Chapter Twelve
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Raine
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"That doesn't happen," I say lamely. I was too embarrassed to bring it up, fearing I might have been sleepwalking or something straight into their bed. So I just pretended it didn't happen.
"Yes, it does. First Alec came to scoop you up in his big strong arms, then the next night it was Conrad, and last night it was Theron. So... are you having sex with all three of them?"
"No, I'm not. Absolutely not." It's true. I would know. I wake up fully clothed and the emptiness I feel between my legs is still there, only harsher.
They do not want to have sex with me. That night in the cabin they felt sorry for me. I was a mess, and frozen to the bone, and I threw myself at them. It was out of sheer pity and nothing else.
"Well, we still need to get back to our lives," I say, more determined than ever.
"You're going to have to pry this life from my cold, dead hands," Summer says as she pops one of those truly expensive Belgian chocolate balls into her mouth.
I need to get out of here. I think I might be in more danger here with them than out there in the real world.
As I wander back into the penthouse, I see Petra, the cleaning lady, and I practically beg her to let me help her clean up, not that the apartment needs any cleaning. I swear the place is so big, it's self-cleaning. At its core, it's just a cage made of glass and marble.
Petra relents after a while, and I tag along with her to clean their study.
Armed with a polish and a thick, soft cloth, my fingers trail along the massive desk, and I swear the scent of their cologne lingers here too, just like it does in their bed.
Petra tells me to remove everything from the desk so she can polish the already gleaming wood.
I do as I'm told. It's not as if I were being clumsy or anything, but a Polaroid image slips from a stack of files.
I bend to pick it up, and at first, it doesn't register.
It's just a figure of a woman in jeans and a sweater.
Her head is turned and her hair covers her face.
The angle the picture was taken from is also strange, as if it's been taken long distance.
Something about it makes me look closer.
Then my brain catches up. It's me. My stomach drops so suddenly it feels like I've stepped off a cliff. A gasp escapes my mouth, coming out in a hoarse, strangled whisper of horror.
"Everything all right, Miss?" Petra asks. I swing around, looking at the woman as if I'm seeing her for the first time. I force my brain to awaken.
"Yes," I say, with a smile on my face that costs me. I can't tell Petra what I found, so I pretend nothing is wrong and continue helping her, on autopilot on the outside but in complete turmoil on the inside.
As soon as we're done with the room, I tell her I'm tired and going to lie down for a bit. But I don't. As soon as Petra moves onto the next room, I slip back into their study and go through the stack of files from where the picture of me fell out.
There is an entire folder filled with pictures of me.
My eyes scan it, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing, trying to find some explanation that doesn't make my skin prickle.
There are pictures of me standing in my bathroom. My bathroom. My hair damp, a towel wrapped around me, barely covering my backside. My head turned as if I'd said something to someone—Summer, I must have answered her.
But there are more. Me walking down my street, keys in hand. Me outside a grocery store, sunlight catching my face. Me sitting in a café, staring out the window, completely unaware.
There's one where I'm laughing with my sister, both of us so... normal. So unguarded.
My chest tightens painfully.
There are night shots. Day shots. Close enough to see my expressions. But it gets worse.
In other pictures, the naked silhouette of my body is visible through the glass cubicle of my shower, the shape of my breasts clearly discernible. Dear god.
All these pictures of me were taken without me knowing. A cold, creeping dread starts at the base of my spine and engulfs the rest of my body.
"No..." I say, shaking my head in disbelief. Why do they have these pictures of me? Did they know who I was before I stepped into their cabin, a virgin for their auction?
How? How is nothing making sense? I set the photos down like they might burn me, but my gaze catches on something else.
A file with all my details, down to my weight at birth.
My mother's name and her details. My grandmother's name and her details.
The names of my teachers, the few friends I have.
The name of my boss and every work colleague.
My entire life is in this file, and it's in their possession.
On their desk. They knew me before they met me.
No, they knew everything about me before they met me.
I pick up an official-looking letter. A DNA test. Summer is not my sister. We share the same mother, but not the same father.
My heart starts to slam against my ribs, each beat louder than the last. A cry leaves my mouth before my voice breaks.
My father is Reginald St. Allis. A name I don't recognize at all. Tears blur my vision as I pull out my phone and do an online search.
I almost collapse to the floor when his face springs out at me. We have the same color eyes, the same color hair. The familiarity I feel looking at him deafens me, yet I've never met him before.
He was an accountant at a shoe manufacturing plant. Never married. No other children. He died when I turned twenty-one, of natural causes. A heart attack.
This doesn't change anything for me. But it changes everything for them.
I have to get Summer out of here first.