16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Emily
Back at Dion's house, I felt the familiar walls closing in around me.
The meeting with Susan and Kline had left me raw, exposed, like a nerve-ending that had been scraped bare.
Every sound seemed too loud, every thought too sharp.
Anubis nuzzled my fingers and gave them a gentle lick, and I bent and kissed his nose, then Hades pushed in for the same treatment.
"I need a few minutes," I told Dion as we walked through the entryway. "To process everything."
He studied my face, his expression concerned. "Of course. I need to call the team anyway, so we can regroup." He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. "The playroom might help. Take all the time you need."
I pulled back slightly, frustration bubbling up. "I'm not a child, Dion. I don't need to be sent to the playroom like I'm some kid who needs a time-out."
"Emily, I just thought—"
"I know what you thought," I interrupted, crossing my arms. "But I can handle this without being coddled."
Dion's expression shifted, a cool mask sliding down. "Whatever you need."
Of course, because I was clearly spoiling for a fight and he wasn't taking the bait, I pushed.
"Don't patronize me," I shot back, my voice rising.
"Every time things get difficult, you want to wrap me in cotton wool and tuck me away somewhere safe.
I'm not fragile, Dion. I just survived a meeting with people who are literally trafficking children, and you're suggesting I go play with coloring books? "
"That's not—" He stopped, clearly biting back words. "Emily, I'm trying to take care of you."
"By treating me like I can't handle what I get paid to do?
" I paced away from him, my heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor.
"I'm a grown woman with a master's degree and five years of experience dealing with traumatized children.
I think I can manage my own stress without being infantilized. "
Dion's jaw clenched, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone I'd heard him use with subordinates. "You want to know what I think? I think you're so goddamn afraid of being vulnerable that you'd rather pick a fight than accept comfort."
"Vulnerable?" I whirled to face him. "I've been nothing but vulnerable with you! I've let you see sides of me that no one else has ever seen, and the moment I try to maintain some shred of dignity, you act like I'm being unreasonable."
It was like being in a tunnel. I could hear the words coming out of my mouth like they were being spoken by someone else. I didn't mean them. I knew I didn't, but I couldn't stop.
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I didn't mean it that way."
"Then what did you mean?" I demanded. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like you only want the parts of me that fit into your dynamic—the parts that need rescuing, that need your control."
His eyes flashed. "That's bullshit and you know it. I want all of you, Emily—the stubborn, brilliant social warrior who fights for kids no one else cares about, and the woman who sometimes needs to let someone else carry the weight for a while."
"Well maybe I don't want to let someone else carry the weight right now!" I snapped. "Maybe I need to be angry and scared and frustrated without being sent to color or cuddle a stuffed animal!"
Dion took a step toward me, his voice dropping dangerously low. "You think I don't understand anger? Fear? Frustration? I've spent my entire adult life dealing with situations that would break most people. I'm not trying to shut down your emotions—I'm trying to give you a safe place to have them."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do," he interrupted, closing the distance between us. "We all do. And it's not weakness to admit that."
We stood there, both breathing hard, the tension between us crackling like electricity.
"I need some time to myself," I said finally, my voice tight. "Without you ordering me about or telling me how I should feel."
Something like hurt flashed across his face before he masked it.
With a sigh, I turned and headed to the bedrooms while Dion disappeared into his study. Despite my irritation, the playroom's soft pastels and gentle lighting began to soothe me. I sank into the oversized armchair, pulling one of the throw pillows against my chest.
The familiar comfort of the space began to work its magic. My breathing slowed, the tight knot in my chest loosening incrementally. I tossed the pillow and reached for Barnaby. The bear that had become my anchor, and held him close.
From what seemed far away, I could hear the low murmur of Dion's voice as he spoke with his team. The sound was oddly comforting—knowing he was there, knowing he was working to keep Zoe and other children safe.
Why was I being such a bitch?
Why did I have to constantly push him away?
Why was I still struggling with letting go when nearly a hundred percent of the time it worked out?
Or was it that he really didn’t think I was capable of helping? That made me pause. He’d had no choice this morning because I had to go see Susan, but sending me in here? Was that his way of telling me to leave things to the grownups?
I wanted to choose when to be Little or Middle or whatever the hell I was. I didn’t want it forced on me because I was incapable of being an adult.
Or was all this because deep down I expected him to get sick of me so I was pushing him away before he could do it to me?
Mom and Dad's voices echoed in my head.
Grow up.
Don't be such a baby.
You're such a child.
But was that really so bad? I'd been forced to grow up when I was still a child. I saw this time and time again in my job, and just because I came from a rich family didn't make that message any less cruel. I leaned back and hugged Barnaby. I needed to talk to someone, really talk. How could I possibly attempt any sort of relationship when I didn’t really know what I wanted? When I was fighting it all the time? Dion didn’t deserve this, and it wasn’t that I was doubting him.
I was doubting me .
The vibrating of my phone made me jump. My mother's name flashed on the screen, and my stomach immediately clenched. After everything I'd learned today, the last thing I wanted was another confrontation.
But something in my mother's voice when I answered made me freeze.
"Emily?" She sounded different—not her usual composed, critical self. Her voice was shaking, barely above a whisper. "Emily, I need... I need to see you. Right away."
"Mom, what's wrong?" I sat up straighter, Barnaby still clutched in my free arm.
"I can't talk on the phone. Please, Emily. I'm at the Riverside Café on Fifth Street. I need to explain about... about what I've done." Her voice broke completely. "About what they made me do."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Mom, are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"Just come. Please. And Emily... don't tell anyone where you're going. They're watching. They're watching everything. If someone follows you—"
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone, my mind racing. My mother had sounded genuinely terrified—not the controlled, manipulative woman I knew, but someone who was truly afraid. The way she'd said "what they made me do" sent chills down my spine.
From the study, I could still hear Dion's voice, intense and focused as he coordinated with his team. They were planning their next moves, working to save Zoe. I didn't want to interrupt that with what might be another manipulation from my mother.
But what if it wasn't? What if she was in real danger?
I stood up knowing if I breathed a word of my mother’s call, Dion would forbid me to go.
Like a child.
Maybe it was time to prove I was a grownup?
But how on earth did I get out without him knowing? I knew I had my car here somewhere, but I’d never even been in the garage.
The garage was probably accessible through the kitchen, but that would take me right past Dion's study. I needed another way out.
I crept to the window and peered outside. The driveway curved around to what looked like a three-car garage attached to the side of the house. If I could get outside without Dion noticing, I might be able to access it from there.
First, I needed my keys. I rummaged through my purse, relief washing over me when I found them nestled at the bottom, and realized Dion must have put them back there. Which gave me pause. He hadn't meant to keep me a prisoner.
Deciding to think about that later I grabbed my phone and jacket, hesitating only briefly before setting Barnaby on the chair.
"I'll be back soon," I whispered, feeling ridiculous for talking to a stuffed bear but needing the reassurance anyway.
I slipped out of the playroom and padded down the hallway toward the back of the house, listening carefully for Dion's voice. He was still on the phone, his tone urgent as he discussed extraction plans. Good—he was distracted, but both dogs silently followed me.
The back door opened silently, and I stepped onto the patio, careful to close it just as quietly behind me, and sent a mental apology to Hades, who was trying to nudge it back open. The late afternoon air was cool against my face as I hurried around the side of the house toward the garage.
To my surprise, a side door stood slightly ajar. I slipped inside to find three vehicles: Dion's SUV, a sleek black motorcycle under a cover, and my own modest sedan. The garage door opener was mounted on the wall, but I hesitated—
He would know. They’d known the second we’d left the apartment above Salvation. There was no way the garage door opening wouldn’t trigger an alarm.
I had my phone. I could walk to the road, then I could get a ride.
Prove I was capable.
And then maybe Dion would stop treating me like a child.
And I squashed the little voice that told me I was acting like one.
Dion
I was in mid conversation with the team when Hades whined outside the door, and every internal alarm I had rang. There was no way he would have left her…