Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
Ingrid
The silence in Tristian’s apartment was heavy as I sat on the edge of the leather sofa, the blue light of the TV flickering as I scrolled aimlessly through Netflix.
It had been a few days since I fled my parents’ house to seek refuge here.
Tristian was my anchor, but I could feel my own desperation building.
And I had to give him space. I knew the pattern, I knew what happened if my desperation got worse. The clinginess, the need, all of it overflowing until he pulled back. I couldn’t do that again.
So I’d asked for space and he’d given it to me without question, headed to the tattoo parlor then the gym, leaving me here with my thoughts and a phone that had been silent for days.
I checked it again. I’d been trying to reach out to Camila, let her know what had happened with Papa. But all my messages had gone unanswered. Now, on this hundredth check today, worry was beginning to set in.
My sister and I were two sides of the same fractured coin, both shaped by the sharp edges of our parents’ cruelty.
She had always been the stronger one, the first to receive our father’s rage, and the only one of us with enough backbone to fight back, first against his abuse, and then be a shield to protect me when he turned the anger to me.
She’d looked at me with disdain more often than not in the months before she left the house, but our bond of shared trauma must surely be thicker than her resentment.
She was missing, and the pit in my stomach told me she hadn’t just walked away.
She wouldn’t just disappear.
Except she’d said no. When I asked if where she was going was better than home.
And now Darragh’s name kept surfacing alongside hers. I knew how deep his reach went through this city. I knew what he’d done to Tristian. And I kept thinking, what if someone had offered Camila the same kind of refuge? Not necessarily Darragh himself, but someone connected to him.
Maybe she had fallen into the same web that had once caught Tristian. Maybe someone had offered her refuge too…
Maybe someone worse.
And the stupid part of me had to know. Whatever the risk.
The safety of my sister might depend on it.
But Tristian would kill me if I went to find Darragh.
My phone buzzed. The suddenness of it jolted me, and I snatched it up. But it was only May inviting me out with her and Amber.
My instinct was to say no.
But then I paused.
An idea began to take shape and my heart hammered.
It was a stupid idea. A dangerous one. But the thought of Camila out there, alone, outweighed the fear of Tristian’s reaction.
He expected to take me to the gym tonight while he prepped for his next fight. Though I loved watching him train, I needed answers more.
Acting before I could second-guess myself, I sent him a message to say I wasn’t feeling well and that I felt it was best if I avoided joining him at the gym tonight, told him to just head there straight after work.
It wasn’t a total lie. My head was a mess. He’d spent the last week pulling me in and pushing me back until I’d lost my footing completely,
The mess with my father, and the truth about Darragh, had only complicated things. That was why I’d needed space in the first place.
My lie to him sent, I flipped back to the message from May.
My breath hitching, heart skipping a beat, I tapped out a quick reply and hit send.
Pick me up.
Okay. Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.
The mantra pulsed in time with the bass as we stepped into The Obsidian. The atmosphere was the same as last time: thick expensive cologne, cheap sweat, and adrenaline. May and Amber, already half-gone by pre-game shots, dissolved into crowd on the dance floor, leaving me stranded.
And I felt exposed. My blue sparkly bodycon dress, brought by the girls and hastily changed into in Tristian’s bathroom before clambering into the same car as last time I came here, felt less like an outfit and more like a neon sign for predators, glistening under the strobe lights.
I teetered on May’s white high heels, tried to look like I belonged.
I didn’t.
I wanted to avoid Darragh, but the desperation was winning. The man had eyes everywhere and I needed him to see.
Instead, I made my way to the bar, hoping the bartender who had briefly become my ally last time was on shift tonight.
He was. When his eyes landed on me, his expression shifted from professional boredom to anger. Hurriedly finishing the pour of a bright orange cocktail for a barely-dressed girl swaying at the bar, he took her money, then strode to meet me.
His expression was tight. “What the fuck are you doing here? I thought I told you before that you don’t belong here.”
“I’m looking for someone.” My hands shook as I fumbled with my phone, pulling up a photo of Camila. “It’s my sister. I haven’t seen her in weeks, and I’m worried about her. I thought someone here might know something.”
The bartender narrowed his eyes at the screen, then looked back at me, his gaze softening into something that looked horribly like pity. He ran a hand down his face, stressed.
He glanced around discreetly. When he spoke again, it was lower as he leaned in. “Yeah, I recognize her. She used to work here.”
My heart leapt. “When are her shifts? I need to see her, I need—”
The bartender lifted a hand to cut me off. “Used to,” he repeated. “It’s been probably a month since I last saw her.”
The hope that had flared in me died. “D-do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
His expression was tense as he seemed to consider something. Then, heavily, he said, “Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat this. Girls that work here only do it for one of two reasons: to pay off their debts… or because they’re being trafficked.”
The world seemed to tilt. My throat constricted. “W-what?”
He shook his head, his voice low and dangerous. “Why the fuck do you think I keep telling you that you don’t belong here? Pray that your sister was only here to pay off a debt, or God knows where she could be.”
My mind reeled. “What... what kind of debt could she be in?”
“Drugs,” he said heavily. “Weed, meth, cocaine...”
The air left my lungs. Camila wouldn’t… she couldn’t have turned to drugs. It was just unthinkable.
And yet… the way our parents treated us, Papa parading us around like meat to broker business deals with his perverted contacts, first Camila before she rebelled, then me when I failed to stop him; the trauma that had been inflicted on both of us…
I was broken from it, but at least I had Tristian. Camila had no one.
Drugs. She’d fallen into a habit to disconnect herself from the abuse at home. It was awful to think it—but it fit. Everything fit.
But how did she have the money for it?
By doing whatever she had to, I thought.
My father’s voice screamed. “Do you think I like watching my daughter whore herself out and ruin my reputation on these damn streets?!”
Tears pooled, blurring the neon lights into streaks of color. My poor sister.
Seeing the realization shatter my face with grief, the bartender leaned closer. Some of that hardness in his face dissolved. He looked at me worriedly.
“I’m sure she’ll be okay,” he said, squeezing my wrist across the bar. “She got out, didn’t she? Maybe she paid off her debts.”
“What if she didn’t?” I asked, wiping a stray tear with the back of my hand. “What if… what if she’s been…” I couldn’t say the last word: trafficked. Sold as flesh like so many others to repay a debt she should never have had.
The bartender’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek.
“The only person who would really know what happened to her is Darragh, but I’m not letting you up there again... Not after shit hit the fan last time. Take my advice. Go home. Tell your boyfriend where you’ve been and let him deal with it. Understand?”
I nodded numbly. He was right. I had no business being anywhere near Darragh and I knew it. I gave a shaky thank-you and turned and walked away, my head spinning with the realization that Camila was likely trapped in a world I couldn’t even imagine.
I left without bothering to find the girls and let them know. They didn’t care, and I didn’t care to pretend they did.
The night air hit me cold. I stood on the curb, my fingers trembling as I called an Uber. I looked over my shoulder, the skin on the back of my neck prickling. The street was nearly empty.
Tristian hadn’t messaged back. I told myself that was fine, that he’d gone straight to the gym like I’d asked.
I’d tell him everything when I got back.
It would be so much easier to do it on my own terms, rather than him bearing down on me in anger that I’d come to Darragh’s club without his knowing.
Suddenly, a hand wrapped around my waist from behind. I tried to scream, but another slammed over my mouth, cutting off my cry.
Jerked backward, my heels scraped the pavement as I was hauled into the mouth of a damp, pitch-black alley. I fought like a cornered animal, kicking and twisting. Then I was slammed into a brick wall. My head hit the masonry with a thud, igniting stars through my vision.
As I slumped against the wall, groaning in pain, a low, familiar chuckle echoed in the narrow space.
It was a sound from my nightmares.
“Long time no see, pretty girl...”
I looked up, my heart dropping to the floor as Brandon stood there, his smile dark and sadistic, leaving a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach.