Chapter 8 #2
When she returns, she finds me pacing the length of the bed because it’s all I can fucking do. I should probably be scheming, trying to find a way out, but all I can hear is the thundering of my heart and the eerie silence engulfing this place.
It’s getting dark outside, but I can see enough to know the grounds span for miles.
No one will hear me scream.
A shudder bolts down my spine making my breath catch as Sorcha approaches with a tray of food she places on the bedside table and a bag slung around her wrist that she empties onto the bed with a few toiletries and a nightgown in it.
She gives me a sympathetic smile, but her eyes tell everything.
I’m stuck here. She’s not going to help me. “The first few days are the worst.”
I don’t fight my snort this time.
“I’ve been in your position.” She swallows like she’s buying time or trying to figure out what to share with me and what to hold back. “It’s because of me that window’s no longer made of glass.” She gives me a twisted smile as I stare at her in silent question.
“Tried to slice Liam’s throat open with a shard of broken glass.”
“You could have tried harder.” My voice comes out harsher than I meant it to.
And a part of my heart can’t believe that I said the words out loud.
As much as I despise him for how he’s treating me, I loved him once.
Maybe I still do. And I can’t really blame him for being angry that I walked away without a word, especially when I can’t afford to tell him the truth.
I wonder what changed Sorcha’s mind to make her go from attacker to ally?
My stomach sinks as the realization dawns that it could be time. They kept her here long enough that she lost all her fight. She’s suffering from Stockholm syndrome, and she doesn’t even realize it.
My bitter statement about her failing to kill the middle Mahoney brother makes her laugh. “I think we’re going to get on just fine, Erin.”
She doesn’t say my name like she thinks I’m lying. That’s something, right? If I can convince those around him, maybe they’ll make him let me go.
“Look on the bright side. At least you have a bathroom. When Patrick locked me in here, if I wanted to pee, I had to hold it.” She grins like she’s recalling a fun time rather than having her liberty taken away.
“We remodeled the house after we brought my brother to live with us, and I took the opportunity to add a few extra comforts.” She rolls her eyes. “Men are such Neanderthals.”
“Your brother is here?” Jesus. They’re acting like a real family instead of a bunch of thugs.
“Yeah. Cathal.” Her eyes soften. “He has some special needs, so Patrick had a medical wing built to cater for whatever he needs.”
The idea of this family being that caring is a juxtaposition to the reality I find myself in. Is it possible to be good and bad? All I know is I’m getting the bad half right now, and I don’t fucking like it.
“Try to find peace with being here, the fight can be exhausting.” Again, she speaks like she really was in my shoes once, and now she’s… what? The welcoming committee? A girlfriend?
A quick glance at her left hand tells me she’s someone’s wife, and from the way Patrick looked at her downstairs, I’d bet the house that he’s the man she married.
“Life gets easier when you comply.” She pats my trembling hand before giving it a squeeze.
I wish I didn’t know how accurate her statement is. I’m an expert in complying with powerful men.
“I’ll leave you be. But if you need anything, come find me, okay?” She winces, like she’s just remembered the fact she has to lock me in here for the night. “Just, uh, shout, and someone will come and get me.”
Bitterness spreads through my body. I’ve gone from a life where I fought hard to earn back elements of freedom from Brian to being a prisoner all over again.
And if I do find a way out of here and back to Brian, he’s going to move me again, and I’ll have to start all over.
Still, I’ve done it before. I can do it again.
When she leaves, she slides the lock into place with a deafening screech.
Fuck.
Hunger wins out over fear. I eat half of the cold cuts, cheese, and bread Sorcha brought me, leaving the rest in neat little piles along the edge of the plate because, despite being scolded for playing with my food as a child, it’s currently the only control I have over my own existence.
I drink both bottles of water before closing myself in the en suite bathroom.
There’s nothing of use in here either, other than the solace of being behind a door I chose to close myself.
Of course there’s no lock in here, because why would Liam let me have a sliver of control over something so personal as using the toilet or taking a shower.
I turn on the over-the-bath shower, hoping they’ll leave me alone if they think I’m showering, before sliding down the side of the bath and pulling the phone from where it’s spent the day nestled against my ankle. I power it up. Shit.
Three missed calls.
Brian doesn’t do patience. He does consequences. I can’t call. If I do, there’s a chance I’ll be overheard.
Slowly, I type a text apologizing for missing his calls because he’s always calmer when I’m apologetic.
I tell him that I’m fine, just burnt out, and Willow’s dragged me away for a few days to “reset” before I lose my mind completely.
I add a crack about loosening the reins like I would on a “normal” day.
The lie sits heavy in my chest. I’ve never trusted Brian—not really. And certainly not enough to tell him where I am and who has me, not when I don’t even know who the enemy is anymore.
With each key I press, I glance at the door and then move so my back is pressed against it.
I almost safeword. I type it out but delete it.
Because if Rowan speaks, people die. That’s what Brian taught me.
Except, I’m in distress, I’m under duress, and I know I should use it.
But something I can’t name tells me that if I bring Brian into this situation, it’ll somehow get worse for all of us.
If I pull that thread, I have no control over how it unravels.
This situation is volatile enough without adding a hot-headed handler to the mix.
Liam loved me once. Whatever he thinks I’ve done to betray him, there has to be an ember of that love left. It doesn’t need to be a lot, just enough that he’ll let me go once he’s scared me enough. I’ll take my punishment like a good little girl, and run far and fast when he cuts me loose.
Carol
You’re late. Check-in was yesterday.
Remember why we’re doing this, Erin.
My stomach drops, chest tightening as the words appear on the screen.
Rowan Byrne was a girl who got herself in trouble.
My fingers tighten around the phone.
I saved you.
I can’t breathe.
You still owe me, Erin.
I can buy myself a little time by keeping my text check-ins, but our standard weekly in-person meeting is on Sunday which, if I’m calculating right, is five days away. If I miss that… I don’t know what will happen.
My mouth dries up, because I don’t have an answer for how to get around that. And I don’t want to think about what might happen if I do.
Five days.
I drop my head onto my knees, sucking in a steamy breath through my nose. I won’t let Liam break me. And if he does, I won’t let him see that he has.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of the truth. It could be my strongest weapon. Though weapons often cut both ways. Being here, in such close proximity to the man who once owned my heart hurts with every breath I take.
Brian always says the truth is what destroys people, that lies are the only thing that ever kept them alive. He hasn’t been wrong yet, keeping me alive and safe for the last five years has been a monumental task.
I can’t think about what I lost, what might have been. I can only figure out what comes next. So for now, I’ll do what I’ve done since I witnessed a murder that changed the course of my life: survive.