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“Ben,” he grunts. “I gotta talk to Zita ‘bout this. Nobody said—”
I stalk over to him. He stumbles a step back and spills his coffee on his shirt. He curses and fumbles for something at his belt—a pistol tucked into a holster.
I sprint forward and reach him before he can get it drawn. I jam my palm into the bottom of the cup and splash the remaining hot coffee into his face. He tries to scream but I follow it up with my other hand slamming directly into his mouth. His teeth bite into the skin of my knuckles and his incisors break loose as his head snaps back and slams into the concrete wall behind him. He drops to the ground, unconscious. Blood pools around his skull. I consider kicking him hard in the face just to make sure he doesn’t get up again, but I resist the urge to kill an unconscious man.
I grab the gun from his holster, empty the chamber, and take the magazine. I toss the useless piece of metal aside and tuck the bullets into my pocket.
I walk on. The door to the girls’ room is locked from the inside when I try the handle. I jiggle it then knock a few times, trying not to make too much noise, but loud enough that someone will hear. I don’t know how long Ben will be unconscious, assuming he’s ever going to wake up, and I don’t want to find out.
Agonizing seconds stretch. I check left and right—nothing, only a line of scrubby bushes and some twisted, gnarled trees separating the patch of grassy ground from the road beyond, all quiet—and knock one more time before the door swings out and I step back.
A girl stands there. Light brown skin, big eyes. I know this girl. It’s Mira, Siena’s friend. I recognize her from my other visits. She crosses her arms and scowls at me like I’m the enemy here. She’s wearing a tank top that doesn’t cover much and shorts so small her ass is probably hanging out the back.
“What the fuck do you want, dickhead?”
“I’m here for Siena,” I say and go to step past her.
“Hell, no, you don’t.” She shoves me away. I stare at her in alarm. Does this little five-foot-nothing girl think she can stop me? I’ll rip her arms from their sockets and beat her with them if she doesn’t step aside. “Do you know how much pain you caused her already, asshole?”
“Move,” I say, my voice cold and dead.
“Fuck. You.” She jabs her finger into my chest. Does this girl want to die? She must want to die. “Siena’s been sobbing herself to sleep every fucking night since she came back here. She’s a mess because of you and she ain’t getting any better. You think coming in here and talking to her is gonna do anything but make it worse? Hell. Fucking. No.”
My body tingles with rage and loathing. She’s been crying herself to sleep because of me? I can barely handle the thought. The image of her tear-soaked and hugging her pillow makes me want to strangle myself.
“Get out of my way,” I say, my body tingling with pent-up need. I have to find Siena. I have to wrap my arms around her and tell her how sorry I am that I let them take her away and that I waited this long to come and get her. I need to beg her forgiveness for being a damn selfish fool. For being too self-destructive to think for one fucking second.
She cried because of me. I’ll never forgive myself, but I will make it right.
“Do you know the first thing she said to me after Zita cut her?” Mira’s voice is quiet but her words twist like she’s choking back tears. “The girl’s a bloody mess, her face is ripped open, and she says, ‘Now he’ll never want me back.’ How fucked up is that?”
I see red. I see red and black and rage. Siena’s hurt. Zita hurt her. Zita cut her. I shove Mira aside and ignore it when the little girl claws at me. I feel Mira’s nails bite into the back of my neck and my cheek, but I keep going. Fuck this. Fuck her. I need Siena. I need her now.
I burst through the bathroom. “Hey! What the fuck! No clients back here!” Some girl’s standing in a towel in front of a mirror. I ignore her and keep going. I burst into the dorm with all its sad, stacked bunk beds and the piles of clothes and makeup and straighteners and curlers and whatever-the-fuck else. Girl shit in heaps all over.
“Siena,” I bark, looking around. “Siena, where are you?” I’m panicking. I’m not thinking straight. Mira’s saying something, yanking at me, but I don’t hear and I can barely feel it.
Then she’s there. Siena, standing up, unfolding herself from a bottom bunk in all her glory. She’s wearing ratty sweats and there’s a big white bandage taped to the side of her face, but it’s her, it’s my Siena, my princess.
My head spins as everything I’ve ever wanted clicks back into place.
It’s like coming inside from a long rain and sitting in front of a fire. She’s warmth and comfort. She’s red-hot desire and pure ecstasy. My Siena.
The room goes silent. Mira stops jabbering. Tears spring into Siena’s eyes but she doesn’t come to me. She doesn’t move. I want her to run into my arms. I want to feel her soft skin against mine so badly it makes my hands tremble.
“You’re here,” she says. Quiet and nervous. Almost afraid.
“Siena.” I go toward her but she flinches away. She looks down at the floor and holds her hands out like she wants me to stop.
“Don’t come closer. Please, Maxim. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m taking you home.”
She looks at me in shock. Her mouth falls open and tears spill down her cheeks. How many times have I made her cry now? How many? I hate myself, despise myself for waiting. She didn’t need to go through this. I never should’ve lost my mind the way I did, but I thank God my mother pulled me out of that darkness.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious. I have a plan. I’m going to make this work. If you want to come with me, I swear I’ll find a way to make this right.”
