Chapter Forty-Three
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ANGEL
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I quietly repeat Dominic’s words again. Even though hours have passed, and it’s the dark, early hours of the morning, I still say them in the vain hope they’ll gain more strength. That they’ll break through this captivity before the sun breaks above the horizon.
Before a new day comes and proves him wrong.
A shudder tears through me, causing Dominic to stir, his arm tightening around me from behind. Even in his sleep, his instinct is to protect me, which both comforts my soul and chills me to the bone. I fight the urge to pull away, repeating his promise as the last few hours speed through my mind.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Romanov, the rape kit was negative.”
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry Miss Romanov, the tox screen came back negative.”
“Everything’s going to be okay. ”
“I went to Silverline to confront Rosten, rook. He wasn’t there. The night guard said he hasn’t been there for two days.”
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper, but this time, my voice breaks. If I can’t make those words true, then I’ve lost. The spark that’s kept me alive through my darkest days flickers out. There’s no fight left. I always survived by believing you don’t drown by standing in the rain as long as you run from the storm. What I failed to realize is that some people are just meant to drown.
Six is coming.
It starts out as a whisper—a soft breath blowing across my hair. But it turns into an echo, bouncing off all four walls and beckoning me to follow. I lift my head off the pillow just as Dominic mumbles in his sleep, his arm braced protectively across my chest. Glancing over my shoulder, I remain perfectly still, and when his erratic breathing returns to an even pace, I slowly slip out from under his embrace and tiptoe out of the room.
The halls are dark, and I have no destination. I simply walk, blindly following the whispers until I find myself in a familiar room, standing on a familiar floor, facing a familiar piece of furniture.
I’m in the room that smells like pennies. The room with a magic door that blocks out screams and shouts. The room where an angel appears if you count long enough.
But none of it is real.
This house has a weighted energy that preys on the spirit. The history and tragedy that paints the walls and stains the floors is enough to trick the mind into believing things. Seeing things. I’m Angel Smith. I left a group home in Phoenix, Arizona at sixteen and moved to Hollywood to be an actress. That’s who I am. I’ve never been anyone else.
Yes, you have . Look around. Remember .
I have no control. My body turns on its own to face the dresser I know so well. The one I’ve woken up crouched beside screaming more times than I can count. But this time, accompanied by the glare of the full moon spilling through the window, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror above it.
My long dark hair hangs in tangled strings around my white nightgown. My body is now frail and thin with arms that hang by my side like brittle sticks. My once smiling face is riddled with shadows and marred with a permanent frown.
What have I become?
Six.
I clench my jaw, glaring at my reflection as the words blow across my cheek. Slowly, my lips part in a knowing smile. With my heart pounding, I raise a hand to my lip, my fingers tracing the rough ridges and tight seam.
I’m not smiling.
My hand shakes, swiping hard against my closed mouth as my reflection continues to smile, watching me with rapt fascination.
You will hear us.
“No, no, no,” I chant behind my fingers, but the girl in the mirror doesn’t speak and she’s no longer smiling. I’m scared. I’m confused. I want to know what all this means, but before I can ask, she presses her index finger against her lips as if to silence me.
So, I nod.
Because I’m supposed to.
Then she starts the countdown. Holding up one finger, she waits until I obey the command.
“One,” I whisper.
A serene smile ghosts her lips as she adds another finger.
My voice becomes stronger. “Two. ”
A third finger.
“Three.” Now, there’s no hesitation. No question. No fear.
A fourth.
“Four,” I announce, stepping closer, balling my fist by my side.
She flashes her thumb, her fingers spread wide.
“Five.”
There’s a pause as she looks down at her other hand, curling all but one finger into her palm. I know what comes next. It’s chased me all my life. Haunted me. Scratched at the back of my mind just waiting to be heard. I feel it like the distant rumble of thunder.
But I’m not ready for the rain.
So, instead of waiting for the storm, I become the storm.
As the girl raises a finger on her other hand, I raise my fist and without hesitation, slam it full force into the mirror. Glass shatters, branching out like a spider’s web as the girl’s face splinters.
Splintered. But not gone.
She’s still there and her finger has become dozens of slivered fingers.
But it’s still there.
It’s always been there.
Six.
With Dominic running an errand, I’m alone in what’s left of the BTN office with only silence and my thoughts. Peaceful for some, I guess. Not me.
After I woke up bloody with gashes all over my fist and no memory of how they got there, Dominic refused to let me out of his sight. Even a half-hour of arguing did nothing to sway him from forcing me to come here with him.
It took an office completely void of anything but chairs and desks for him to relent to leaving me alone here while he went to get another box. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if Milly showed up with a pair of handcuffs and chloroform.
I run my finger along the now bare desks where laptops and phones once sat. I can imagine the chaos that once rang through this space. Pausing, I let my eyes wander toward Dominic’s glass enclosed office. I wonder what he was like during his reign over this town.
Wandering into his office, I sit down behind his desk, the soft leather chair hugging around me. It’s two days before Christmas. We should be buying presents and celebrating like normal people.
But we’re not normal. We never have been.
Because instead, we’re here, in an office building in West Hollywood, packing up what’s left of what was once both the most respected and feared celebrity news site. Beyond the News is officially bankrupt. After Dominic refused to take my money, the owner of the building evicted him, giving him twenty-four hours to evacuate.
Dominic McCallum, former media mogul and name on every A-lister’s lips is now penniless, homeless, and shunned by the very town that empowered him. That’s why we’re here.
Closing yet another chapter in the fucked-up love story of Angel and Dominic.
And I do love him. I haven’t said it, and maybe I never will.
I shouldn’t. If he’d left me in Chula Vista, none of this would’ve happened. But you can’t control who you love. Regardless of how wrong it is.
Frowning, I run my finger along the bandage on my hand. Hilda found a shattered mirror in the east wing bedroom. Neither she nor Dominic said the words, but the look they shared this morning said it for them.
They think I’ve lost it.
Maybe I have.
To be fair, the trail of blood led from the broken mirror to the bed I woke up in. The one I share with Dominic. I’m not stupid. I know facts when I see them. Nobody planted my blood or slashed my hand in the middle of the night.
I did it. I just don’t know why. I don’t remember.
More time lost. More static. Just more everything.
My thoughts turn to Violet. There are still no leads. She’s a missing person no one cares is missing. My best friend. My family. Just another victim in this twisted story, I think as I spin around in the chair. A casualty of greed and lies. Lies and greed.
Greedy little twisted lies.
“Dominic?”
My palms slam against the desk, stopping the constant rotation of the chair. It takes a few seconds for my brain to stop sloshing around in my head. Finally, it calms enough that I can see through the glass wall to the man standing at the office door. My defenses immediately go up. I’ve never seen him before. He’s muscular with bulging biceps that could crush me with one grip. I’m not sure what to do. I can lock myself in the office, but the damn thing is made of glass.
“Miss?” He steps further into the office. “Is Dominic McCallum here?”
I stand, hovering in front of the desk.
Tell him he’s right outside.
“He’s gone,” I blurt out.
Dumbass .
He takes another step, narrowing his eyes. “Are you Alexandra Romanov?”
Tell him no.
“Yes.”
Seriously?
Although his stare lingers, my answer seems to satisfy him. “Then you’ll do. This concerns you anyway.”
My spine straightens. I forget his beady eyes and focus on the folder he has tucked under his massive arm. Okay, now he has my attention.
Leaving the safety of Dominic’s glass box, I venture out into the open and stand awkwardly in the middle of the bullpen as this man stares at me, his eyes heated with what I now see as anger.
He makes a tight fist, pointing a finger at me as he charges forward. “You can tell Dominic McCallum he’s a motherfucking cocksucker.”
“Okay?”
His nostrils flare, and his cheeks flame with rage. “Just because someone rerouted the goddamn test, doesn’t give him the right to call in an anonymous tip and fuck up my life!”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused at what he’s yelling about. “What test? What tip?”
“Someone called QuestTech to let them know about my little side job.” A furious smirk stretches across his mouth. “Oh, honey, don’t act like you don’t know. I’m over this bullshit.” Temper flaring, he slams the folder against his palm while pacing inches in front of me. “Usually, it’s no big deal. You want to ensure a guy is your baby daddy, I’m your man. But getting me fired because your fucking test got rerouted”—pausing, he lets out a humorless laugh—“that’s some dirty, low-down shit. ”
I feel the color drain from my face, and my stomach clenches. “What do you mean my test got rerouted?”
The man turns on his heel, a stunned look on his face before his lips part into a sneer. “Son of a bitch. You really don’t know, do you?”
I don’t trust my words, so I shake my head.
He crowds into me again, and suddenly I can’t breathe. “Your boy Dominic paid double my asking price to make sure your test came back proving you were Alexandra Romanov, Miss Smith . Only it never made it to me. Someone rerouted your sample to BioLink.”
“If you didn’t alter my DNA test, then… then…” There’s a sharp stab against my temple. His words are trying to get in, but I can’t let them. There’s no room.
I jump as he slams the folder onto one of the empty desks. “That girl you’ve pretended to be for the last four months? You weren’t pretending. You’re Alexandra Romanov, sweetheart, and there’s the proof.”
My world plunges into an unknown place. It’s dark and lonely, and cold. “No,” I gasp, closing my eyes while backing up. “You’re lying. It’s not true.”
He lets out a heartless chuckle that trickles down my spine. “Oh, it’s true all right. When I figured out what happened, I called McCallum, and let’s just say losing his shit would be an understatement.”
I stop falling, suddenly suspended as if time has frozen. Slowly, I open my eyes and stare at him. “Dominic knows?”
“Oh, sweetheart, not only does he know, but he paid me extra to keep my mouth shut.”