37. Aj
Five Weeks Later
Late-afternoon sunlight spills through the massive windows overlooking the woods behind my house, casting gold across the hardwood floors and cream-colored bedroom furniture. My suitcases still sit half-unpacked near the wall.
I haven’t touched most of it.
The smell of antiseptic still clings faintly to my skin from another doctor’s appointment this morning. Another exam. Another conversation about healing and recovery and “adjusting after trauma.”
Like trauma is something you adjust to.
I sit cross-legged near the headboard, staring at my phone while my thumb hovers over the same unanswered text for what feels like the hundredth time.
Hey. It’s AJ.
Heard you were back in Chicago.
Delivered.
Read by nobody.
Sienna sprawls across the foot of my bed, rummaging through the pile of prescription bottles scattered beside me.
“Jesus Christ.” She whistles softly as she picks one up and gives it a wave. “They really hooked you up, huh?”
Her glossy black hair falls over her tanned shoulders as she pops open one of the orange bottles and shakes a couple of pills into her palm before swallowing them dry.
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
My eyes drift back to my phone. It’s stupid how disappointed I feel every single time I check. I spent the last five weeks pretending I didn’t care while simultaneously harassing Gage almost daily for updates.
Is he back yet?
Did he check in?
Is he still overseas?
And today…
Finally…
Gage let it slip that his field status was updated and he was back in Chicago. The second he said it, my heart reacted before my brain could stop it.
I spent almost an hour debating whether texting Wolff was pathetic before finally tracking down his number through Gage’s friends. I practically begged him for it, which was embarrassing as hell.
Then I stared at the message for twenty minutes before sending it anyway. And now I can’t stop checking my phone like some desperate fucking idiot.
“I’m just saying, you’ve got enough drugs here to start a pharmacy.” She pulls out her vape and takes a long drag, exhaling sweet vanilla-scented smoke toward the ceiling.
Head tilted, she holds up another label. “Sleeping pills, anxiety, depression, painkillers. Fuck, AJ, I’d be floating 24/7.”
I stare at the pill bottle in her hand without answering.
I haven’t touched most of them.
I don’t know how to explain to Sienna that pills don’t fix the problem. That nothing feels right anymore.
Not my room.
Not my own skin.
Not this house.
I spent four weeks staying mostly at my father’s estate after coming home, but he was barely there between Sovereign business and constant meetings.
Gage checked in when he could, hovering constantly whenever he was around between training sessions.
But he still had his own life to get back to, and eventually, I couldn’t stand the pity in everyone’s eyes.
So I moved back here. Trying to pretend normalcy still existed somewhere for me.
I don’t know why I thought it would help.
“You’ve barely unpacked.”
I glance at her, then at the mess of suitcases and boxes still stacked near the wall. As I open my mouth to respond, a glimpse of navy at the foot of the bed catches my eye.
My blood runs cold.
The corner of my blanket peeks slightly out from beneath the bed.
And the pillow.
Shit.
Before Sienna notices, I quickly stretch my leg out casually and shove both farther underneath with my foot. My pulse spikes anyway. Because if she asks why I’ve been sleeping under my bed instead of in it—
I don’t know what I’d say.
That sometimes I wake up choking on panic because the room feels too open?
That being under the bed feels safer. Like a cage I can control?
I swallow hard and force a smile. “I’ll get to it. Eventually.”
She studies me for a second too long before shrugging and flopping onto her back.
“Whatever. I’m not judging.” She exhales another cloud toward the ceiling fan. “But seriously, girl…you’re home. You’re alive. You need to start living again.”
Home.
The word lands strangely in my chest. Because somehow, I still feel stranded somewhere between Russia and this bedroom. My eyes drift back to my phone again before I can stop myself.
Still nothing.
Sienna notices immediately.
“Oh my god.” Her grin turns wicked. “You’re waiting for someone to text you back.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You literally checked your phone four times in thirty seconds.”
I roll my eyes and toss the phone beside me. “Shut up.”
“Doesn’t matter. I already know who.” She takes another hit from the vape before continuing casually. “I was fucking Kyle Porter when he got a text from Gage asking if he had Wolff’s number.”
“Jesus Christ, Sienna—”
“What?” She grins wider. “Kyle told me all about him. The big, bad Wolff Maddox. AKA K9.”
My cheeks heat.
“Apparently, he’s got a reputation. Kyle acted like Gage was asking for nuclear launch codes. Said Wolff doesn’t like people contacting him unless it’s important or some shit.”
That sounds exactly like him.
A stupid ache settles deeper in my chest.
“So obviously,” Sienna continues, completely unbothered, “I had to investigate.”
“That’s never a good sentence when it comes out of your mouth.”
She ignores me, reaching for another prescription bottle beside her knee. “So I started asking around which Servants had fucked him. And according to Devin, the man is hung like a fucking horse.”
At the mention of Devin, my eyes shoot up to hers.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “I know things are weird between you two after…everything.”
Devin didn’t actually do anything wrong.
We weren’t close. Just two wealthy Sovereign daughters shoved into the same circles often enough to know each other’s drink orders and secrets we’d never repeat sober.
The Greece trip had been huge. Too many people. Too much alcohol. Clubs, beach raves, yachts, drugs passed around like candy. Half the group swapped clothes by the end of the night because everyone was too drunk to care what belonged to who.
I was wearing Devin’s dress when I was taken.
The memory hits so suddenly, I feel sick.
I still remember her laughing while helping zip me into it in the bathroom because I spilled something on my own. Then her arm looped through mine while we stumbled across the street together toward another club.
I can still hear the music. Still smell the ocean. And then—
Nothing good after that.
“It’s fine,” I say, even though it doesn’t feel fine at all.
Knowing she had sex with Wolff before everything happened—it messes with my head. I can’t help wondering if he was the same with her.
If she saw sides of him that I never will.
If he touched her like he touched me.
“So she and Wolff fucked?”
Sienna shrugs and leans forward, offering me the vape. “Who knows. Devin didn’t say much. Just that he was hot as hell and really intense.”
Intense.
I almost laugh.
That’s one way to describe him.
I take the vape from her and inhale deeply, the sweet vanilla smoke filling my lungs while the tightness in my chest eases just slightly.
“You know Devin,” Sienna says casually while shaking pills into her palm. “She fucks everybody. Hooking up with her is basically a Sovereign rite of passage.”
I snort.
Devin Harrington.
Commander Harrington’s daughter.
Blonde. Gorgeous. She’s one of the Sirens—a group of Servants trained to entertain Sovereign members and their guests. Singing, dancing, aerial work, private performances at Blackout and other underground Sovereign clubs across Chicago.
Before Russia, I used to envy the Sirens. Now the thought of any of it makes my skin crawl.
“Maybe you should call her. Reconnect or something. She’s been worried about you.”
Doubtful.
Devin worries about Devin.
“Yeah. Maybe.” I push off the mattress and walk toward the windows overlooking the woods behind the house, folding my arms across my chest. The trees sway in the afternoon breeze.
“I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”
“Speaking of dealing with shit…”
I glance back over my shoulder. Sienna sits up straighter, already grinning because she knows I’m going to hate whatever comes next.
“A bunch of us are planning the after-party for the next group of Sovereign initiates in a few weeks. We need more stage performers.”
The pit in my stomach deepens immediately.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I’m really in the mood to be on a stage right now.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Those boys have been locked away training for months. You know how feral rookies get when they finally get turned loose on a house full of Servants. They’ll fuck like animals.”
My skin crawls at the thought.
“Please just think about it. You’d be good for morale. I need another hot body up there.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I lie.
My thumb drags over the gold ring still sitting on my finger.
I changed hands three days ago. Which is ridiculous. It’s a fake ring from a fake marriage on a ship in the middle of a nightmare. But every time I try to take it off, something tightens painfully in my chest.
So now it sits on my other hand instead.
Like somehow that makes it less pathetic.
My phone suddenly chimes behind me on the bed.
I spin around so fast it’s embarrassing, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug in my rush to grab it. Snatching the phone off the bed, I unlock the screen.
Not him.
Just another notification from my father’s assistant.
Disappointment crashes through me so violently I almost throw the phone across the room.
Your father needs you in his office today at 2:30 PM.
Another fucking check-in.
Another conversation about healing and recovery and security protocols and “adjusting.”
I don’t want to talk to my father.
I don’t want to sit across from him in that cold office, pretending I’m okay when half the time I still sleep underneath my own bed because the open room makes me panic.
But I can’t exactly say that.
So I force myself to type back a quick:
Okay.
Then I toss the phone back onto the mattress harder than necessary. Sienna catches my expression immediately.