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His eyes fall down to me, his brows turned in in worry. He kneels in front of me as I try to sit up from the sofa.
“No, Jade. Stay there. We need to stitch you up.”
I grasp on to the polished leather of his cut, his is nowhere near as worn as Royce’s, and pull him into me. “Where’s Royce? Something’s not right with me.”
His beady eyes fly to my arm. “He shot heroin into you. Just ride it out, okay?”
As the minutes pass, lucidity spreads awareness throughout my mind, and I slowly find myself being able to focus a little more. The headache is still there, but it’s not as bad. Now I’m starting to feel the sting on my arm, the open wound that I will need to dress.
Just as I finally push myself up into a sitting position, Wicked walks in carrying Sloane, his face turned in and animated. He’s angry. Feral.
Sloane’s blonde hair is muddy, her forehead bleeding. Instantly I shoot up from the couch, as if finding my second wind. “Sloane!”
Wicked lays her out on the sofa where I was, her face pale and unmoving. She’s wearing her panties and bra, white, where mine is black, just like our dresses. Her Valentinos are still clasped around her ankles.
I look up at Wicked. “What’s wrong!”
He shakes his head, his eyes remaining hard and passive on her frozen body. “She’s alive, I think she fainted.”
Just as he says the words, she stirs, her eyes opening up to mine. “Jade?”
I burst into tears, unable to contain the emotions that are exploding inside of me.
“Thank god!”
The curtain opens again and this time, Storm walks in, his eyes frantic until he finds me. They drop up and down my body, checking me over before he takes the steps needed until I’m in arm’s reach. Pulling me into his chest, he kisses me on my head.
“It’s almost over.”
I wish that were true, but I don’t have it in my heart to tell him that there’s no way this is over. That James would have run through that emergency door and through his passage and probably be almost at the private airstrip by now. I find the red door out of instinct.
“Not possible,” I sigh, snuffing my runny nose.
Just as I say the words, Orson appears through the emergency door, his large shoulders eating up the space. His eyes meet mine and soften before going to Storm. “Take the girls out of here.”
“What?” I snap between the two of them. “Why?”
Orson shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to witness what’s about to happen.”
I square my shoulders, my fists clenching in my hand. The stinging on my arm is worsening. I know I need to clean it up quickly before it turns to fire and infection seeps in. “He’s gone! That!” I point to the door that Orson just came through. “Is his exit. Only I know where it is, and that’s why he announces the sales from in here, and if he didn’t get through his secret exit, he would have used the community one that—” Isaac steps through the door behind Orson, his suit stained with smudges of blood. At first, I think it’s because they’ve hurt him, until he turns to Wicked.
“Jade, Orson is right. You shouldn’t be here.”
“What’s happening!” I scream, frustration clinging to my nerves. “And where the fuck is Royce?”
“Royce is coming. But for now, you need to go out the main exit and take your friend. Friends of mine will be on their way through those doors in thirty minutes, and that’s not enough time to do what is about to happen.”
“And what’s that?” I snap.
Isaac glares at me. “Creating a suicide.”
I look around to all of them as Royce finally appears at the same emergency exit. “What the fuck!”
He refuses to look at me. I see it in the way he’s watching Wicked.
“Royce,” I wheeze, and I hate that I feel vulnerable. Exposed. The silence only angers me further, and my legs begin taking me to the door where he is. Someone reaches for my arm to stop me, but Royce shakes his head to leave me.
I shove him. “Say what you’re thinking!” I can feel the pain in my chest growing. The years of abuse, being stripped of my innocence and choices is nothing compared to the sheer agony of being dismissed by Royce the way I am now.
He continues to not stare at me. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll talk later.”
Reality claws its ugly nails into me, carving down the edges of my spine. “You think I was with him willingly?” I shove him again when he doesn’t answer. “You motherfucker! You think I wanted your father to rape me every goddamn day after you left?!” The room instantly grew cold. I didn’t think twice about the words that flew out of my mouth, because I gathered, they had known.
