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I sigh and rub a hand over my face. Not a surprise, but also not what I wanted to hear. It would be nice if just once, one of these things would go our way.
“I can track the guy that delivered it if you want, but from the outside cameras, it looks like he’s a bicycle messenger, so it’s probably a dead end.”
Like everything else we try.
This motherfucker is way more elusive than I initially gave him credit for.
I guess there’s a reason The Factory was able to operate in Chicago for so long before being relocated, but even that we haven’t been able to figure out. The assholes are fucking ghosts, and that seems extra fucked up given the size of their operation and how many people they sell each month on the dark web.
From what I’ve seen, Everett does his best to stop all sales within the city, but there are things not even the best hackers can stop.
I stare down at the bracelet in my hand, looking over each of the charms I’d committed to memory over the years we spent together. Mia never took this fucking thing off. Never. Even when our foster parents tried to tear it from her wrist, she fought tooth and nail to keep it. So I can only imagine what it was like for her to lose it when she was at The Factory. How she lost the only thing she had left of the parents who loved her while she was already in the pits of hell.
One charm in particular catches my eye, and my stomach bottoms out because I know for a fact it wasn’t always there, not only because it’s not as worn as the others, but because I spent most of my childhood learning everything there was to know about the girl who wore it, right down to what every fucking charm on this bracelet meant.
Nestled between the love heart charm her father gave her mother on their first anniversary, and the cradle he gave her when Mia was born, is a shiny new charm.
The collar stares back at me. Mocking me. And I wonder if perhaps this package wasn’t for Mia at all.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MIA
The mental exhaustion from my meltdown lasts the entire day, long after I’ve woken from my nap. But what’s concerning me more is how Ace is acting.
I can’t put my finger on what he’s doing that’s out of the ordinary, but I know he’s been acting weird since I woke up.
Normally, I would put it down to the fact I had a panic attack mid-sex, and there’s no way that’s winning me any awards for sexiness. But for some reason, I don’t think it’s that. He’s too tightly wound. The way his gaze darts around the room every few minutes, seeking out a danger that doesn’t exist, makes me think there’s a whole lot more to it.
I move around the kitchen, following a recipe I found online to make rose pasta, my favorite before I was taken. It seems so simple to be able to eat whatever I want again, but my relationship with food is far from cured, and there’s still the nagging sentiment at the back of my mind that soon I won’t have this luxury. Soon, I’ll be back in the arms of men who will hurt me without thought or consideration, and I’ll be hungry more often than not.
But for right now, I want to enjoy my favorite food again, even if it means pushing through the mental block I have when it comes to food.
Ace looked shocked when I stepped into the kitchen and started banging around with pots and pans, but he hasn’t said anything, and I’m not going to offer any explanation.
Following the steps allows my mind to drift to another place, a safer place, and I allow it to wander without thought or consequence. It’s nice to allow myself such a simple luxury, and I try not to consider that this will be one of the last times I have the chance.
My time is running out. Kyle is only going to escalate, and I can’t have that touching Ace and the other people who have been so kind to me. I won’t.
The pasta comes to a boil, and I quickly drain it, ignoring the questioning stares from behind the wall of screens.
I’m aware of how weird this looks. The fact that I refused to eat for my first few days here and have barely eaten more than a bowl of soup and some toast since. But I can’t give him an explanation he’s going to accept, so therefore it’s better that I don’t give him one at all.
“Something smells heavenly in here.” A voice comes from the elevator, and I whip around to see Emerson and Rayne strolling through the apartment toward us, the former wearing sweatpants and a matching sweater, while the latter is in his usual dark long-sleeve shirt and black jeans. Does the man have anything other than that exact combination and suits in his wardrobe?
Not that I can say much, seeing as Ace wears pretty much the same outfit every day, with the exception of some gray sweatpants that give the perfect outline of how well-endowed he is.
I flick my gaze to Ace, whose jaw is tight at the intrusion, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Sorry for the interruption, I just wanted to pop in and check on you before we head out of town for a few days in the morning.” Emerson beams.
“Going anywhere fun?” I ask, busying myself with reading over the recipe three more times to make sure I’m not fucking it up.
“Sadly not. I have a conference in Philadelphia, and someone won’t let me go by myself.” She side-eyes her husband, but the obvious affection in her eyes discredits any annoyance in her tone.
“There is no way in hell I’m letting you leave the fucking city without me, Emerson. I can barely let you leave the room.”
She giggles and moves into the kitchen, peering into the pot to see the sauce simmering. “God, this smells divine. Sadly, I can’t cook much. I spent too long living on ramen, and now that’s all I know how to cook.”
