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Home.
Enzo’s place is anything but home. I don’t have a home. Even if Enzo would let me go, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t have a high school diploma. I have no money, no experience, and I can’t even tolerate being touched. I don’t know
how I’d get food if I were truly free. I should be thankful Enzo keeps me, even if I don’t understand the purpose.
I nod.
Langston leads me out the front, but not through the crowded rooms at the entrance. Through the door and outside into the night, he doesn’t walk slowly or wait for me at all as we stride down the street. My feet ache in the shoes. I feel the flicker of early light, as the sun slowly begins to rise. How is it already almost morning?
I’m exhausted. The night was long, even though the time spent away from the house was relatively short.
Langston stops in front of a Maserati and opens the door. I slide into the passenger side before he hops into his side.
My heart races fast, my palms sweat, and my pupils dilate as Langston eases onto the road. Driving here was easier with Enzo at the wheel, but I don’t know Langston, I don’t trust him. But Enzo didn’t offer to drive me home. Because I’m nothing to him. I need to remember that even when he offers me a brief moment of kindness.
I close my eyes to try to block out the car ride. My plan works, because we arrive at Enzo’s house before dawn breaks.
Langston hesitates as the car idles, he’s looking at me. And as much as I want to run out of this car and into the safety of the house, to my room, I don’t. I can tell from Langston’s hurried breath he wants to say something to me, but he’s not sure how to say it. I wait, hoping it will give me some insight into Enzo, the man they all call Black.
“Be careful.”
I narrow my gaze. “Careful?”
“Yes, careful. This is a dangerous world you are now a part of. Black may be a king. He may rule all, but Enzo is different than the man he portrays at Surrender. He’s frailer than you realize. Don’t hurt him.”
“Don’t hurt him! Are you serious? Shouldn’t you be telling him not to hurt me?”
Langston looks me over. “It doesn’t appear you have been hurt in weeks. Enzo is helping you, not hurting you.”
“I wouldn’t say keeping me as a prisoner is helping.”
He leans across me, and I freeze trying to keep my chest from bumping against his arm. He’s careful not to touch me as well. He opens my door.
“Then leave. Go. Be free. I won’t stop you. Enzo won’t stop you.”
He smiles smugly when I don’t move. “That’s what I thought. You need him to survive. So stop thinking of yourself as a prisoner. You’re as much a prisoner as Enzo is.”
I frown, and then I realize Langston thinks of Enzo as a prisoner as well. To what, I don’t know? His father? His job? What?
Slowly, I step out and walk inside. Langston waits until I close the door before he speeds off.
Westcott welcomes me with a smile. “Can I get you a coffee or tea? Some breakfast maybe?”
Does the man sleep? Why is he up so early? And hasn’t he realized it’s not morning for me? The sun is up, which means it’s time for bed.
Except, I don’t know when or if Enzo is coming home. He seemed pissed off the last time I saw him. He may leave again for weeks just to avoid me. And I haven’t slept alone on the floor in weeks.
I scrunch up my nose at the thought of tea or coffee. “No, I’ll just be in my room.”
I practically run to the stairs before I kick out of my heels, leaving them on the floor as I dash up the stairs. I get to the bedroom and slam the door shut. I lock the six locks Enzo had installed again. And then I begin to strip the constricting clothes off. When I’m free of them, I sigh.
No.
I need to continue to make progress. I lost six years. I need to make up for it. Get my life back.
But I’m tired of wearing tight jeans. So I walk to the closet and let my hand stride over the fabric. Half of the closet is filled with Enzo’s suits, jeans, hoodies, and sweatpants. The other half is filled with clothes I’ll never wear. Dresses, jeans, skirts. I tolerated the jeans, pushing myself. I need to settle now on wearing clothes, any clothes. Something I can sleep in.
I pull the largest T-shirt on my side of the closet I can find, and I slip it on. It hangs down to my knees.
