Chapter 8
EIGHT
Something is different today.
Zoe actually allowed me to use body wash instead of the cheapest soap I’ve ever seen, and for the first time in four painfully long months, I’m not eating eggs, yogurt, and bread.
Two sausages are in front of me, on an actual ceramic plate, with some french fries, sliced-up tomatoes, and even a few strawberries.
My eyes flick to Zoe, looking at her with suspicion. She merely starts tapping her foot against the floor, the sound of her heels filling my ears. Cam and Sam are nowhere to be seen, and the rest of their people, who were often scattered around, keeping an eye out for me, are not here.
“To what do I owe this feast?” I ask, trying to keep my voice controlled and steady, but the sarcasm is evident. Zoe’s eyes snap to mine. Her brows narrow, and I continue speaking. “And I even got a proper plate now. It must be a special occasion.’’
Zoe snaps at the small remark, and it’s hilarious that it’s all it takes to set her off. She marches toward me, then grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. A vein pops on her forehead, her eyes boring into mine. Her lips thin into a solid line, and for a moment, she’s quiet.
“Eat,’’ she orders through gritted teeth. “Or, I swear to God, you won’t eat anything for a fucking week.’’
She pushes my head forward, likely as a threat, then releases my hair and steps back.
She takes a deep breath, trying to regulate her emotions, but by now, I know that she doesn’t know how.
Two emotions she’s familiar with are anger and fear, nothing in between.
If it weren’t for the current situation, I’d find it pitiful.
I take small bites, trying to savor the food. Who’d think that such simple food would make my senses overload with content? Then again, those boiled eggs were worse than prison food, and that says a lot.
“It’s oddly quiet,” I say, swallowing another bite of the sausage. “Everyone must be preparing for Paul’s arrival, huh?”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
I shrug, taking a sip of water. “Cam told me.”
“Of course he did,” she mumbles. “Well, it’s not just about Simmons.”
“Don’t tell me we’re switching locations yet again?”
She glares at me. “Don’t think I enjoy them. It’s a fucking hassle to transport you.”
A scoff slips from me, and she isn’t impressed.
Her hands twitch by her sides, and she’s struggling to prevent herself from lashing out at me.
Truth be told, she loves to hit me around, then gets pissed when it doesn’t hurt.
She’s shorter than me and clearly hasn’t had to hit a person before me in her life, because it feels as though a child is throwing a tantrum.
Sure, it stings, but it's nothing that leaves permanent damage.
I hate what they do to me when they need to change the location. I’m always asleep, and they use drugs to put me to sleep. I always wake up in a daze after it lasts for hours. I never know what they do to me while I’m asleep, and the thought of what they could possibly do is terrifying.
“I’ll be gone for the day,” Zoe says, and my eyes snap to hers.
A smirk tugs on her lips. “Oh, don’t look so excited.
You’ll have someone else watch over you.
And he isn’t the person you’d ever want to cross,” she pauses.
“Then again, I’d love to see you try fighting him.
To see you be put in your place would be just amazing. ”
My brows crease. “Where are you going?”
I’m not sure why that manages to derail her. She approaches me quickly, her hand connecting with my cheek. If it weren’t for the rings on her fingers that sliced through my skin, I would’ve barely felt the slap.
“Stop talking,’’ she hisses. “The sound of your voice is pissing me off.’’
I sigh and return to eating the breakfast, knowing it would be the last decent meal in a while.
My eyes fall on my hand, and I’m disgusted with myself.
I’ve lost too much weight because they haven’t been feeding me properly, and it looks terrible.
My bones are more prominent, and the build I’ve worked for is gone.
Instead, I’m skinny, to the point of it being concerning, and I can count my ribs.
It’s not just looks wise — losing so much weight means losing the strength I’ve been building with Arlo and Hudson.
“What are you people going to do with me?” I ask.
I’ve been repeating the same question over and over again.
Each time, Zoe would either taunt me with vague responses, a glint in her eyes indicating that something sinister lurked beneath the surface, or she’d deflect and ignore the question entirely.
Somehow, I need to get that answer out of her today.
“Whatever Simmons wants.’’
“And what does he want?”
Zoe pauses; for the first time I can see uncertainty flash behind her eyes.
She’s silent for a moment, debating how much to reveal.
Then, she pulls out a chair, sits across from me, and just…
stares. Her eyes are dull, dead almost, and she doesn’t speak for a while.
Her eyes trail all over my body, a couple of times, before they settle on my face.
“I don’t know what he sees in you,” she admits, causing me to furrow my brows. “You’re pretty, sure, but not the prettiest girl alive. You’re not special in any way, shape, or form. So you’re curious what he wants to do with you, huh?”
I nod.
“Why the fuck not,’’ she breathes out. “Get ready for a quick history lesson, then.’’
“Fine.’’
“Back when they were a part of their little club, your biological father had done some questionable things.” She gives me a pointed look.
“You were an affair baby, and because of that, he was kicked out of it. Then, years ago, he tried to weasel his way back into the group because he got greedy. Paul agreed under the condition you were dealt with, in this sense, killed. Alexander gave him the address where you lived, and well… we all know what happened to you later on.’’
My stomach churns as I process the information. My heart is beating against my ribcage, my palms growing sweaty. I clutch the fork in my hand, knuckles turning white, and for a couple of minutes, I can’t speak. There are no words to describe how I’m feeling.
For years I blamed myself. For years I thought it was my fault, that I must’ve done something wrong for my mother to treat me the way she did, to all but sell me to be raped, abused, and hit by Paul.
But all this time it was just to fuck with Alexander.
They ruined my life, took away my childhood, and took away a part of my soul that I’ll never regain, and for what?
“Simmons abused me just to mess with my father?”
No emotions are visible on Zoe’s face. Briefly, she nods. “From what I’ve heard, there are even videos of him fucking you. Apparently, it was sent to Alexander to see if he’ll crumble, but he just… never cared.’’
A dark smirk tugs on her lips, and that’s when I realize that she’s just as twisted and as sick as the man she married and the people she’s covering and working for. Not a single ounce of regret, not a single ounce of sympathy from her.
That one sentence is enough to cause rage to burst inside me. Without thinking about it or taking a moment to plan it thoroughly, I rise from the chair. I’m on top of Zoe before she can react. The fork is tightly in my hand, and before she can react, I plunge the object into her left eye.
Zoe’s piercing screams fill the room, and blood splashes over my face, getting into my eye. Yet, I can’t find it in me to care. My body is shaking from the anger, the pain, the memories of what I’ve endured.
“He wasn’t fucking me,’’ I scream, my free hand wrapping around her throat as she desperately tries to shove me off.
“He was raping me, you cunt! I was a fucking child! He took away everything from me, and you’re smiling about it?
! I promise you, even your ugly fucking husband won’t be able to save you once I decide it’s your turn to die. ’’
My hand is trembling, and I pull out the fork from her eye, pulling it with the fork.
A disturbing, squealching sound comes when the eyeball pops off, and I wince in disgust. The screams stop when she passes out; whether it’s from the shock of seeing her eyeball on the fork or the pain, I don’t know, and I don’t care.
But this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.
Slowly, I pull away from her, glancing around. The cameras are following my every movement, and I’m fucking stuck. With deep breaths, I try to shove the anger to the back of my head and focus on planning my escape.
I toss the fork away, the clinking sound reaching my ears when it hits the marble floors. Immediately, I start patting her body to find a phone. My heart skips a beat when I find it, pulling it out and trying to unlock it.
Using her finger, the device is successfully unlocked. My hands tremble as I start typing in the phone number and press the call button. My eyes snap shut, tears rolling down my cheeks, and the silence in the room is deafening.
The longer I wait, the less confident I am.
Until I hear Arlo pick up the phone.
“Hello.’’
A choked sob slips from me. That angelic voice of his makes this experience feel unreal, my ears ringing. I swallow thickly, trying to calm my nerves down. With a deep breath, I open my mouth, speaking quietly.
“Arlo,’’ I whisper.
“Blair,’’ his voice is filled with relief. “Where are you, butterfly?”
“I don’t know,’’ I stammer around with my words, shaking like a leaf. “I don’t know.’’
“That’s okay,’’ he tries to reassure me. “Go to the nearest window, tell me what you see.’’
Quickly, I run toward the closest window of the kitchen. It’s wide and slightly opened. I peek outside, glancing left and right.
“We’re somewhere in the forest. It’s hidden from the main road.’’
“Can you hear any cars?”
I close my eyes, moving the phone from my ear. With a deep breath, I try to strain my ears and figure out where the fuck I am. Nothing happens for a few moments, but then after what feels like an eternity, I hear a faint sound of cars in the distance.
“Yes, East from where I am.’’
“Okay, that’s perfect. Listen to me—’’
His voice gets cut off when I hear the front door of the house open. I keep the line going, tossing the phone out the window. I don’t have the time to check if it hit the grass or the concrete, only praying that the line stays open long enough for Arlo to track the call.
My eyes glance between the door of the kitchen and the passed-out Zoe, and my heart sinks to my feet. Oh, God. What are they going to do to me when they see this? Are they going to kill me immediately for taking out her eye? Are they going to start beating me until I beg for mercy?
A thick knot forms in my throat, and I can’t swallow it down. My lungs start closing in together, and it’s hard to get air in. My heart is beating uncontrollably fast, my body shaking. I stay there, by the window, frozen in place, just waiting to see what will happen.
A man comes inside, his footsteps dying out when he spots the mess.
He’s wearing all black, a wide hoodie and a matching pair of sweatpants, the hood covers his face.
His hands are covered with leather gloves, and he has a pair of Dr. Martens on his feet.
He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move.
The only indicator of him even being alive is the way his chest moves up and down with each breath he takes, and each takes one of mine.
He doesn’t even acknowledge me, but I don’t dare move from the spot by the window. Despite the oversized hoodie, I can see the outline of four guns tucked in his pants, and given the way he moves and breathes, he definitely isn’t someone I’d want to test.
He approaches Zoe, putting two fingers on her pulse point on her neck. His other hand covers her missing eye, shutting that eyelid. It’s silent for a moment before he looks at me, and air leaves my lungs. It’s the first time I can clearly see his face, and relief floods my body.
There’s a big X sign on his face. Going from his left brow diagonally to the right side of his cheek, and the exact same mark going the opposite direction. It’s an old scar, in a shade lighter than his skin tone.
It’s fucking X.
He comes to my side, his body angled to hide mine from the cameras. He puts a small piece of paper in my hand, and without looking away from him, I open it. It’s a message, quick, brief, and straight to the point.
Tonight.
He takes the paper back and puts it in his pocket, then something akin to an apology flashes in his eyes. Before I can question it, he grabs me by the throat and slams me against the wall next to the window. His gloved fingers press the sides of my throat, cutting my oxygen off.
He mouths the words ‘I’m sorry’, and that’s the last thing I see before black dots start forming in my eyes. His blank, stoic expression, as the dark abyss wraps its loving arms around me, pulling me deeply inside.
Somehow, that feels like home now. I don’t fight it; instead, I allow my body to go limp, falling right into X’s arms.