’t that what they’re called when they match this way?
What have I gotten myself into?
This new man is older, gray streaking the sides of his dark hair, hazel eyes stern, and he’s frowning at me. Yes, I probably seem ridiculous. I get it. But at least he got that man to give me my violin.
The man with the gun tilts his head like he can see the change in me. And something sparks in the way he looks at me now. I can’t say why, but I know he’s not going to shoot me.
He smirks, and I struggle against the way it blooms a dangerous heat in my belly. The same kind I had when Grant looked at me in my wedding dress for the first time.
This can’t be good.
He gestures to the way I protect my violin. “That the only thing on you?”
“Y-Yes.”
His head tilts. “Don’t even have shoes on.”
I shake my head.
More men pour out of the door around the man in charge. Or the most in charge so far. Something about the older man screams leader but not the top. I must not be too much of a threat then.
I hope that works in my favor.
“Are you some kind of spoiled princess? Run away from a ball like Cinderella? Couldn’t even be bothered to find your shoes?”
He hits that nail on the head, even if he doesn’t understand the circumstances. He doesn’t need to. I’m as much a damsel as she was. There’s no point in splitting hairs.
A chorus of chatter fills the silence, comments on my ruined dress, my smudged mascara, the state of my feet, and the helpless way I cling to my instrument.
The older man gestures to the one who’s finished picking through my case. “Hand her the bow.”
I teeter forward and snatch it away from his outstretched hand. He doesn’t laugh at me, and he might be the only one.
“I bet she’s got no phone and no wallet either,” the man next to the leader says, running his hands through his dark hair as he monitors me.
“How will we make her repay us for helping her?” A nasty grin flashes, and it’s all too much.
The teasing. The threats. The innuendos.
Tucking my violin under my chin, I raise my bow to the strings and play one long, resonating note that seems to silence most of the chatter. It ripples through them on a delay from how the sound becomes a part of me.
Fingers moving, pressing, creating vibrato, my other arm moves slower in long heavy strokes. I play with my soul, letting the notes slice me open and bare everything I’ve kept trapped inside of me.
I wail through my violin, scramble through my pain and fear, linger in the triumph of making a decision that benefits only me. Survival quickens the pace, growing and reaching. Higher and higher.
I’m consumed by freeing myself from what my life has been. The cage I’ve been trapped in. As pretty as it was, it would have eventually killed me. Every dismissal. Every mask. Every joke at my expense. Every unwanted touch I endured. Every bit of my autonomy stripped away.
I took it back, scraped every piece with my nails. I can’t leave anything behind.
There’s not enough to spare.
When I finally use every last scrap of myself, I’m left with a hollowed out feeling in my chest, echoing in my final note.
But I feel lighter. More me than I ever have before.
If this were the last performance of my life and my fate sealed itself the moment I ran, I can be okay with that.
My bow arm drops to my side, and the violin slips from my shoulder to rest against my tulle-clad thigh.
I’m truly empty as the weight of a dozen gazes finally registers. The men are silent, watching me like I’m a creature they’ve never seen before.
The older man nods at me and gestures me forward. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. It’s time to tell us why you’re here.”