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“Out,” I shouted and barged into my mother, who tried to rip the towel slung around my body away from me.
She almost lost her balance and glared at me.
“You insolent child.”
I chuckled. I hadn’t been a child since I was twelve and she shipped me off to a boarding school.
I nodded to the door. “Out,” I said, my voice cold.
What were my mother’s reasons for behaving the way she did? Why didn’t she at least love me? Because I was proof of the very thing that destroyed my father’s love for her?
Not my fucking fault.
“Make sure she’s dressed and ready in half an hour,” my mother said to Jemma, then turned and left.
There was a moment of silence. Then Jemma chuckled.
“Damn, Fee. You’re a disaster queen.”
I glared at her. “This is not my fault. And instead of laughing at me, you better engage that clever head of yours and help me get out of this mess.”
Jemma turned serious. “Already on it.”
I nodded, grabbed the jeans and hoodie I’d prepared, and got dressed. “Why’re you here anyway?”
Jemma watched me getting dressed. “Dad lost it a bit when Uncle Connor called and told him about his alliance with the Zotov family.”
“What do you know about them?”
She pulled out her laptop from her crossbody bag, put it on my desk, opened the lid, and booted it. “The Zotov brothers are a big deal. Ivan, the oldest, Anton, and Roman. They’re Russian Bratva though they’re operating globally. They’re bad news through and through—have their hands in everything that can kill you. Drugs, alcohol, weapons. They have been involved in every terror operation in the last ten years. Risen through the ranks at an enormous speed. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought there’s someone very powerful supporting them.”
“And how do you know all that?” I pulled my hoodie over my head, then my eyes met hers across the room.
She held my gaze, and I could see there was some kind of internal dialogue going on. She was probably the one who’d changed the most since our kidnapping. When I met her for Sophie’s wedding, I thought there was something different about her, but now I knew.
“What did you do to your hair?”
A small smile played around her mouth before she raised her hand, pulled on her hair, and removed her wig.
I gasped, then blinked rapidly. I couldn’t believe what I saw right in front of me. “You shaved off all your hair?” Apart from a narrow strip dyed bright green.
Jemma grinned and petted her bald head. “I had them make a wig out of them.”
I closed my mouth and sat down on my bed, completely shocked and speechless.
I narrowed my eyes. Shaving off your hair and having a wig made out of them sounded morbidly weird.
Was she suffering from post-traumatic stress? Was this a consequence of the kidnapping? Was she self-destructing?
“What’s going on with you?”
Jemma sighed. “I needed my outer self to reflect the inside.”
“And what exactly is inside of you? A baldy? A skinhead? What?”
She chuckled. “Actually, I’m an activist. Have been for a while.”
I blinked.
