I darted off to grab the phone. “Say again,” I asked, shooting Violet a look that begged her to stay still for just a fucking second. “As far as I’m aware, Margaret isn’t being mistreated yet. She’s being kept in your old room. I can see her right now, sitting on the bed, reading. No injuries I can see. No trauma.” He paused. “She’s sad but not like… devastated. Not like…” he trailed off, then continued with his voice barely above a whisper. “Not like you were, Violet.”
Violet’s eyes widened at being addressed, but it didn’t soothe her like I hoped. Her brow furrowed, and she looked distant, like she’d gone into herself.
My heart didn’t slow. “That means nothing; we have to go,” Violet said, full of resolve. Once again, she tried to get off the bed, but I stopped her, sitting on her hips to hold her still. “Let me go!” she demanded, but I didn’t. I’d never stopped her like this, never held her back. But she had to fucking understand. She couldn’t wake up from a three day long nap and go into the pits of her hell, guns blazing.
“We have to think about this logically,” I urged her, panicking. I wouldn’t stop her, not really. I refused to be her captor, but I needed her to look at me, to fucking listen. If she still wanted to go right now, I’d follow her. “We can’t go running in there to save her, Vi. Not right now.”
“I don’t give a shit, we can’t let her suffer like I did!” The anger leaking from her was only like what I’d seen when she was hurting those who hurt her. She was a meek thing usually, but this fire was becoming her norm.
This time, I let her shove herself free, the fear in her eyes not something I wanted to see untethered. She started dressing, shoving her legs into jeans as I watched, that rage inducing impotence racing through me again. I needed to support her, not stop her. Join her.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, coming up behind her as she rummaged through a drawer. “You going to go in, hobbling and injured, and kill Rafe? I think you’ll take one look at him and pass out from PTS fucking D.”
She whirled on me, hurt by my bitter words. Truth was, her body was almost healed of the superficial wounds he’d given her. Weeks had passed now, and she’d gained strength, better fed, better rested. She dealt with Damon like a pro. She wasn’t weak, not at all; she was stronger than anyone I knew, including myself. But she was precious. Too important to risk.
“You think that little of me?” she asked. “You think I’m broken?”
Shit. I’d hurt her feelings. “No,” I said, hushing her and coming closer, cupping her cheeks and kissing her nose even as she bristled. Christian could probably fucking hear, but I didn’t care. “Not broken. Fragile.”
She scoffed. “Don’t say that.”
“Violet, listen, please,” I implored, trying not to tear my hair out, trying not to lose my rag completely. “We’ll get her. Together. Safely. Properly. I’m done waiting around for things to happen. We. Will. Get. Her.” I kissed her nose to punctuate each word. “But I am NOT letting you go in there unprepared. I am not letting you not think it through and get yourself tangled up in his world again. You are more important than that.”
“She’s our sister,” Violet muttered, though some of her fire had gone out. “She’s a bitch, but she’s our sister.”
I snorted at that. Margaret was the female Charlie, so enamored with the culture and the lifestyle, she was cold with it. Stuck her nose up at everyone that wasn’t just like them. On Violet’s wedding day, she’d vibrated with jealousy watching her older sister walk down the aisle, be more important, have all eyes Margaret revered not on her. Really, she’d be loving this life. But she was only a child; she didn’t know. Not yet.
Both of them, Margaret and Amaryllis, were so young, so raised in our mother’s image with no outside input. They would welcome Rafe’s touch. Believe him when they hurt them and said it was necessary. Amy was with Connor, at least I thought so, so I just had to pray he was getting through to her.
Margaret would be good. Maybe she wouldn’t be treated like Vi? No. We had time. But not much.
“We can’t let her suffer, she won’t even know it’s happening,” Vi pleaded, and I realized tears had flowed from her eyes when I lifted a thumb and wiped a stray droplet from her cheek. Her breathing was slowing, her chest no longer heaving with energy as she calmed. “We can’t let her live that.”
I nodded, stroking her hair, studying her face. “What do I have to do to stop you from running off now?” I asked. “You have to understand why I can’t let you go. I love you too much, Violet. And you won’t survive it, not yet. We haven’t finished. You haven’t got your strength up. Please, give it time. They have time.”
“I can’t not go, Theo. I can’t. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Stay.”
“Make me.”
“No,” I spat. “I won’t make you. I won’t hold you captive. I’ll go after you, Vi. I’ll follow your every stupid scheme and die right with you.” I pushed her against the wall, my hand hard on her chest, her heart beating against my palm. “Let’s do it right, okay? Let’s do it right.”
More tension.
“Okay, Theo,” she muttered. “I trust you.”
Fourteen
Violet
Itrustedhim.
Trusted him to make me stay. Because my bones still ached to move, to chase after Rafael right now and end him. How could I sit pretty while he violated my sister? She wasn’t even eighteen; she was a child, a naïve, idiotic child who had never had a kind word to say about me or anyone else, but still a child. This was the furthest from right anything about this had ever been.
My skin itched to get to her, to give myself over to the monster so she could walk free.
It was the proper thing to do. But Theo looked at me like I was wrong, like he was afraid.
