Chapter 3 Chloe
Just as I'd taken off my underwear, standing barefoot on the splintered floor, the door groaned open. I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs. On instinct, my gaze dropped to the floor, my face smoothing into blankness. I braced for Olivia's palm or Caspian's whiskey breath.
I held my breath, waiting.
"It's just me, baby. Breathe."
The tension snapped. I exhaled as Mary stepped into the dim light.
Mary was fifty. She'd been taking care of me since I was born. The bad people only let her work two nights a week—they didn't want me to have anyone to depend on. But she kept coming back because she couldn't imagine what they'd do to me if she wasn't there.
She was the only person who kept me from forgetting my momma. Time blurs the faces of the people you love until you're holding onto smoke, but Mary still smelled like the cocoa butter and laundry detergent of my childhood, giving me something to hold onto that hadn’t been taken from me.
So many times, she'd offered to go to the police. I told her no. I wouldn't put it past my father to hurt her. She had a son in California—the only family she had left. I wasn't going to be the reason she lost him, or he lost her.
"He's outside, baby," she whispered, setting a small bundle on my bed—a camisole and lace-trimmed panties. I'd asked her to tell me when Killian was alone outside or in his room for the night. She knew my plans. She didn't like them, but she was willing to do anything to help me.
I stood tall. "Did they see you come up? Did you prepare the room directly under me for him?"
"Yes, dear. And they’re too busy stuffing their faces and lying to notice me," she said. "Chloe, be careful. That man... he looks like he can see right through a lie. Don’t push him too quickly."
I knew enough from life, even my isolated life, to know that pretty, needy girls were most men’s kryptonite. They made men feel necessary. Heroic. In control. Killian was no different. I had researched him. I knew him—what he was passionate about. I knew I could get what I needed from him.
"I don't have time to be patient, Mary," I said, pulling the thin camisole over my head.
"My twenty-fifth birthday is coming in two months.
If I don't get him on my side now, Caspian will finally have his way, the bad guys will win, and they'll walk away with all my bloodline's hard work. I’ll go from one hell to another. "
Mary’s jaw tightened. “Your daddy…” She hesitated, as if the word itself tasted wrong. “He is a useless, greedy man, Chloe. Sometimes, I just—oxo—I want to hurt him for what he’s done to your momma and you. Kick him right in his down-below.”
I blinked. “Down-below?” I asked lightly, unable to stop the small laugh that slipped out of me. Mary never cursed, and "down-below" was as close as she would get to saying dick.
Her eyes narrowed, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t you start.”
I giggled. She smiled lightly, then her face sobered. A pained sort of love was written all over her features.
"Go do what you need. I’ll go back down and distract them. I know I can keep them occupied for at least twenty minutes."
"Thank you, Mary."
Mary nodded, her eyes lingering on me with a mix of fear and hope. "Be careful, baby. He’s a wolf."
"I know. But I’ve been raised by hyenas. I’m not scared of wolves.”
She gave me a sad smile before leaving the room.
I turned to the small, cracked mirror on my wall. I didn't just look at my reflection; I studied it like a map. I tilted my head. I let a small, shy smile touch the corners of my mouth. I widened my eyes just enough to look curious, but not too smart.
Needy. Fragile. Breathless.
"Killian," I whispered to the empty room. I followed it with, “Mr. Hart,” testing the pitch of my voice. His name had to come from my mouth softly. It had to sound like a secret between us.
I knew his type. He was a protector. He wouldn't be moved by a woman who had it all together, but he would burn the world for a girl who looked like she was drowning.
I turned to the window and pushed it open. The humid air hit me, smelling of salt and the coming storm. I took a deep breath. I wasn't just about to climb a tree; hopefully, I was climbing out of my grave.