Page 16 of Shattered In Darkness

LOLA

My heart races, almost as fast as the wind on a stormy day. I couldn’t get the image of Brody out of my head. Those eyes, like fog in a cemetery, the moon on a cold night. They were filled with hatred and fire when he looked at me in the studio.

Why do I care so much about what he thinks? We broke up three years ago. He hurt me. He left me. I need to be over him, not obsessing over him. So, why am I getting butterflies at the thought of seeing him at their house?

When Sophie invited me over, I almost said no. Almost. I couldn’t afford to be around Brody. Not now. Not when the leash around my neck is as tight as ever. I close my eyes and think of my mother. She would know what to say. But, then again, if she were alive, I wouldn’t be in this position.

Marcus is a monster, worse than ever, since she left.

I am his project, his prisoner, and he’s gotten more creative with the leash since my mother died. She was the only force in the world that could slow him, could make him play nice. Now, with her gone, he has unleashed a violence. He wants me to be his daughter, his lover, his trophy, and his business partner, all in one. I am the only thing that makes him feel anything other than rage, so he’s determined to consume me. He’s determined to make me grateful for the privilege.

If she were alive, maybe Brody and I would still be together. Maybe I would be happy.

The best I can do now is give Sophie companionship when she calls. Sophie is a lonely girl, I can see that. Ever since the death of their mother, and Brody being gone for so long, she fell into an all-consuming grief. I will be a good friend today and hang out with her. Screw Marcus. Screw Brody. I can lie to Marcus, I’m a good liar.

I type out a text. Words on a screen are easier. Safer. He can’t see how fucking nervous I am through a screen. My hands shake while I type.

I will be home late tonight. I have a last minute modeling shoot in another town. No touching will be involved. They reached out to me through your client after they discovered how great I am.

His response comes in seconds.

I expect nothing less. Make me proud. But if you let them touch you, I won’t let you forget a fuck up like that. I will know if you lie.

I look at the words on the screen, and feel my muscles tighten with anxiety. Fear shoots up my skin, knowing all the ways he could punish me for lying. Sometimes, I wish I could have the courage to poison him.

I’m a bird in a cage, too afraid of taking flight. I survive, that’s all.

It doesn’t take me long to walk to their house. Sophie’s door opens before I can knock. She beams, pink-cheeked and all gentle warmth, wrapped in one of those cardigans that looks soft enough to sleep in.

“You made it,” she whispers.

I slip inside, pulse rolling. “Sorry I’m late.”

She grabs my hand and tugs me past the shoes in the entryway. I think for a second that maybe this is the normal I could’ve had if things had broken differently.

“Wine?” she offers, already reaching for a bottle on the kitchen counter. “It’s just, like, pinot. If you like that.”

I hesitate, Marcus’s rules pressed between my ribs. But the thought of turning her down feels more exhausting than the risk. “Sure. Just a little.”

“Just a little.” Sophie grins.

I slide onto a barstool at the kitchen island, fingers curled tight around the edge. My cutoff top isn’t warm enough for this house. Voss house always runs cold, maybe out of habit, maybe because he’s here. Brody. He’s not in the room, but he’s everywhere. I can feel him, like a storm at the edge of vision, waiting to crash over the horizon.

Sophie fills two glasses. I watch the red fan out, smooth, pretty, and dangerous. “Movie?” she asks. “You deserve a break.”

She’s always saying I deserve things. Love, safety, all the soft stuff she believes in. It’s both endearing and impossible. I nod anyway. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

We collapse onto the couch and I sink into the cushions, body too heavy, breath too shallow. Sophie flicks on the TV, streaming something with chattering dialogue and an upbeat score. I barely even register what it is. I’m watching the hallway, the shadows, the way my nerves flicker when I sense movement above us.

It doesn’t take long. Brody’s footfall is unmistakable, the sound of control. Every step is measured. I remember when that used to mean comfort, not a threat. The way he let me curl up against his chest those endless summer nights, hands skimming over bare skin.

Not anymore. Now I know what it feels like to be gutted by that stare.

He stands in the threshold, looming. Lean muscle, black shirt, unreadable eyes fixed on me. Cold. Hungry. The kind of hungry that doesn’t want food, not really.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does, unless he’s cutting you open to see what bleeds.

Sophie glances up. “Brody, you want to watch the movie?”