19. Riley
19
RILEY
“ A h, Miss James. Nice of you to join us.” I’m too busy cussing Dr. Whitaker out in my head for making it sound like I’m late when, in fact, I’m five minutes early to pick up on his phrasing. It’s only as I step over the threshold and see the absolute last person I want to be confined in a room with, sitting in a chair opposite my advisor’s desk, that I realize he said us .
Him and Bertram.
The air stalls in my lungs, and I can’t look away. His dark hair is meticulously groomed, not a strand out of place. Those cold, dark eyes that used to haunt my nightmares are now filled with a sickening gleam of triumph. As always, he’s well-dressed in a tailored suit that screams power and control. He’s the very image of sophistication, a mask hiding the monster beneath.
His lips curl into a smile, charming and disarming to anyone else but me. I know what lies beneath that facade: cruel manipulations and twisted games. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the fear and pain he inflicted.
His presence exudes a nauseating confidence, the kind that turns my stomach and makes my skin crawl. He’s exactly the same as he always has been—not a hint of remorse or change in his demeanor. Just the same polished exterior, the same air of superiority. And as I stand there rooted to the spot without Grayson or Logan to ground me, memories flood back with a ferocity that threatens to bring me to my knees.
“Have a seat, and we’ll get this meeting underway.” Dr. Whitaker’s voice rips me out of my spiral, and I swivel to leave, but he’s already closed the door behind me. With that look of disapproval permanently stuck on his face in my presence, he gestures toward the only available chair—the one right beside Bertram.
“W-what is he doing here?” I demand, feet cemented to the floor. There is absolutely no way I am sitting beside that sick bastard. The fact I’m breathing the same air as him is too much already.
“Your stepfather felt it was prudent that he be a part of this conversation,” Dr. Whitaker states in a no-nonsense tone, which makes it clear there is no getting out of this. “Given the circumstances.”
“Now, Riley.” Bertram’s tone is falsely sweet as he slowly rises to his feet, hands held up as though he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “I only want what’s best for you. Together, I’m confident that the three of us can come to some agreement on what that is.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m physically shaking now.
I might not be a wild animal, but I feel cornered between these two predators. Trapped. My gaze darts back and forth between them, my palms sweaty as I fist my hands at my side.
Bertram’s head tilts in a mimic of sympathy that I know is bullshit. “We talked about this the other night, remember? How you’ve been struggling to keep up with the course load. How you were considering dropping out to focus on your mental health—maybe try community college in the fall.”
My teeth grind, pure molten rage flaring hot through my veins. “I never said that. I’m not dropping out. Halston is where I belong.”
“Your grades would suggest otherwise,” Dr. Whitaker drawls, and fuck me, I truly despise this man. Of course, even if I had wanted to explain my slipped grades to him, I can’t with Bertram here.
“I’m working on improving them,” is all I say, but it sounds weak even to my ears. Mainly because I know I’ll struggle to give my studies the attention needed until Aurora is safely back in my arms.
Dr. Whitaker hums in disagreement, but I’m too busy eyeing down Bertram to look at him. “In my experience, students rarely come back from this. The academic rigor at Halston is such that once you fall behind, it’s near impossible to catch up.”
Tongue in cheek, I don’t respond. I can’t, because deep down, I know he’s right. While it’s perfectly understandable that my grades have slipped, and one lousy semester isn’t going to derail my academics or future career, there’s no arguing with the fact that every day I fall farther behind creates a deeper hole for me to climb my way out of.
Obtaining Bs or Cs now could result in me struggling to achieve anything higher for the rest of my academic career. A subpar transcript could follow me into my working life and prevent me from being chosen for jobs or result in me getting paid less than someone else because I’m deemed not as competent .
The entire point of working my ass off to get in here and leaving Aurora with Lydia was so I could do everything within my power to ensure I could provide for her. That she’d have the life she deserves. A mother she can respect and look up to.
While focusing on my studies feels impossible right now, I have to give them the attention they require. I have to keep working toward that future, regardless of its implausibility.
“I’ll do better.” This time, the conviction in my voice rings true, and I lift my chin, staring down Bertram. No way am I letting him convince this old dickbag to kick me out.
“Dr. Whitaker and I feel community college would be more at your… level.”
This fucking asshole.
“No.” I refuse to even stand here and listen to him spout such bullshit. Turning my back on Bertram and ignoring the cold sweat that gathers along my spine, I focus purely on my mentor. He’s the only one who matters. “Give me until the end of the year. If I can’t prove to you that I can get my grades back up, then we can discuss alternatives.”
It’s a daring move, especially given how volatile my life outside of Halston is, but it’s all I can do.
Dr. Whitaker’s lips purse in displeasure. The arrogant dickhead probably has the paperwork to have me stricken from the school register tucked in his top drawer, just waiting for his signature.
“My inability to hack it at Halston could be perceived as a reflection on you,” I hedge, aware I’m walking a fine line. “Whereas if I can pull my grades up and pass the year, everyone will credit you with helping me turn things around.”
His eyes flash, and I know I’ve got him. He clearly hates scholarship students, but he wants to be admired and recognized by his peers.
“You have until the end of the year, Miss James.” I stand straighter with triumph. “ But I will accept nothing less than a 4.0 GPA.” Well, shit. “I have no faith you will actually achieve that, but if you want to enjoy one last semester at this school, then I’ll be keeping a close eye on your progress.”
I give him a curt nod, refusing to let his words stick to me. I’m not getting kicked out today, and that’s all that matters. He dismisses me, and I scurry from the room. My pace is quick, my footsteps echoing off the walls as I march down the hall.
“Riley.”
Nope. My footsteps quicken.
“Riley. Stop this instant!”
My heart trips over itself at the blatant command in his tone, but I don’t even dare glance back at him over my shoulder as I continue toward the exit. The very last thing I want to do is get into a conversation with Bertram in an empty corridor.
Except he catches up to me as I step outside. His fingers wrap around my wrist, squeezing so the bones grind together. It’s a warning. A threat. Whirling, I tug on my arm, but he only tightens his hold.
My gaze darts around us, noting that no one else is nearby. Other than two students conversing as they walk across campus and a professor sitting on a bench, talking into her phone on the opposite side of the green, we’re alone.
So very alone.
“I—” My throat goes dry, my breathing growing erratic as I fixate on the point where his fingers burn into my skin. With the amount of force he’s using, he’s going to leave bruises. “I have class.”
He chuckles, a self-deprecating sound that feels like claws dragging down my spine. “You have Introduction to Psychological Theories with Dr. Martin in classroom 202 of the Social Sciences building at three-thirty. Until then, you’re free.”
The knowledge that he is so familiar with my schedule that he can recite it sits like lead in my stomach. I remain frozen on the spot, with no idea how to escape this situation.
He can’t do anything to you here, I tell myself. We might be alone, but there are other people around. All I have to do is scream.
Feeling marginally more confident, I demand, “What do you want?”
“I was hoping we could have a civil conversation—without that… hockey player interfering.” He says hockey player like it’s a disgusting word.
“You mean Logan, my boyfriend .” I don’t know why I’m baiting him, and I regret it a moment later when I whimper in agony as he comes within an inch of snapping my wrist.
“I’m trying to be tolerant of your insolence; you don’t want to piss me off, Riley.” His grip loosens on my wrist as he strokes a finger lightly over my pulse point. “Where’s my good little girl? I haven’t seen much of her since my release, and I have to say, I miss her.”
Bile floods my mouth, and it takes everything in me not to vomit all over his designer shoes.
“Now, like I said, I just want to talk—father to daughter. I only want to catch up on everything I’ve missed.”
I’m honestly not sure which part of that fucked-up sentence gets to me, but a spark of anger fizzles away enough of my fear and disgust to have me finally lifting my head to hold his complacent gaze.
“Why do you do that?” I demand. “Why do you continue to pretend you didn’t sneak into my bedroom and rape me every night for months?”
Eyes flashing in warning, his posture stiffens as he casts a quick glance around us. His gaze drops to where he’s holding my wrist hostage, and as if realizing how it looks, he lets go. Instead, he steps into me, lowering his voice as he hisses, “It wasn’t that, and you know it! It still isn’t.” His nostrils flare. “You know where you belong.”
Shaking my head, I stumble back a step. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not today. Not ever .”
Finally free, I go to stride away, but I only make it a couple of steps when he says my name. There’s something implied in it. A threat? Or perhaps it’s the fact he sounds far too calm, considering I just thwarted his plans—again. Something has me turning to face him.
With that twisted, amicable smile in place, he stalks closer. With controlled, steady strides, he eliminates what little space I’d just put between us. There’s something about his swagger. The cockiness behind it. The gleam of victory in his eyes. It terrifies me. Roots me in place until not even a strong wind could move me.
Leaning in, goosebumps pebble along my arms as his breath dances over my skin.
“You were always such a good girl for me. It’s disappointing to see such defiance.” My breathing is nothing but shallow whisps as his voice drops. “Every day you defy me will be a punishment I don’t want to deliver, but I will.” Pulling back just enough to meet my eyes, he cocks his head. “And sweet little Aurora will be the one who pays the price.”
My blood goes cold.
My entire body buzzes with awareness, and his words ring in my ear.
Aurora. Aurora. Aurora.
Her name is all I can hear as the ground beneath my feet tilts, my surroundings blurring. It feels like I’m on some hellish carnival ride with no way off.
My hand clamps over my mouth, and I think I garble some sort of nonsense.
“I didn’t want to resort to this; you forced my hand. I’ve been obliging you, but I’m out of patience. Either you come to me, or that sweet little girl of yours will have to fill your shoes.”
I think he touches me, but I’m so removed from my surroundings, so disconnected from my own body, that I can’t be sure. I’m vaguely aware of him walking away before I stumble to a nearby bush and empty the entire contents of my stomach.
With Bertram’s menacing threat reverberating in my ears, pulsating through my skull, and seeping deep into my marrow, I’m left feeling not just numb but utterly disoriented. Swiping at the spittle on my chin, I stumble blindly away from the administration building, my only instinct to escape his looming presence.
To find the guys.
To tell them.
Bertram has Aurora .
That knowledge circles on repeat in my head until fear blinds me, and guilt over just how greatly I’ve let my daughter down drives my actions. I stagger and stumble as though drunk as I race across campus, the once familiar landscape now blurring around me. The urgency of my escape is palpable.
Flee.
Find the guys.
Bertram has Aurora!
I should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as putting him in his place at dinner. With Logan at my side and knowing Grayson and Royce had my back, I felt empowered. Emboldened. In that moment, I felt like I could take Bertram on. A strangled laugh crawls up my throat.
How naive could I be?!
Bertram has made it crystal clear, even from his prison cell, that he doesn’t intend to simply let me go—that I’m his. By standing up to him at that dinner, I didn’t put down a rabid dog. Instead, I waved a red flag in front of a rampaging bull.
I just didn’t realize that he’s been one step ahead of us all this time.
While I thought we were playing Go Fish, he was playing poker and holding the winning hand.
Now, I’m left running for my life with no clue how to get my daughter away from him without sacrificing myself in the process.
The guys will know what to do . They have to.
I flee across the campus, my steps quick and erratic, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst through my chest. Saliva floods my mouth, and I force myself to swallow as panic clouds my vision, turning familiar pathways into a dizzying maze. I’m trapped in my own body, unable to think straight. To figure out what I should do. Every shadow feels like it’s hiding him, and every passerby looks like they’re watching and judging me. I keep glancing over my shoulder, unable to escape the feeling that he’s right behind me, ready to reach out and drag me back. Force me to go with him.
Either you come to me, or that sweet little girl of yours will have to fill your shoes.
If he catches me… I’ll die. Aurora and I will both be dead.
Yet, what alternative do I truly have?
That thought alone pushes out what little air is in my lungs, and I whip my head forward, picking up my pace until I’m running, uncaring of what anyone watching me must think.
I can’t go back there. I just… can’t.
Back to his house.
Back to that time.
Back to that helpless, hopeless girl.
I can’t stop the flood of memories: the feeling of his hands on me and his soft, caressing voice as he whispered in my ear. Good girl. A sob wrenches from my throat, and I claw at my skin. I’m shaking all over, my legs threatening to give out beneath me.
My vision blurs as tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away, refusing to let them fall. I won’t break down. Not here, not now. The fear is like a vise around my chest, tightening with every step. I need the guys. I need Logan’s safe embrace. Royce’s threatening stance. Even Grayson’s murderous rage. They’ll know what to do.
Except I can’t make my mind focus long enough to figure out where each of them is on campus right now. Is Grayson even on campus today? I can’t remember.
I round a corner, my steps faltering as I trip over a loose stone. My ankle twists painfully, but I barely register it. Pain is better than fear. Pain is something I can handle. But this... this overwhelming terror, not only for myself but for my daughter, is suffocating.
I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
I reach for my usual mantra to pull me back from the edge of hysteria. Except, it no longer works. I’m not safe. He is here. He can hurt me.
He is hurting me .
“Riley!”
My gaze whips over my shoulder, slamming into dark hair and dark eyes chasing me. Eyes wide with terror, I scream. Dropping my backpack, I break into a full-out sprint.
“ Riley! ”
There’s an emotion in that one word that has an itch scratching at the back of my mind, but I’m too terror-stricken to register it. My name is called again, but this time, it is drowned out by the roar of an engine.
Unyielding bands of steel wrap around me. A scream rips from my throat, imagining it’s Bertram before the world tilts. The air is pushed from my lungs as I hit something hard. A blinding pain radiates across my skull before the world dims.
Like a dying flame, my panic slips into the darkness until everything ceases to exist.