Epilogue
I’ve never toldanyone about Bethesda, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell them now.
For one thing, the rest of my family is in the air over the ocean. I left early, on a separate plane, because I’m going to tear my skin off if I don’t get?—
If I don’t get what I need.
Well—
I might tell them about Bethesda.
But I’ll never tell them about the private entrance to the luxury apartment building on a quiet street. I’ll never tell them about the bench that waits for my clothes, or the way the plush doormat feels under my knees, or the blindfold.
I’ll never tell them about the collar.
No room in my head to think about telling or not telling now, because the door swings open.
I can’t see him, but I can smell him—clean. Subtle. Expensive.
“Hello, pet,” he says. “You’re late.”
* * *