But her voice trembles and that tells me everything. I pull her back into me and hold on like she’s oxygen.
She’s alive.
But we are not safe. And the dull ache in my skull is nothing compared to the terror now blooming fully awake in my chest.
“Tell me everything,” I demand even though my voice is still fragile from waking up. “Don’t soften it. Don’t protect me. I need all of it.”
For a second I think she won’t. I see the hesitation flicker across her face, that instinct to shield me the way she always has. Then she exhales shakily and pulls me back down with her.
“Lie down,” she whispers. “You’re still weak.”
She tugs the scratchy blanket around us and forces our bodies together on the thin mattress. It’s filthy and smells damp. The concrete beneath it steals heat from my bones, so we press closer, our thighs tangle together as our foreheads brush. How many times have we curled together in one of our beds, sharing secrets and desires or stories from the night before?
I place my hand on her hip and that’s when I see it what she’s wearing.
It’s a dress.
It’smydress.
It’s white and loose, with a high neckline and short sleeves. It’s so childlike that my stomach drops so violently I have to swallow a gag. It’s identical to the one I wore when Dr. Fisher trained me, when he taught me discipline, preached purity, and spent nights giving me corrections.
I focus on her bruises next, cataloguing them without meaning to. Purple fingerprints bloom along her arms. Scratches ooze blood between her thighs, almost like they’ve just been inflicted. I can see cuts on her knees, and a healing burn that sits near her collarbone. Rage bleeds through the confusion like something molten. My sweet angel being debased like this.Again. How many more times does she need to be hurt by monsters?
Robyn’s hands tremble as she cups my face and makes me look at her.
“I was at home,” she starts quietly. “There was a knock at the door,” her breathing shakes, but she keeps going.
“They said they were escorting me to a meeting. Something about the school and a curriculum review. I’d never seen theman before, but he knew my name. He had paperwork with an official letterhead.”
My chest tightens as I watch her gulp.
“I followed him,” she whispers, shame flickering across her face as if trusting someone was a crime. “There was an SUV outside. It was black, with tinted windows. I remember thinking it felt… dramatic. Like who has an SUV like that in Coggeshall, right?” She tries to offer me a weak smile as her fingers tighten in my jumper.
“As soon as I got in, someone grabbed my arm. I didn’t even see the needle. I just felt it.” She closes her eyes. “Everything went quiet after that. I woke up somewhere like this,” she continues. “Concrete walls. One light and no windows. I thought it was a nightmare. I kept thinking if I go to sleep, I’ll wake back up. I kept thinking you’ll come home and I can laugh it off… but it… it never happened.”
“They’ve moved me,” she says softly. “Every few weeks. Sometimes more. I don’t know where. Sometimes I could smell petrol. Sometimes hay. Once I could hear water but they don’t keep me in one place for long.”
The Warehouses.
The guilt hits like a blade sliding under my ribs. Were we close? Did we search somewhere she’d just been moved from? Did we clear a warehouse and walk past the wrong locked door? My stomach turns. I should have found her or I should have burned everything down until I did. Instead, I was warm and loved and tangled up in the arms of Roman. A heavy suffocating feeling sits in my chest as the soft memories of Roman flood my brain.
“What have they done to you?” I ask, though my voice comes out thin.
She starts shaking before she answers.
“They come in,” she whispers. “Sometimes they are the same, sometimes they are different. They call it training.”
The word lands like acid as I remember all my training. The irony was she was the person who told me how wrong it was and now she is the one having it done to her.
“They say I have potential. That I need to be corrected properly.” Tears spill down her cheeks. “They hurt me, Fae. They come in and…” She falters, her eyes closing as she takes another breath. “They take turns. Sometimes they test how long I can suck a dick. Sometimes it’s how many cocks I can take. If I don’t do it correctly, they make it hurt more and… and he sits there.”
“Who?” I ask, my heart stuttering. “Who sits there?”
“A man called Corbin Fisher.”
I sneer, my body trembling at the thought of that fucking monster. All the warmth drains from me at the implication. I go to speak, but she opens her mouth and continues.
“He watches. He says it’s important I’m corrected the right way. That I learn obedience. That I am doing right for my bloodline.” She barks a laugh as my stomach heaves. “Bloodline? What bloodline? I was put into care because no one from my blood wanted me, but… but that’s not true. He’s my father, Fae.”
