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Silence fills the room, and I love that Luciana doesn’t feel the need to fill it with words.
After a few seconds, movement makes me look up, and I see her disappear into the bathroom before the sound of running water hits my ears.
I almost sob in relief at the thought of washing today—their touch—from my body.
As I laid there with their hands all over me, all I could think about was the promise Damien made me before I left his office.
You might not be able to hear us, but we can hear you.
We’ll get you out before it goes too far.
Logically, I knew he was right. But the small, almost invisible device they planted in my ear before allowing me on my mission felt huge and obvious. I knew if they spotted it that it would all be over.
All I had to do was trust them.
And am I glad they followed through on their promise?
Just another two minutes and Alex and Zay would have witnessed—I would have experienced—something neither of us wanted.
I shake my head, remembering all too vividly how rough and demanding their touches were, the heat burning in their eyes.
Lying there between them, I felt small and stupid.
I should have guessed it was someone I knew behind it all.
Grant, yeah, maybe I’d have picked his name out if someone made me guess who was involved. He’d been nothing but a creep since the first moment I laid eyes on him.
But Pete…
He was always so sweet, so caring and considerate.
What a fucking idiot I am, because I fell for all of it.
“None of this is your fault, Evie,” Luciana says as if she can hear my thoughts. “Your father did this, not you.”
“I-I know I just… it’s been a long day.”
“Trust me, I understand.”
When she holds her hand out for me, I slip mine into it and allow her to guide me to the bathroom.
The tub is almost full and already overflowing with bubbles.
“You okay alone or—”
“Don’t go,” I blurt, terrified of being left with nothing but my thoughts again.
“Okay,” she agrees softly.
Standing me in front of the bath, she slides her jacket from my shoulders and encourages me to get in.
Before I do, I glance over my shoulder to see she’s turned her back to hang up her jacket and give me some privacy.
The hot water burns in the best way as I sink beneath the bubbles and wrap my arms around my legs, ignoring the sting of the grazes on my knees.
Luciana sits on the closed toilet seat, something I can’t imagine she does all that often.
I take a few moments to study her. Her black dress is uncreased, her hair still falls over her shoulders in perfect waves, and her make-up is flawless. If you didn’t know she’d shot more than a few men dead only an hour or so ago, then you’d never guess from how she looks.
