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“Maybe she got a new job,” one of her friends says loudly.
“Yeah, right.” April gives a short laugh. “I bet her knees are sore from her new ‘job.’ Maybe that’s why the skirt is so long. To cover up the bruises.”
I freeze in place, picking up on the heavy-handed implication that I whored myself out to afford new clothes. My hand clenches into a fist, and I want to whip around and drive my knuckles into April’s face.
But I don’t.
It’s too close to the truth. I remember being forced onto my knees by that Russian man, and how he shoved his cock into my mouth. I remember why I was there in the first place, and what I was going to do before those three men burst in and killed him.
Admitting how close I came to hooking makes me burn with shame. And I know I shouldn’t mention anything that could tie me even loosely to the whorehouse and the men who burst in.
My life literally does depend on keeping that secret.
So while April and her group laugh and toss around ideas for how much I might charge for various ‘services,’ I force myself to walk away with my spine straight.
I do my best to shove all the disgusting shit they were saying out of my head as I focus on my classes, and by the time I leave the large lecture hall where I have my last class, I feel a bit better. I pause on the steps of the building, tilting my head up toward the sun and letting the rays warm my face, but when I shift my gaze straight ahead again, I almost fall down the rest of the stairs.
Ransom is standing on the walkway in front of me, his hands shoved into his pockets.
I grip the metal railing that runs up the stairs, steadying myself to keep from tripping as I continue walking. Without me even consciously telling them to, my feet start to carry me in his direction.
It’s half because I feel a weird pull toward him—and on top of that, there’s a terrifying thought in my head that if I turn and run, he would chase me down.
Turning my back on any of these men seems like a very bad idea.
As I get close, I can see him looking me over. His eyes move from head to toe and then back up, and there’s a small smile on his handsome face.
“New outfit?” he asks. “It looks good on you.”
I blush, my skin heating. Coming from his mouth, it doesn’t sound anything like the way it did when April said it.
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to get right to the point. I hate how flustered I get around him.
“Walk with me,” he says.
It’s not really a request, so I nod, falling into step with him.
As we make our way across campus, I notice heads turning to look at us, which feels… strange. I’m used to being mostly invisible to people, but now we’re turning heads.
Or more accurately,Ransomis turning heads.
Several girls openly ogle him, and some of them shoot me jealous looks as I walk beside him. Of course, none of them have any idea what the real situation is here, or maybe they wouldn’t be so jealous.
“How much longer is this going to go on?” I ask after a moment. I don’t point out that Malice said I wasn’t going to see any of them again, and here one of them is. Even after he said that, I was pretty sure they were still following me anyway. “How much longer are you going to be keeping tabs on me? Haven’t I proved by now that I’m not going to tell anyone what I saw?”
Ransom shrugs. “Everything seems in the clear right now, but in our line of work, assuming that peace and quiet are the same things is pretty fucking dumb. It’s a good way to get yourself killed.”
I shiver at the casual way he talks about death. Like it’s just such a constant and accepted part of his life. Considering how they took down the Russian without batting an eye, maybe it is.
But I shake myself, getting back to the matter at hand. “Will it ever be enough then? Will enough time ever go by that you’ll feel confident no one is looking for answers anymore?”
When Ransom doesn’t answer, I glance over at him. There’s a grim look on his face, and it pretty much says all it needs to. It seems like the answer is a firm no.
My stomach twists around itself a little, and I try to shake back the tide of nausea that wants to rise up.
“So,” Ransom says, changing the subject abruptly. “How are classes going for you?”
I blink. “You really want to know?”
