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Anger rises up in me, but for the first time, it’s not anger at Dom. It’s anger at the assholes who called themselves his parents, who stole him away from me and lied to him his entire life.
I’m glad he walked away from them, even if it’s left him beat up and bloody, passed out on the couch of a safe house.
“Hey, Rose.” Theo grins at me from the large chair he’s sitting in, reaching up to pull me down for a kiss when I near him.
“Hey. Did you get some rest?”
He shrugs in a way that tells me he absolutely did not but doesn’t want to admit it because he knows I wouldn’t approve. Then he jerks his head toward the kitchen.
“Marcus and Victoria are in there. They got a call from her guy a little while ago. He should be sending stuff over soon.”
Excitement bubbles up inside me. “He was able to crack it?”
“Sounds like he got something, yeah.” Theo stretches, working out a kink in his neck. “Which means we need to start thinking about our next moves.”
“Hey.”
Victoria’s cool voice catches my attention as she steps out of the kitchen. She tosses a small duffel bag at me.
Ryland intercepts it, his hand flashing out to pluck it from the air. With a pointed glare at her, he hands it to me. She rolls her eyes at him, then glances my way, lifting her chin.
“I forgot I had that in my trunk. Figured you might want to get out of that dress.” She cocks her head at Ryland, a too-sweet smile on her face. “Sorry I don’t have any for you guys, but I don’t keep four sets of men’s clothes in my car.”
“I’ve got some stuff.” Dominic’s voice is groggy. He sits up slowly as I perch the duffel on the arm of Theo’s chair and unzip it, revealing a pair of jeans, a few tops, and a pair of shoes inside. He rubs his eyes, wincing as his fingers graze over the bruise on his forehead. “I’ve got extra weapons stored downstairs too.”
He rises to his feet, moving slowly as if he’s testing whether he can stand. I have to fight down the urge to go offer him an arm to lean on—if I suddenly start doing shit like that, he’ll know something is up.
Turning away from him, I glance at Victoria, lifting the duffel slightly. “Thanks for these. I’m gonna go rinse off and throw them on.”
I head back down the hall to the bathroom and drop the duffel on the floor. When I get a look at myself in the mirror, I grimace.
My once gorgeous gown is tattered and stained. My body isn’t much better off, with bruises decorating my pale skin and small streaks of blood drying a dark reddish brown. My blue-gray eyes are a little dull, with dark circles beneath them.
The simple updo I worked my hair into is completely demolished now, and my dark hair brushes my shoulders as I tug down the zipper on my dress. The fabric falls softly to the floor, and I step out of my heels and slide my panties off too before turning on the faucet in the bathtub.
The water runs a slightly brownish color from rust for a minute, and once it turns clear, I pull the small knob on the faucet to turn on the shower and step in.
Hot water pours down on me, the heated spray both soothing and painful. It relaxes my tight muscles and washes away the layer of grime that seems to cover my body, but it makes me intensely aware of every cut and bruise on my skin.
There’s a bottle of men’s body wash on a little shelf built into the wall, and I use it to lather my skin before massaging shampoo into my hair.
I don’t linger, taking only as long as I need to get clean. I turn the water all the way to cold before switching it off, letting out a muffled yelp at the sting of freezing water. But I feel more alert and much more like myself when I step out onto the smooth tile of the bathroom floor. There’s no bathmat, and I can only find one towel, so I use it as sparingly as I can.
Twisting my hair to wring it out, I leave it to air dry and tug on my panties before pulling on the jeans Victoria brought me. I hate to rewear anything from last night, but I’d rather stick to the same set of panties than go commando in Victoria’s clothes.
I tug the tank top on, then slip on the shoes, glancing at myself in the mirror again. We’re not an exact size match, but at least our feet are close to the same size. Her clothes fit me well enough, and I look somewhat human again.
As I’m wadding up the dress into a ball around my fist, preparing to throw it in the trash, someone raps sharply on the door.
“Angel.” Marcus’s voice is muffled by the wood, but I can hear the intensity in it anyway. “We found something.”
Chapter 19
My hand clenches tightly on the fabric of my ruined dress. Then I quickly unwind it and drop it to the floor, already striding toward the door. I’ll deal with it later.
I wrench the door open and meet Marcus in the hallway, keeping pace with him as he heads back toward the front of the house. Everyone’s gathered in the small kitchen, crowded around Marcus’s beat-up laptop.
Ryland is directly in front of it, but he moves over to make room for me as Marcus and I join him.
