I couldn’t even tell anyone there I needed help, to plead for them to call 9-1-1. My “boyfriend” was standing by my side the entire time. From the nervous glances the stylists kept giving him, I could tell they knew he wasn’t really my boyfriend. I also sensed they wouldn’t be willing to risk their safety to help me.
I’ve never felt so alone before.
Are Peony’s and my photos on the news yet? Maybe. But even if they are, with the thousands of people reported missing, would we be nothing more than a blip on the radar?
Peony might be more than a blip because she’s the daughter of a popular thriller author. That’s bound to have led to national news coverage of her disappearance, right?
I cautiously move out of warrior pose, my body uncooperative. I wobble slightly, then regain my balance—a feat in itself with the fog occupying my brain.
Candi storms into the room I share with Tilly. Her face is red, her fake-lash-rimmed eyes narrowed, her ire aimed solely at Queen E. “Where the fuck is my brush, bitch? I know you have it.”
Queen E scowls as much as she can with a bruised and swollen face. “I don’t know where the fuck your brush is. I didn’t use it.”
There’s no point in telling Candi to save her energy for the real enemy. She hasn’t realized The Bear—and not the rest of the girls in the house—is the bad guy. She sees him as her savior after she ran away from her abusive father. In her mind, if not for The Bear, she would be living on the street instead of in this large house.
Candi’s eyes narrow some more at Queen E, and she turns to me. “Lola and The Bear are waiting for you downstairs.”
“Why are they waiting for me?” A shakiness that wasn’t there a moment ago sneaks into my voice. The last time the bottom bitch was waiting for me, I ended up with a nasty bruise on my jaw and another warning of what would happen to Peony if I didn’t cooperate.
All because my body is slowing down on me, and I didn’t move as fast as Lola wanted.
“I think I heard something ’bout you being branded.”
At Candi’s final word, fear and panic slam the brakes on my heart, and my breath skids to a standstill. My heart restarts, beating faster, harder, louder than its new normal. The new normal it’s been reset to ever since the man-wolf stepped into Garrett’s house.
Candi shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like I’m getting my teeth cleaned at the dentist. “And you’re supposed to bring the baby with you.” She waves half-heartedly toward Peony’s playpen.
I bite back the urge to say, “Like hell I am.” Candi doesn’t care if I take Peony down or not. It’s what will happen to Peony if I’m not here to watch over her that keeps me from voicing the thought out loud.
Not every girl in this house cares what happens to Peony. Not every girl in this house has mothering instincts like Athena and Tilly.
Taking her downstairs isn’t my favorite option either. But I haven’t been given a choice, so I lean over the side of the playpen, where Peony’s still sleeping, and stroke her face. “Hey, Princess Peony. Time to wake up.”We have to visit the ugly troll and his she-witch.
Peony sleepily blinks her eyes open, then scrambles up to her sleeper-covered feet. Her small fingers curl over the top of the playpen, steadying her. “Zawa.”
She used to smile at me whenever she said my name. Now, herbottom lip just trembles. Any joy she might have once had has been sucked drier than the desert.
I promise you, you will get to see your daddy again. Someday soon.
If Kenda and Athena found a way to escape, so can I. The Bear doesn’t want to risk a repeat of that with any of the girls here, so it might take longer than I’d hoped. He’s recently imposed extra security at the house.
But I swear on Mimi’s grave, Peony and I will escape.
She’ll have the chance to live the life she deserves.
A life filled with happiness and love.
I will away the fresh round of tears clouding my vision, pick her up, and carry her downstairs. It feels like I’m carrying a school bus on my shoulders, and with each step, I sink farther into the carpet.
But if the plan is to brand me…well, that hardly makes me want to rush.
I shuffle-walk into the living room that permanently smells like stale cigarette smoke and beer and something else I’d rather not identify. The large-screen TV on the wall, from the sounds of it during the past three days, is only for watching sports. And facing it, like we’re in an upscale sports bar, are the leather couch and half a dozen leather armchairs. Each probably costs more than the income that any of the girls in this house make in a year.
It’s late afternoon, but the curtains are closed. The only light in the room comes from the floor lamps positioned throughout the space.
I search from where I’m standing for something that could double as a weapon. Search for something that could aid in Peony’s and my escape. A sharp-looking knife—a hunting knife, possibly—lies on the dining-room table, but The Bear is looming next to it. He’ll be armed before I get close to the weapon.
The knife isn’t the only thing on the table. A candle stands next to it, the flame dancing ominously.
