Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
BAILEY - BEFORE
We’re on edge all day, even more so when Yuri gets back with two others in tow, new men I’ve never seen before.
The moment his eyes meet mine, empty and cold, he barks for us to go upstairs and stay there until someone tells us otherwise.
That’s fine with me. I’m already trembling all over, my thoughts spinning around and around like some nightmarish carousel.
Not again. Please.
“Come sit,” Cat says, pulling me by the hand onto the bed. I know she’s looking closely at me, taking in my shaking limbs, my wide eyes, and raw lips, bloody from picking at them.
“How are you okay right now?” I manage to ask. “Knowing they’re planning something. Knowing someone will use us again. Hurt us.”
A joyless laugh leaves her lips. “I’m not okay, B.
I haven’t been okay for so fucking long, I don’t even know what okay means.
” She meets my gaze, her warm brown eyes shining with fire I haven’t seen in weeks.
“You know what? Fuck keeping secrets.” She stops mid-thought and crouches by the mattress.
“I’m getting us the hell out of here. All four of us. ”
I lean closer, watching her. “What do you mean?”
She digs around in her stash and drops a pile of random bills and coins onto the bed. With a satisfied smile she says, “I’ve been planning this for a while. Erik coming here, fixating on me. I’ve been using it.”
I eye the money, mentally calculating how much she’s collected. Maybe a hundred dollars, no more than that.
“What have you been doing with him?”
She rolls her eyes. “Reading Shakespeare. God, B… I’ve been doing what I need to. And at least he pays me directly. Lord knows, he could have tried to take what he wants, plenty of others have.” She starts to gather the money into a neat pile and stuffs it back under the mattress.
I nod, absorbing what she said. “So he’s going to help you escape?”
“Us,” she corrects. “And no. He doesn’t know shit.”
“Good, I don’t think we can trust him. We can’t trust any of them.”
She slides onto the bed beside me. “I know. But we can use him.”
I realize my trembling has subsided a bit, but the looming thoughts remain. Whatever Cat has planned, it’ll be dangerous, reckless. Who knows what will happen? But I can’t let them touch me again. I just can’t.
“I have to find out what happened to my cousin.” When I look over at her, she’s staring out the window into the darkening sky. “Even if it might put my other family at risk. I just… need to know.”
That crimson stain on the motel carpet flashes in my mind, and I nod in agreement. “What’s the plan?”
Two days go by. Two days where we’re only allowed to leave the room to use the bathroom and nothing more. We haven’t been able to check in with Lydia or Elise, but I hear their footsteps pacing in the bedroom next to ours.
This waiting for what’s to come is almost as bad as the act itself. I’ve barely eaten the hastily thrown together sandwiches they’ve given us, and what I’ve managed to choke down sits in my stomach like a weight.
“He should have come,” Cat says as she paces the length of the small bedroom for what feels like the hundredth time. “He left me a note in the bathroom. See you later. When the fuck is later? I need something, B. Some kind of info. What the fuck is going on down there?”
There’s a light knock at the door before it swings open.
Erik appears in the doorway, his gangly frame taking up the space.
It’s like Cat’s words conjured him into existence.
She starts to speak but he raises a finger to his lips.
Her jaw clenches but she obeys. I don’t know how to feel, what to think as I watch their exchange.
“Come on,” he whispers, stepping back to give her room.
A look passes between Cat and me as she closes the space between them. Relief tinged with fear. My pulse kicks up as I watch her disappear into the hallway, suddenly aware of how much I’ve grown to depend on her presence for comfort. The quiet is suffocating. The walls feel like they’re closing in.
My chest tightens because this is how it always started.
Alone in the room, waiting. That’s when King came to me.
When he beat me until bruises formed in delicate areas and blood dripped from open wounds.
When he raped me, again and again… using me like I was nothing more than a doll.
I start to shake and before I realize I’ve moved, I find myself crouched in the corner of the room, my knees folded against my chest as tight as they can go.
I wish I was as brave at Cat, as strong.
Whatever she’s doing out there with Erik, it’s for us.
The planning and stealing and acting, it’s all been to get us out, to find Jasmine.
She’s out there letting him do unspeakable things to her while I sit here cowering in fear. Do I even deserve to be saved?
Cat slips back through the door minutes later, her pants sagging low, and her brow glistening with sweat. I straighten my body, looking her over for injuries, and wait for her to say something. When she doesn’t, I ask, “Are you okay?”
She ignores my question and hurries to her spot under the mattress. “We’re doing this tonight, B. You need to get ready.”
I push up on my hands to stand. “What did he tell you?”
“Yuri and the others are leaving soon. Erik said they’ll be gone for two hours—just two hours. I don’t know where they’re going, just that Erik will be here alone with us. He—he told me all the things he’s going to do to me, now that he can take his time.”
Her voice shakes in a way I’ve never heard before. She’s frantic as she rips through the clothes in our small closet, finding a long-sleeve shirt from the pile on the floor. She pulls it over her head.
“Shit,” I say. “What did he say? Did he hurt you?”
“No. But I won’t let him try.” The words tumble out in a rush of breath. “This might be our only chance to run.”
“We need to tell Lydia and Elise. We can’t leave them here.”
She tosses a clean pair of underwear at me. “Layer these on.”
I hold them, crumbled, in my hand. “You keep getting ready. I’ll go tell them.”
I can see her wanting to argue with me, her emotions are always plain as day on her face, but she waves me off. When I turn for the door, she grabs my wrist, digging her fingers in hard. “Don’t let them see you. And B? Two hours. That’s all we have once they leave. Hurry.”
Two hours.
The words echo in my head as I move toward our bedroom door, keeping my bare feet silent against the worn carpet. My hand hovers over the doorknob. I know it’ll squeak when I open it. What if someone’s out there?
I press my ear to the wood first, straining to hear anything but my own racing pulse. Muffled voices drift up from downstairs, but they sound distant. Relaxed, even. A burst of laughter makes me flinch.
I use the backdrop of their conversation to turn the doorknob and ease the door open inch by agonizing inch, waiting for the hinges to whine. Cat watches me, a wrinkled shirt clutched to her chest. It squeals, but less aggressively, maybe from how slow I opened it. I’ll take that as a small win.
The hallway stretches before me. There’s maybe twelve feet to Lydia and Elise’s door, but it might as well be a mile.
Every step feels like walking on cracked ice. Like I’m seconds away from the end. I don’t know how I’m staying upright.
The floorboard under my left foot groans slightly and I freeze, counting my heartbeats.
One.
Two.
Three.
Nothing. I force myself to breathe and keep moving.
Halfway there, someone slams a door below and I pause, flattening myself against the wall, my whole body trembling. Heavy footsteps cross what sounds like the kitchen, followed by the scrape of a chair.
Just someone moving around. Probably Erik. It’s fine.
Two hours. I need to keep going.
Lydia and Elise’s door is identical to ours with the same peeling white paint, the same old brass doorknob. I press my ear against it and listen to their murmuring voices. Good. They’re both awake.
I tap so softly, I’m not sure they’ll even hear me. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap-tap.
Their voices stop.
“It’s Bailey,” I whisper, my lips practically touching the wood.
The knob turns and the door opens just enough for Elise’s wide, terrified eyes to peer out. She looks past me down the hallway before pulling me inside and quickly closing the door behind me.
“What’s wrong?” Lydia sits up from where she was curled on the bed, her dark hair matted against her head. Both of them look like they haven’t slept in days, based on the dark shadows under their eyes.
“We’re getting out,” I whisper, my words spilling over each other in my rush to release them. “Tonight. Cat has a plan and—”
A car engine roars to life outside the window. All three of us freeze, listening as it grows fainter, then disappears.
“Who just left?” Lydia asks.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes me freeze. Hurried, heavy steps. And they’re coming closer.
“No time. Get ready,” I mouth to them, backing toward the door. “Whatever you can wear, put it on. Now.”
The footsteps pause at the top of the stairs. A floorboard creaks.
“I need to go,” I whisper, my shaky hand already on their doorknob.
But as I turn it, the footsteps start moving again. Not back toward the stairs, not away from us.
Coming this way.
Lydia grabs my arm, holding tightly. We all stare at the door as a shadow passes underneath it, blocking out the dim hallway light.
The footsteps stop right outside our door.