Chapter 32
Raya
A sense of unease clings to the layer of sweat already coating my skin as she follows closely behind me.
“It’s just right there,” she says, pointing to a door at the end of the narrow hallway.
The need to escape her has me shuffling quickly and locking myself inside.
The restroom is small and intimate. It doesn't have an industrial or businesslike feel to it at all.
I use the toilet before standing at the sink to wash my hands.
I've avoided looking in the mirror as much as possible during my time with Liam and I think that's what helps me notice the difference in my appearance.
A month ago, the reflection looking back at me would have her hair pulled into a tight, severe bun instead of the unruly wisps all over my head.
My eyes would be clouded with despair and hopelessness.
She would be unhappy biding her time until she could get a moment alone.
That woman is nowhere to be found in the reflection. She's been gone for a while now.
Although we're in a better place mentally now, I know the real fight has just begun.
The fight to get away from him has transitioned into a battle of staying together at all costs.
With renewed determination, I pull open the restroom door and startle to find the woman waiting for me in the hallway.
Is she afraid I'll run and somehow cause her trouble?
What is she willing to do to me to prevent that from happening?
“Excuse me,” I say when she steps in my way as I try to walk past her.
“I was just about to make a cup of coffee,” she says. “Would you like one?” Her voice is soft and unintrusive. But it's that side of me I've been trying to free myself of the last month that agrees to her offer.
I've always been taught to be agreeable but cautious, and I think that skill serves me well right now. As much as I want to get back to Liam, this woman has given me no reason to doubt that a cup of coffee is all she’s offering.
The small kitchen that we enter is just as homey and inviting as the bathroom. I take a seat at the table when she waves her hand in that direction but I keep a cautious eye on her as she steps up to the coffee machine on the counter. She doesn't look back at me or speak as she prepares our drinks.
Although the silence is expected I feel the need to fill the void. “Congratulations on the baby,” I say, having noticed her very round belly when I first entered the building.
She gives me a weak smile over her shoulder before continuing with the coffee.
I have to wonder if the sex I had with Liam will lead to the same thing.
He didn't seem opposed to the idea of getting me pregnant.
If anything, it excited him. A baby right now would be completely impractical, but it doesn't keep me from hoping.
“Cream or sugar?” she asks as she pours the coffee into two separate mugs.
“A little of both please.”
Once she’s done, she places a steaming cup in front of me on the table.
I instantly wrap both palms around it, wondering how Liam would react if he walked back here and saw me with a cup of coffee.
He tortured me for weeks with his own cup.
When he offered me my own cup two weeks ago, I found I no longer had the need for it.
“It's been a long time since I've had a cup of coffee,” I confess to her. “I hope it doesn't make me jittery.”
She scoffs as she lifts the cup to her mouth.
“You don't have to worry about that,” she says with a frown.
“It's decaf.” She points to her belly as if that explains everything.
I can only assume that caffeine consumption is something that should be limited during pregnancy because I have no real-world experience with it.
The campaign trail is hard work. It's exhausting. Most women who find themselves pregnant while working for my father end up in an office. It looks bad to work a pregnant woman so hard, my mother said once. Constituents don’t like it.
“What happened?” the woman asks me. I give her a look that makes her chuckle. “I used to be an FBI agent,” she says. “I've seen a lot of abductions. Hell, I've been abducted more than once.”
I shake my head as if rejecting her words, because it doesn't make sense. I can't imagine putting myself in a situation to be taken a second time.
“I've watched the news reports. I've seen the images of a shadowy man carrying you away from the beach. How does one go from being abducted to being okay with it?”
My cup of coffee becomes very interesting as I lower my eyes to the creamy liquid inside the cup. “You wouldn't understand,” I say.
“Try me,” she counters. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Because you don’t feel safe?”
“I don’t want him to get in trouble.”
“And I know you didn’t go willingly,” she says but there’s no judgment in her tone. “If you’re in danger, I’ll help you.
“I’m not in danger,” I assure her. “At least not in the way you would think.”
“You care for him.”
“It didn’t start out that way.”
“It never does, Raya.”
I look up at her, only now realizing I don't even know her name and she's expecting me to confide in her. So, I ask her.
“Lauren Voss,” she says.
“And you were an FBI agent?”
She nods. “My specialty was sex trafficking cases. I worked undercover and have seen many horrifying things. I know that it's not uncommon for women to behave a certain way to stay safe.”
I swallow down a rush of emotions. I've seen newscasts and read stories online about the horrific things that happen to sexually trafficked women.
“You no longer have to pretend to care for him or like what has happened. You're safe. And that man out there won't ever be able to hurt you again. He can't hurt you any longer.”
“He's not hurting me,” I rush out. “He's never hurt me.”
“There's a difference between hurting you a little and hurting you a lot,” she says. “The man drugged you and carried your unconscious body off the beach. He doesn't care for you.”
“You don't understand,” I argue.
“I understand more than you could possibly imagine,” she says.
It dawns on me that Lauren has already made up her mind about this entire situation and there's no chance that I'll be able to change it.
She's a prime example of how anyone from the outside looking in would see this situation, and it's like a slap to the face. Any expectation of making people understand is gone. It doesn't change anything though. Just because what Liam and I have isn’t what others would want, doesn’t make me need it any less.
“It may not be normal but I don't care. I appreciate your concern,” I say as I stand from the small table. “The fact that you're willing to help someone so quickly, without explanation, is commendable. But I don't need your help.”
I quickly make my way out of the small kitchenette and back down the hallway. Angel and Liam are standing close together in a heated argument. They both stop speaking the second I step into the room. I'm upset, nearing the point of tears, as I walk across the room.
I know Lauren is right behind me because I listen to her footsteps trailing at my back on the way into the room.
But I can't look at her. Reassuring her that I'm fine and that Liam will no longer hurt me because that's not who Liam is, rather than her providing the security that I need doesn't cross my mind.
The only thing I can think about is getting back to him.
If these people aren't willing to help us, there's no point in sticking around.
He clasps my hand the second I hold it out to him.
The squeezing of his fingers against mine are all that I need in assurance.
He's angry to the point of trembling but he doesn't say a word as we walk out of the building into our new world of uncertainty.