7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Emily
I woke with a start, my heart pounding against my ribs as I tried to figure out where I was. The bed was unfamiliar—way more comfortable than mine—and it all came flooding back.
I sat up slowly and smiled at the room. Dion's Little room.
It was beautiful and everything I'd dreamed of in my secret fantasies.
I glanced down and saw the pacifier on the dresser, and I remembered his words.
That I could experiment to find out what I liked and didn't like, and warmth spread through me.
But more—I'd felt respected. Like my opinions and wants were valued. No one had ever made me feel like that. I'd had to hide all my life. First, from my parents, then from my few college friends, and then at work. But this? It felt right in a way few things in my life ever had.
I set Barnaby carefully against the pillows, my fingers lingering on his soft fur. "I'll be back," I whispered, and practically hugged myself.
Could this be my life?
No shame? No hiding?
I checked my appearance in the bathroom's small vanity mirror—my hair was a mess, my eyes still puffy from crying, and I needed to brush my teeth.
I did my best to smooth everything down, trying to reclaim some semblance of the professional woman I was supposed to be, and glanced at the hair ties that I knew Dion had left me.
My fingers brushed over two matching sparkly silver ones with pompoms. Thrilled at my decision, I grabbed the brush and quickly parted my hair into two pigtails.
Then I stared at my reflection when I'd finished.
If I went out like this, I would be making a statement.
An agreement. I took a deep breath and left the bathroom once I'd finished.
As I stepped into the hallway, I heard voices from the kitchen—Dion and someone else, their tones serious. I moved quietly toward them, not wanting to interrupt but curious about what was happening.
"...for the kids. For Gran," a voice I recognized as Walker's said.
"For all of them," Dion agreed.
They fell silent, and I took that as my cue to make my presence known. When I reached the kitchen, I stopped abruptly. Dion and Walker were bent over the kitchen island, surrounded by familiar manila folders, and my floral notebook open between them.
My lockbox.
My private files.
My evidence.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, hot anger surging through me.
Both men looked up, startled. Dion straightened immediately, something like guilt flickering across his face before it was replaced with calm resolve.
"Emily," he began, "Walker retrieved your lockbox from your apartment. We were just—"
"Going through my personal files without my permission," I finished for him, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. "After I trusted you enough to tell you about them."
Walker had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I apologize, Ms. Carter. We thought—"
"I know what you thought," I interrupted, moving forward to gather the scattered papers. "You thought you knew better than me."
Dion frowned. "That's not it at all, Emily."
"Isn't it?" I challenged, snatching my notebook from the counter. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you waited until I was asleep to go behind my back."
"We're trying to help," Dion said, his voice maddeningly calm and reasonable. "Time is critical here. Every hour that passes—"
"Don't you dare lecture me about time being critical," I snapped, my voice trembling with fury.
"I've been living with this every single day for weeks.
Every time I place a child with a family, I wonder if I'm sending them to people who will protect them or to monsters who will hurt them.
So don't you dare act like I don't understand what's at stake! "
Walker cleared his throat awkwardly. "I should go," he muttered, already backing toward the door.
"Stay," Dion commanded without taking his eyes off me. "Emily, we needed to know what we're dealing with. These men are dangerous—"
"And you think I don't know that?" I was nearly shouting now, clutching my files to my chest like a shield.
"I spent weeks as their prisoner," I yelled.
"They tried to take me again. I've been threatened, followed, warned off.
My supervisor, someone I'm supposed to trust, and maybe even her boss, is involved in trafficking children.
So yes, Dion, I'm painfully aware of how dangerous they are! "
Dion took a step toward me, his expression softening. "Sweetheart—"
"Don't," I warned, backing away. "Don't you dare 'sweetheart' me right now. Not after this." I gestured at the papers. "Not after what we talked about earlier. Not after you talked to me about respect ."
A flash of hurt crossed his face. "What happened between us was honest. Real."
"Was it?" I asked, fighting back tears. "Or was it just another way to make me compliant? To keep the little woman calm and cooperative while you men handle the real work?"
"Emily, that's not fair," Dion said, his voice low and tightly controlled. "What happened between us had nothing to do with the case."
"Everything has to do with the case!" I exploded.
"My entire life has been upended because of this case.
And now the one thing—the one private, personal thing I've kept hidden my entire life—that's been exposed too.
I bet you had a real good laugh about that.
" I put my hands up to my head and yanked the ties out, throwing them on the floor.
Walker shifted uncomfortably. "I should really go—"
"It doesn't matter to me because I'm not staying," I said coldly.
Dion shot him a look that clearly said 'stay put' before turning back to me. "Emily, I understand you're upset—"
"You don't understand anything," I interrupted, shoving the papers back into the lockbox. "I'm leaving."
Dion's expression hardened. "That's not safe, and you know it."
"I'll go to Jennifer's," I said, snapping the box closed. "Or a hotel. Anywhere but here."
"They'll find you," he warned.
"Maybe they will," I acknowledged, my voice bitter. "But at least I'll have my self-respect ."
"None of which will matter much if you're dead," Dion countered, his patience visibly fraying.
"And my trust doesn't seem to matter much to you when I'm alive," I shot back.
Walker finally spoke up. "Ms. Carter, I take full responsibility. This was my idea, not Dion's. I was the one who suggested we examine the files immediately."
Dion sighed. "No, it wasn't Walker."
"I'm not interested in who suggested it," I said, clutching the lockbox tighter. "What matters is that it happened. You went through my private files without my permission."
"We're on your side," Dion argued.
"Are you?" I asked. "Because it feels like you're just another group of people deciding what's best for me without bothering to include me in the conversation."
A flash of hurt crossed Dion's face. "That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?"
Walker cleared his throat. "I should really—"
"No," Dion and I said simultaneously, then glared at each other.
"Emily," Dion tried again, his voice deliberately calm. "I apologize for looking at your files without your permission. It was wrong, and I should have waited until you were awake."
The simple apology took some of the wind out of my sails, but I wasn't ready to let go of my anger yet. It was safer than the other emotions swirling inside me.
"Thank you," I said stiffly. "But I’m still going to go."
"Where?" Dion demanded. "Where exactly do you think you'll be safe from Rice and his people?"
"I'll figure something out," I insisted, though my confidence was wavering. "I always do."
"And that's the problem, isn't it?" Dion said, his eyes suddenly intense. "You've always had to figure it out yourself. Always had to be the strong one, the responsible one. Never letting anyone help you, even when you're drowning."
His words hit too close to home, and I felt tears threatening again. "And you're so different?"
"Once, yes," Dion admitted, "but now I have Walker, Maddox, and Gideon, plus another four or five that I know will always have my back.
" He took a step toward me. "Emily, what happened earlier—finding that room, holding Barnaby—that was real.
That wasn't me manipulating you or trying to make you compliant.
That was you finally allowing yourself something you've needed for a very long time. "
I swallowed hard, the lockbox trembling in my grip. "Stop it."
"No," Dion said firmly. "Because you need to hear this. Being angry about the files is valid. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. But if you're using that as an excuse to run away from what happened in that room, from what you felt earlier—"
"I said stop it!" My voice cracked, betraying me. "You have no right to talk to me like this. In fact," I spat. "I'm saying Blue . That's my safeword." I looked at Walker. "Either you take me to my apartment, or I call a ride, but I'm not staying here. Where are my damn car keys?"
Walker, who had been doing his best to become invisible against the kitchen counter, finally spoke up.
"Ms. Carter, for what it's worth, I lost my grandmother this week.
" His voice was rough with emotion. "She spent her whole life not letting anyone help her, even when she was in danger.
Even when she needed it the most." He met my eyes, his expression raw with grief. "Don't make the same mistake she did."
I stood frozen, the lockbox heavy in my arms, Walker's words hitting me like a physical blow. The anger that had been sustaining me began to crumble, and I couldn't afford to let it go.
"I'm sorry about your grandmother," I said softly. "But I still want to leave and if you keep me against my will, you're no better than the monsters who took me before."
Dion hissed in a breath, and I regretted my words immediately. He looked like I'd stabbed him. His skin was gray, and his previously stormy eyes turned dead and cold.