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He may not have given me a face, but he taught me how to put on a face. It was under the Giante's care that I learned to grin and bear it, because as long as I was there, he was hurting me and not the other girl I shared my room with. He taught me how to look like I was okay when I was dying inside and how to keep a secret whether I wanted to or not.
Remy’s been insistent that I’m hiding something, insistent that I’m keeping something from him. Maybe he sensed it in me from the beginning. Maybe he knew it from the first look at me, from the moment his touch landed on my bare skin. Maybe he could feel who’d been there before, or he could smell the rot that took hold all those years ago. It never went away, after all. You can't cut out something like that, but you can cover it up, bury it deep and try to forget it's there.
Whether Remy knew from the first moment he met me or not doesn't matter. He knows now, and there’s no undoing it. he'll forever look at me and see a ruined woman, the layers of rot and abuse hidden under the surface. He'll never want to touch me again. Who would? Eric told me as much every time he came to me, and I believed him. I never told anyone because I knew he was right. I could at least pretend I wasn't damaged with other people as long as they didn't know. But now Remy does, and he proved Eric right immediately. He dropped me instantly, like he couldn't stand to touch something so dirty. He couldn't even look at me, because he found out that I really have been hiding something from him.
I don't know how long I sit there with my knees pulled into my chest, staring out the window and ignoring the hurt I’ve been hiding for so long… the hurt I thought I’d gotten rid of. I'd done such a good job of burying it that I don't even know how to contend with the reminder of it… with the pain. It sits on my chest, threatening to squeeze the air out of my lungs.
The rain stops just as suddenly as it started. One minute, it’s still pouring, and the next, it’s gone entirely. That breaks me out of the trance and smashes the cage I’ve locked myself in since I came in here.
Trying to find any signs of noise coming from either Rhea's room or Remy's, I press my ear against the door. But it’s quiet in the hall.
I glance around the room, wondering if I should bother taking anything with me. But I didn't bring much and anything besides my phone and purse will slow me down, making it easier for them to catch me. I came to Costa Rica prepared for a taste of paradise, and my clothing choices are pretty reflective of that. I push my clothes aside, digging through my suitcase before landing on a pair of shorts, a simple top, and sandals. I’m still shaking from the cold and the unexpected trip down memory lane, but at least I won’t be stuck where I’m no longer wanted. At least I won’t have to know that just down the hall is a man I threw caution to the wind for. Now he’s just another in what is shaping up to be a list of men who have only made me hate myself.
I finally strip off the rain-drenched coverup and the bikini underneath it, throwing it on top of my other clothes and shimmy into the dry set, slipping on the only sneakers I brought before I step out into the hall.
I don't have the stomach to look over my shoulder at Remy's room, and I can’t glance up at Rhea's door, so I keep my head down. I walk quickly, sure to keep my footfalls as silent as possible as I move to the stairs and tiptoe down them. The entire house is silent, and darker than it should be for the time of day. I glance up and see that the sky is still murky overhead. Though the rain has stopped, dark clouds still press against the glass, swirling ominously.
That’s how I walk right into the man standing at the bottom of the steps, who appeared there so quickly and quietly that I didn't even notice his presence with my eyes trained on the roof.
I stifle a scream and then curse under my breath. Jovich grabs my arms like he’s trying to steady me, but I tear myself away from him, taking a step back up so we’re on the same level. "Going somewhere?" His gray eyes are flat, emotionless.
I swallow. "I'm leaving."
That makes him laugh. "Are you?"
"I get the sense you've wanted me gone from the moment I stepped off that plane. I don't care why you don't like me. I'm not very fond of you either. So, just step aside and pretend you never saw me."
His laugh is too loud as it ripples through the foyer. I cringe and glance over my shoulder, but the upstairs is thankfully still. "Or what? You gonna come after me with a kitchen knife?"
My heart drops in my chest at the words, and my stomach threatens to turn over. It’s thankfully too empty to do that, but it doesn’t stop the nausea from curling inside of me. Jovich is mocking me. Remy asked him to dig up dirt on me, and Jovich pulled through. He isn't going to pretend he didn't, either. I swallow my indignant rage, blink back the furious tears in my eyes, and make to move around him, but his fingers close around my upper arm and squeeze. "I can't let you go."
"Am I Remy's prisoner, now?"
"Nah," He shakes his head, stroking his beard with his free hand. He releases his grip on me, and I look down to see the impressions his fingers made against my skin are already fading. "But I think Rhea would probably fire me if something happened to you 'cause I let you walk off into the middle of a foreign country. It’s a cruel world, Claire Monroe.” He almost sounds like he’s going to laugh, but he doesn’t. “I'll give you a ride to the airport."
I narrow my eyes on him. As far as I can tell, he works for Remy, not Rhea. I’m not sure Remy gives a damn what happens to me, especially now, considering he's seemed ready to kill me more than a few times since we met. But Jovich is right in that Rhea will likely be disappointed to discover me gone. If she finds out I walked away from them without any kind of plan to get back home safely, she'll lash out.
"Fine." I sigh.
He turns and fumbles around in his pocket as he searches for his keys. I follow him out the door to the black SUV in the driveway. The paved drive is wet, and the air is heavy and sticky hot. I can feel it in my lungs on the short walk to the backseat of the car. I don't want to be in the same space with Jovich, and I certainly don't want to sit next to him in the passenger seat, but I’m reluctantly grateful when he turns the key in the ignition and cranks the knob for the air to maximum.
That relief doesn't last long before I’m freezing, wrapping my arms around myself to try and warm up a little. I catch Jovich's eye in the rearview mirror and promptly turn away to look out the window. Droplets of water still bead on the glass, blurring the world outside the car even further. Jovich drives faster than Remy did, and as we turn off of the paved road, he presses the pedal further into the floorboard so that every bump we hit jars the vehicle. I don't even remember a dirt road on the way here, but surely, he’s taking me to the public airport this time. I probably should have swallowed my pride to ask Remy for that passport he’d had made.
I don’t have the faintest idea how I’ll be able to get home without one, but it’s not something I’m going to bring up in front of Jovich. Maybe I can say that I lost it or bribe a gate agent with tears. It wouldn’t be a show, and it wouldn’t be hard to summon them—I’m barely capable of keeping them at bay as it is.
The SUV dips into a pothole as I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on breathing through my nose so that I don't throw up.
I can’t guess how much time passes before the car slows and I feel steady enough to open my eyes again. The night presses in all around us. I straighten in my seat, trying to take in wherever we are.
But it’s too dark to see past the high beams that cut through the hazy night in front of us. Jovich stops and shifts into park, but he doesn't turn the car off. Instead, he turns around to look at me.
There should be lights to direct us, signs, planes.
"This isn't the airport?" I guess. My nerves are still a tangle of raw emotions and anxiety. As I take in the middle of nowhere place that we stopped, they only worsen.
"No." He laughs. "But it is a one-way ticket."
I’m trying to understand what that is even supposed to mean when my door opens. I barely have a chance to look out at the man who opened my door before I feel the sting of a needle in my neck. I try to scream, but as the plunger empties some sort of drug into my veins, the effect is immediate.
