36. Riley
36
RILEY
W ith careful movements, I slide out from beneath a passed-out Aurora. A moan escapes as she rolls onto her stomach, and I reach down to brush her hair out of her face before sweeping a loving hand down her spine. Reluctantly, I make myself pull my hand away, tucking the covers around her tiny frame before I grab my heels, slip silently from the bedroom, and close the door behind me.
In the hallway, heels dangling from my fingers, I lean my forehead against the door and breathe deeply. Or, I try. I haven’t taken a full breath since Bertram walked into that bathroom at the arena. Eyes closed, I try again. And again, until I at least feel like I’m not coming out of my skin.
I can wish and pray on falling stars that this isn’t happening, but the truth is that it is . This. Is. Actually. Happening. And with every minute I waste standing out here, I’m risking my daughter’s safety.
Squaring my shoulders, I push away from the door, bending to place my heels on the floor. I slide my feet into the shoes as I smooth out my wrinkled dress. I’d ducked into the bathroom to fix myself up after picking myself off the dining room floor before I put Aurora to bed. Only, neither it nor the time spent reading her a story did anything to abate the frenetic energy buzzing beneath my skin.
Since I didn’t manage to eat or drink during dinner, I stop by the kitchen and fill a glass of water before downing the entire thing. Setting it by the sink, I stare longingly at the block of butcher knives taunting me.
Too obvious.
Not that I would have anywhere to hide one where he wouldn’t find it.
Especially given why I’m going to his room.
Shuddering, I force myself to turn my back on the knives and leave the kitchen.
Each step I take echoes through the dark, empty hallways of the mansion, the sound bouncing off the walls and amplifying the dread curling in my stomach. The air feels thick and suffocating, as if the house itself is aware of the terror brewing inside me. At this point, I’m pretty sure my fear is embedded in the walls.
The hallway is dark when I reach the top of the stairs and turn toward where the primary suite is located. The double doors loom ahead. I’ve never been inside the suite before. Never had a reason, never mind a want to peek into that room. One of the doors is slightly ajar, forming a slither of light that runs down the wall and across the floor.
The sight is deceptively inviting. So at odds with what waits beyond. My footsteps falter just outside the door. A blade is lodged in my chest, the pain sharp and foreboding, making it impossible to suck in a full breath.
The longer I stand there, the louder the silence becomes.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Riley.”
His voice cuts like a knife. I can feel it flaying me open.
With a last, futile inhale, I tuck whatever fragmented pieces of my sanity still exist back into the safe corner of my mind, along with thoughts of my guys and Aurora, and I reach for the door, as ready as I’ll ever be to face the horrors that await on the other side.
The smell of expensive cologne and something more sinister hits me first, flooding my mouth until I want to gag as I do a quick sweep of the room. It’s dimly lit, the bedside lamps casting a warm glow over a large, perfectly made bed.
At first, I think the room is empty. That perhaps he is in the bathroom, but a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye has me whirling in my heels. Cast in shadows, he sits like a king on his throne. Beady eyes trained on me, his arm resting on the arm of his straight-backed chair, a glass lined with an amber-colored liquid dangling from his fingers. He’s still dressed in the suit he was wearing at dinner. Not even his tie is loosened or top button undone.
For a long moment, we remain there. Him sitting. Me standing as we stare at each other from across the room. There’s something different about this time. Perhaps it’s the fact there’s a light on, no matter how dim, as opposed to the shadows he would sneak around in when he’d slip into my room in the middle of the night.
It could be that I’m in his room instead of him being in mine.
Or that it’s four years later, and regardless of my life choices—or perhaps because of them—I seem to have come full circle in some cruel twist of fate.
Have I been naively foolish all these years to believe I had a say in my future? For all I know, it would never have mattered what decisions I made in the last four years; I’d still have ended up right here. In this moment. In this room— with him.
Knocking back the last of his drink, he discards the glass on an end table before getting to his feet and stalking toward me. He doesn’t stop until the tips of his shoes touch the toes of my heels.
Reaching up, he toys with a strand of my hair, twisting it around his finger. “There’s my good girl. I knew you were still in there. Waiting for me, just like I’ve been waiting for you.”
His hands glide over my shoulders and down the backs of my arms as he eliminates the scant distance between us. My breasts brush against the front of his shirt, his cologne damn near suffocating me in its overwhelming stench. “Your hockey player doesn’t make you feel this.” There’s a snarl behind his words. “Or that tattooed thug.”
He’s vibrating with his rage… or maybe it’s me who's shaking as he wrenches my face up to his.
“Now there’s only me and you.”
“What about my mom?” As I said earlier, I don’t give two shits about that bitch, but I’m all about buying time, and if I have to talk about her to do it, then I will.
“We don’t need to worry about her anymore,” is Bertram’s vague response.
“Because she’s in Europe?” My gaze darts between his. There’s something benign about the way he dismissed my concern. Something more… permanent than Lydia simply being out of the country. “Right?”
Bringing his hands to my cheeks, he strokes his thumbs across them.
“There are no more obstacles standing in our way.” Another stroke of his thumbs. “I should never have married her, but I had to keep you close, you understand? Once I saw you, I couldn’t let you slip through my fingers. There was no other way…”
The lump in my throat solidifies.
“W-where is Lydia?”
I don’t know how I manage to choke out the words.
Ducking his head, he nuzzles at my neck while I stand stock-still, rooted in place with bile burning the back of my throat as he plants open-mouthed kisses along my jaw.
“Gone.” His voice is deeper, raspier. His hands glide up my hips and over my waist before sliding to my back. It’s the caress of a lover, but the reverence of his touch doesn’t mean it’s wanted.
The mental mindfuck of being touched against your will in such a tender, reverential way is something you never come to terms with. Something that never gets easier. I think that’s why I enjoy the way the guys manhandle me—their rough touches.
Although, even when they’re gentle with me… it’s different. It’s there in the way their eyes soften. How they catalog my reaction to their touch and adjust accordingly, always taking their cues from me.
Unlike Bertram, who doesn’t notice or care that I’m stiff as a board and silently screaming for him to get off me.
Gentle doesn’t necessarily mean kind.
Just like rough doesn’t mean uncaring.
How you touch someone doesn’t demonstrate whether you care. It’s the intent behind the action.
“For good.”
His words don't get the chance to fully penetrate before his mouth covers mine, knocking the air from my lungs. His tongue forces its way past my teeth, and he groans into my mouth. The bile thickens, becoming suffocating. My eyes are squeezed shut, my fingernails leaving crescent moon indentations in my palm as I squeeze them at my sides, battling the urge to push him away, to piss him off, to anger him.
I force steady breaths through my nose. I need to control myself; I need to remain calm, to keep as much of my sanity tucked away as I can so that I don't lose the last fragments of who I am before I can get my daughter and me out of this alive and unharmed.
His tongue feels like a wet fish in my mouth. Intrusive. Nothing like the passionate kisses I share with the guys. Their possessive caresses. Their toe-curling kisses that make stars dance across the backs of my eyes.
That ’s what I focus on, what I use to get myself through this.
“This is why I never kissed you before.” His voice is gravel, scraping against my skin and leaving dots of blood to bloom in its wake. “I knew once I did, I’d never get enough.” A final brush of his lips over mine. “Get on the bed. It’s been far too long since I’ve been inside you.”
Whether it’s the order or his words, my stomach cramps, and vomit floods my mouth, acrid and searing as I grit my teeth and swallow it back down.
“You are my good little girl, right, Riley?” he asks with an arched brow when I don’t immediately move toward the bed.
With a shaky jerk of my head, I move toward the bed as though walking through a dream. I absently try to calculate how many minutes have passed since I stepped into his room. It feels like it’s been hours, but it can’t have been more than maybe ten minutes.
You can do this , I remind myself. Just keep going .
Climbing onto the bed, I settle on my back, my head resting against the pillows. It could be the comfiest bed in the world, and I’d be incapable of feeling it. My body is too stiff. My heart too numb. My mind too distanced.
The world around me no longer feels real. Color has drained out of it, leaving only a sepia tone. There’s the hiss of a zipper as Bertram shucks out of his clothes before the mattress compresses and a weight settles on top of me. I feel like I’m wearing one of those VR headsets. I can see the scene playing out, even though I can’t feel it. It’s like it’s happening to someone else, and I’m nothing but a casual onlooker.
My dress is pushed up to my hips, and there’s a faint sensation as his hand covers my breast. His lips are moving, but the words don’t penetrate.
My legs are shoved apart.
Fingers snaking a path up my thigh.
An explosion rocks the entire house.
My surroundings blink back into high-definition as the walls shake and windows rattle from the force of the blast.
Bertram topples off me, collapsing onto the floor as I plant my hands on the mattress and push myself upright. My eyes are wide as the floor trembles violently, the explosion reverberating through the structure of the house followed by a hot, oppressive wave of heat. The acrid smell of smoke begins to fill the air. I’m wracked by a coughing fit, which startles me out of my stupor.
Oh my god, it worked!
“What the—” Pushing to his feet, Bertram cautiously approaches the door but makes no move to open it.
A second later, the blaring of the fire alarm threatens to deafen me. Jumping into motion, I snatch the lamp from the bedside table. It’s a solid, metal design. Perfect for what I need. The alarm covers any noise I make as I quietly creep up on him from behind. Taking advantage of his distraction, I lift the lamp above my head and bring it down on his.
He goes tumbling to the floor in a shriek of pain, but I don’t stop. With a war cry, I bring the lamp down again.
And again.
And again.
Until blood covers one side of his face and his eyes are half closed, glazed over, and distant. Heaving and arms shaking, blood drips from the lamp as I stare down at his still form. There are bright red splatters across the back of my hand and even bigger blots on the cream-colored carpet, growing larger until they form a pool around his head.
Ignoring it, I fall to my knees, dropping the lamp as I feel around in his pockets. He said he was the only one with a key for the front door, and I need it. I check both pockets in his pants, coming up empty, before frantically stuffing my hands into the pockets of his suit jacket.
I groan aloud when I don’t find what I’m looking for. Turning, I quickly scan the room but don’t see any signs of a key. I can’t waste any more time looking. Aurora will have heard the explosion, and I can’t risk her leaving the room. This house is massive and it would be difficult to find her. She could get hurt if she goes wandering off alone.
Without the key, I race from the room. In the hall, I kick off my heels. My bare feet smack against the carpet, which is oddly warm against my soles as I pump my legs harder.
Reaching Aurora’s room, I skid to a stop, throwing open the door and hurrying inside. I know I don’t have a lot of time, especially without that damn key. I need to act quickly.
“Mommy!” Her eyes are wide with fear as she clutches the duvet to her.
“Everything’s okay, baby,” I assure her as I hurriedly wrap a blanket around her tiny body and haul her into my arms. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Arms wrapped protectively around my daughter, I rush from her room. Smoke is already gathering in the hallway upstairs, far quicker than I’d anticipated. It makes my eyes stream as I cough and splutter, squeezing my daughter closer to my chest.
Her face is buried in my neck, and I raise the blanket. “Hold this over your nose and mouth,” I order her.
“Mommy,” she cries, but does as I say. I tuck her face back into my neck, the smoke growing thicker until I can barely see through it to where the stairs should be. I crouch low, moving as quickly as I safely can until I spot the hazy outline of the banisters through the thick cloud of smoke.
One hand braced on the back of Aurora’s head, I keep the other on the wall as I descend the stairs. As we reach the ground floor, I regret not lifting something to cover my own mouth. I’m already feeling light-headed, and the lack of visibility is disorientating.
“We just have to get out of here,” I murmur, spinning in a circle. As I do, I catch sight of a wall of red. No, not a wall. An inferno . Where the kitchen once was is now overcome by flames licking at the walls and ceiling. Hungry for more, the flames are already moving down the hallway, engulfing the entire back corner of the house.
Spinning away, I lose my balance as a wave of dizziness takes over. I stumble, grunting as I fall to one knee. Aurora sobs, her tiny body shaking with the force of it. It’s fear for her that forces me back to my feet. I move to the opposite corner of the house, putting as much distance between me and the destructive fire and suffocating smoke.
Hurrying into a den with a large eighty-inch TV on the wall and sofas crowding the small space, I slam the door closed. The smoke is mild here, and breathing heavily, I take a second to get my raging heart under control.
Settling Aurora into the corner of a sofa farthest from the door, I move to the only window in this room.
“God damn!” I snarl, thumping my fist against the glass when the damn thing doesn’t open. I can feel myself beginning to break. The tears are right there, my shoulders shaking with the restraint it takes to hold them back.
Not yet. Just a little longer.
Putting my back to the window, I scan the room for anything I can use to smash the glass. It’s a simply furnished TV room. There’s nothing here I can use.
A sob slips free.
“I’m scared, Mommy.”
At Aurora’s small, terrified voice, I rush over to her, crouching to her height. I brush a hand over her hair. “I know, baby. You’re being so brave for me. I’m so proud of you. I just need you to be brave a little longer. Can you do that?”
She seems to think about it, looking at me with tear-stained cheeks before she gives a slight nod. Giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile, I lean in and kiss her forehead. “My big brave girl.”
Standing, I do another sweep of the room as I swipe a hand through my tangled mess of hair. I’m desperately searching for something I missed before, but a second scan confirms there is nothing here.
I remember the heavy-looking candlestick I saw in the dining room earlier. That would be strong enough to break the glass. Staring at the door, I chew on my lower lip as a plan forms.
Yes, okay. It’s the only shot we have.
Turning back toward the sofa, I snatch up a throw pillow, hurriedly ripping out the inside stuffing until I’m left with just the cover. Clutching it in my hand, I crouch in front of my daughter. My stomach is in knots, but I know I must do this.
“Baby,” I hedge, forcing my voice into a calm I don’t feel. “I need you to stay here for Mommy.”
“No, Mommy!” Aurora cries earnestly.
“Yes, baby.” My voice is firm. “You’re my brave girl, right? I need to go get something, but I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
She’s still shaking her head and sobbing hysterically.
“Do you remember the adventure Perry the Caterpillar goes on?”
Sniffling, my daughter frowns but gives me a confused nod. It’s her favorite book. We’ve read it so many times she knows the entire thing word for word. It takes less than ten minutes to read from start to finish.
“Recite Perry’s Adventure, and I’ll be back before you finish, okay?”
Hiccupping, she clutches her blanket, but again, she nods. I brush my hand over the side of her face, drinking it in before pushing myself to my feet and forcing myself to leave her behind. It’s my only option if either of us is going to make it out of this house alive.
The smoke is already thicker in the hallway, and I hold the pillow cover over my nose and mouth as I keep low and hurry to the dining room, squinting to see through the smoke. My eyes burn, and my lungs feel like they’re on fire. The dizziness in my head grows more substantial.
I make it to the dining room on pure adrenaline, finding the candlestick. The metal is deceptively cool in my hand amidst the sweat licking my spine and dotting my brow.
With one hand holding the pillow cover to my face, I haul it back to the den, coughing and spluttering. I have to stop and lean against the wall more than once when the spinning becomes too much. My mouth tastes like ash, and no matter how big a breath I suck in, it never feels like enough.
I’m acutely aware that I’m running out of time.
Reaching the den, I hear Aurora’s hacking cough through the door. I wince at the smoke, which has grown deceptively thicker in the room since I left.
“I’m back, baby. We’re going to get out of here, okay?”
My voice is weak, hoarse. I don’t sound like myself.
Marching for the window, the room sways. Black spots have taken up permanent residence in my vision, however I push past them as I plant my feet in front of the window. Mustering the last of my strength, I tighten my hand on the candlestick before swinging it at the window.
Glass shatters, and I bring a hand up to my face as I turn away. Shards embed in my skin, scraping against my arms and leaving little nicks in their wake. However, I don’t feel any of that as fresh air sweeps into the room, bringing sweet relief with it.
I use the candlestick to knock out the remaining shards of glass before dropping it with a clatter. Glass slices into the soles of my feet as I hurry back to Aurora, bundling her in my arms before moving back to the window.
“Ugh.” I blink furiously as I fall against the wall with her in my arms. The room is spinning so fast that everything is a blur. Nearly there , I tell myself as I squint. Focusing on the dark shape of the window, I stumble toward it.
“I’m going to lift you out the window, sweetheart. Then I’ll follow right behind, okay?”
I’m not even sure if she answers me. My throat is so dry. My eyes are filled with sand. God, all I want to do is sleep.
“On you go,” I somehow manage, ensuring the blanket is wrapped securely around her to protect her from any stray bits of glass or wooden splinters before setting Aurora on the windowsill and ushering her through.
She slides across the sill before dropping down on the other side. She’s so tiny that all I can see is the top of her head as I lift a leg to follow her through.
That’s when everything goes sideways. The world tilts upside down, spinning around in a whirl of color until everything goes black.
I’m not sure if it’s in my mind or not, but the last thing I hear is my daughter’s terrified scream.