I should call the police. Report everything. Let the system handle it.
Except the system is bought. Seamus owns judges, cops, prosecutors. Any report I make will get back to him within hours.
I need help. Real help. The kind that doesn't play by rules my uncle has already broken.
My thumb hovers over my contacts. I scroll past names I don't trust, people who might talk, numbers that lead back to my family's network.
Then I see it. Sloane.
We met at a coffee shop three months ago. She was in line behind me, made a comment about the barista's terrible taste in music, and somehow we ended up talking for two hours. She's the only friend I've made in Chicago who has no connection to my family. Rich, a little wild, always dragging me to clubs I'm too tired to enjoy.
She answers on the third ring. Music pulses in the background, bass heavy and rhythmic.
"Onyx! I was just thinking about you. You need to get out more. When's the last time you did anything fun?"
"Sloane." My voice comes out wrong. Thin. Shaky. Nothing like the composed journalist I've trained myself to be. "I need help."
The music fades. She's moving somewhere quieter. I hear a door close.
"What's wrong? You sound like you've been crying. Are you okay?"
"No." The word scrapes past the tightness in my throat. "I need to get out of here. Tonight. Right now."
"Out of where? What's going on?"
"I can't explain. Not over the phone." I glance back toward the estate. Nothing but darkness, but I swear I can feel eyes on my skin. "I just need somewhere to go. Somewhere safe."
"Where are you?"
"Walking. About a mile from my father's property. I can't go back."
"Jesus, Onyx." Her voice sharpens with concern. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?"
Yes. My father. My uncle. Everyone I was supposed to be able to trust.
"Family stuff. Bad family stuff. Really bad. I just need somewhere they won't look for me."
Silence. I can practically hear her thinking. A car passes on the road, headlights sweeping across the trees, and I duck into the shadows until it's gone.
"Okay." Sloane's voice is steady now. Decisive. "I'm at Scarlet Thorn right now. It's a club in the Redthorne Building downtown. Get here. I'll meet you at the door."
"Scarlet Thorn?"
"Trust me. It's safe. Safer than anywhere else in this city, actually." She pauses. "The people who run it... they don't let bad things happen to women there. It's kind of their whole deal."
Something about the way she says it catches my attention. But I don't have time to ask questions.
"Onyx, you sound really scared. Should I send a car?"
"No. No cars." Anyone could be watching. Anyone could report back to Seamus. "I'll get there myself."
"Are you sure? I can have someone there in?—"
I white knuckle my phone. My friend’s voice is literally the only tie to safety I have right now. "I'm sure. The less people who know where I am, the better."
"Okay. Just... hurry. And text me when you're close."
"I will."
