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The way Chloestays quiet as she follows me up to my room tells me more than anything else how freaked she is. I can’t blame her. She’s got to be confused, and even before West Point took her, she knew better than to trust men like these.
The minute we’re alone in my room, she turns and wraps her arms around me, burying her face against my neck.
“I can’t believe you came for me,” she whispers, squeezing me tightly.
I hug her back just as hard, and we stay like that for a long moment. Finally, she pulls back a little, swiping at the wet streaks of mascara on her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
“Whose house is this?” she asks, glancing around at the room.
She keeps her voice low, as if she’s afraid of them overhearing, and I bite my lower lip. She’s not going to like the answer, not after a lifetime of having me drill into her head that we keep our heads down and stay out of gang business at all costs.
But ripping off the band-aid is always better than dragging it out.
“It belongs to the Reapers,” I tell her.
Chloe instantly stiffens, her gaze darting toward the closed bedroom door.
“The Reapers?” she repeats, her eyes as big as saucers. “Why have you been staying with them? Oh god, didDad—”
“No,” I interrupt before she can panic any more than she already is. “No, it wasn’t like that. Dad didn’t sell me out. I went to them and asked them for help. They’re the ones who got you out, Chloe. They found out about the deal between Capside and West Point, and they orchestrated that whole rescue mission.”
Her jaw drops open, a little squeak falling from her lips.
“It really is okay,” I tell her, rubbing my hands up and down her arms briskly. “Going to the Reapers was the only way I could think of to get you back. I made a deal with them.”
“What… why…” She pauses and takes a deep breath, then tries again. “Why would they make a deal with you? What did you have to give them?”
“Just money,” I tell her, hoping it will quell her worries about anything else the Reapers might’ve demanded of me. “I offered them payment in exchange for their help.”
A bit of a stretch, but still not a lie. My sister still looks like she doesn’t believe me, though.
“No one helps someone for no reason,” she says skeptically, making me grin even though I sort of wish she’d just drop it.
But I raised her, so she knows how shit works… and she’s not wrong.
“Not for no reason,” I agree. “The Reapers are West Point’s enemies. It’s why I came to them. The two gangs are at war, and getting you out of there fucked up the drop McKenna sent you on. That’s good for the Reapers because it’s bad for West Point, so it was a win all around.”
She nods, chewing on her lip as she processes that information. Then she swallows. “Well, I’m glad the drop got fucked up for West Point. They’re awful. Austin is awful.”
“Did they… make you dance a lot? At that club?” I murmur.
That’s not even the question I really want to ask, and still, a part of me wonders if I can handle hearing her answer. I need to, though.
More importantly, I can tell Chloe needs it. She needs to get it out so it doesn’t fester.
“Yeah,” she says with a sniffle.
Haltingly, she starts to tell me about her time with West Point. How they used her. Groped her and demeaned her. Made her dance in their club and berated her if she didn’t perform to their bullshit standards.
At some point, making sure none of the guys are hovering in the hallway, I lead her out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, gently cleaning her up as she talks. I clean myself up a little too, because we both end up crying by the time she finally gets through telling me everything.
Thank fuck none of those bastards actually raped her, but her time with West Point was still horrible. They treated her like an object, a pawn. And the drug drop we pulled her out of wasn’t the only dangerous situation they put her in.
I can’t stand knowing how close she was to danger, and how far I was from being able to help her. Not a single member of West Point saw her as anything other than expendable, those motherfuckers, and even though I’m literally washing their blood off our skin, I want to make them pay all over again.
“Come on, let’s get you dressed in something better,” I tell her softly once we’re back in the bedroom, meaning something that doesn’t smell like gun smoke and death
“Is this new?” she asks when I hand her one of the shirts Dante bought me.
