Chapter 45 Willow #2
As furious and hurt as I am with them, I only have myself to blame.
I ate it up, so desperate to feel like it was true that I probably ignored all the signs that it wasn’t.
I believed their pretty words and their lies, and let myself get swept up in all of it, thinking this was going to be something I would miss when it was all over.
Suddenly, it feels like the walls are closing in on me. The screen is too much to look at, and when my eyes land on Victor’s sleeping form again, that’s too much too. My stomach twists and heaves, and my eyes fill with tears.
I back out of the room, tiptoeing as quietly as I can.
For a minute, I stand in the hallway, feeling lost and confused. It’s almost like having emotional whiplash, and it seems impossible that less than twenty minutes ago, I was curled up in bed with Ransom, comfortable and warm and content.
Now I just feel cold and hurt, but when the tears well up again, I blink them away.
Crying isn’t going to solve anything. Neither is standing around in the hallway feeling sorry for myself. I already gave these men their chance to hurt me, and they took it and stabbed me in the fucking heart. I can’t do that again.
Determination fills my chest, starting a little shaky, but getting firmer as I remember those images and what they did to me.
No more.
I have to get out of here.
I won’t be a pawn in their games.
I put up with this shit from my mom for too long, letting her use me and manipulate me because I was too afraid of being alone to stand up to her and cut her off.
I kept giving her the benefit of the doubt when I shouldn’t have, when all the evidence said she didn’t deserve it.
When she betrayed every single chance I gave her in bigger and shittier ways every time.
I can’t let myself make the same mistake with these men.
Staying here would make me a pathetic fool, and believing they won’t hurt me again would make it even worse.
“Then go, Willow,” I whisper to myself.
It’s been a while since I’ve had to self soothe, since I’ve needed to talk myself out of a panic or stress. But I guess at the end of the day, the only person I can truly depend on is myself.
That decides it.
I pad down the hall silently, slipping into Ransom’s room. He’s still sound asleep, and he hasn’t moved from the spot he was in when I left.
Thinking about how fond I felt toward him just a short while ago makes acid burn in my throat, and I turn away from him, grabbing some clothes and a few other things from my bags. I dress in the hallway to lower the chances of waking him, my mind racing as I tug down the hem of my shirt.
I need a plan.
If I go back to my apartment and my old life, they’ll just come find me. Who knows how many more cameras Victor has in places that he lied about.
The only thing I can think to do is just… get away. Get far away. Maybe somewhere that they’ll never be able to find me if I get a big enough head start. They’re all asleep now, and it’s late enough that I should be able to get some distance before they wake up and realize I’m gone.
I slip down the stairs, being as quiet as possible, and then make my way into the room where I found Malice tattooing himself that one night. I noticed then that it seemed almost like a multipurpose room, a gym and an office all in one. Maybe what I need will be in here.
I rummage around in the desk set against one wall, opening and closing drawers until I find an envelope with a small stack of bills in it. Without letting myself hesitate or waver, I grab the stack and close the drawer again.
This should be enough to get me a bus ticket. Or a plane ticket, even. To somewhere else. Anywhere else.
The Voronin brothers can go up against Ilya on their own. I’m done with this, and I’m done with them. It doesn’t have anything to do with me. It never did. From the very beginning, I was just somewhere I shouldn’t have been, and I got swept up in their shit.
Not anymore.
I take the money and my small bag and leave the warehouse, creeping quietly out the front door.
It’s still pitch black outside as I hurry away from their home, heading off down the street.
Since it’s imperative that they not be able to find me, I do my best to keep out of sight of any security cameras, so Victor can’t use his hacking skills to figure out where I’ve gone.
That means sticking to back alleys and cutting through people’s backyards.
I climb over fences and sneak past houses, moving as quickly as I can.
All the while, I keep my jaw clenched, trying to hold back my emotions. There’s a part of me that just wants to curl up somewhere and cry, that wants to give in to how hurt I am and mourn the loss of the things I thought I’d found.
It was just yesterday that I was worried about them. Just the other night that I felt like I’d found somewhere I belonged.
I was facing things that scared me, doing things I never thought I’d do. I think about the tattoo Malice put on my chest, and my fingers curl, wishing I could claw it off my skin.
Even then, even when he was putting it there, he had to know that they were just using me. And he marked me up anyway.
“Don’t think about it, Willow,” I whisper. “They’re not worth it.”
Eventually, I’m going to have to let myself feel all of this pain, but hopefully I’ll be far away by then—somewhere they can’t get to me and make things even worse. So I drag in a deep breath and keep moving. The faster I move, the lower the odds are that they’ll manage to find me.
Usually, I would be afraid to be out alone this late at night in these parts of Detroit, but my mind is focused on only one thought.
Get away.
It’s like a mantra inside my head, and any time I start to think of something else or a memory of the guys pops up, I shake myself and reorient to that one thought.
Get away.
It takes a while for me to stop jumping at every sound I hear, but by the time I’ve walked several miles away from the brothers’ warehouse, I start to feel a little more confident that they didn’t see me sneak out and follow me.
I’ve never been outside Detroit before, but I know where the Greyhound bus station is, so I start heading in that direction, debating about where I should buy a ticket to.
I’m passing a row of shuttered businesses with faded signs above them when the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly prickle. I start to whirl around to look behind me—
But I never get the chance.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me tight against a broad body. A choked noise bursts from my lips as all the air is forced out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath.
For a second, I’m certain it’s one of the brothers. That they’ve caught me after all and are going to drag me back to their warehouse. But then an unfamiliar voice speaks low in my ear.
“Don’t scream. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
My eyes widen, because that’s definitely not Malice’s voice, or Victor’s or Ransom’s either.
I don’t know who the fuck it is, and that realization makes panic explode in my chest. I start struggling hard, fighting against his hold, trying desperately to get away from my unknown attacker and put some distance between us so I can run.
But his arms are like iron, and before I can break free or even loosen his grip, a cloth comes up to press over my mouth and nose.
A sharp, acrid scent fills my nostrils, and the world around me blurs as my eyelids droop. My limbs turn heavy and clumsy even as my mind continues to scream at me, repeating a single phrase over and over.
Get away.
Get away.
Get a—