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When I had to go to court and tell my story in the stands, Daddy reminded me to tell the truth. His hands on my shoulders hurt when he squeezed. The bruise on my face still throbbed. He told the bailiff that I was still healing from my ordeal. He forgot to tell the bailiff about how I’d messed up my story and forgot what the kidnapper was trying to do to me. I forgot, so Daddy knocked my memories back into place so I’d get it right.
I got it right. I told the truth, just like Daddy said.
I told the truth.
I watched them take away the bad guy. He kept looking at me. But I was shaking so hard, I couldn’t meet his eyes with my own.
They took him away forever because I told the truth.
I told the truth.
… Didn’t I?
“Clara.”
It’s the warm hand on my arm that pulls me back. His voice is gentle, but his fingers wrapped around my bicep make me jolt to the present and immediately yank myself away from him.
Demyen takes a step back, his hands up by his shoulders as if to show me he’s respecting my boundaries. It’s strange—he’s pissed, and he has every right to be. He should be hitting me, pulling my hair, maybe even kicking me in my stomach while I’m curled up on the floor.
That’s what everyone else does when they’re mad at me.
Why isn’t he?
“Clara.” He repeats my name. Slowly. Firmly. “I’m not going to kill you. And I’m not going to hurt you or your daughter. You have my word.”
“Why?” I press my back to the wall just to calm my shaking. I expect him to corner me there, but still, he doesn’t move toward me. “Why not just let her go? I’ll do anything you want. Please. Anything you want—just let Willow go.”
“Go where?”
It’s a challenge as much as a legitimate question.
I’m ashamed to not have an answer.
Now, he does take a step forward, but stops the moment I flinch. He raises a fist, but instead of swinging it at me, he just points an angry finger at my face. “What I want is for you to march your ass into the courtroom, tell the judge you lied, and get my brother out of prison. But you and I both know you’re not going to do that. Are you?”
My bottom lip trembles. I don’t know how to answer. I’m starting to feel warm, almost overheated. My breaths are raspier than they were a few minutes ago.
“That’s what I thought.” Demyen lowers his hand. “So you’re just going to have to stay here, under my roof, while I figure out what the fuck to do with you.”
“But Willow?—”
“Has nothing to do with this.” His glare softens whenever he talks about her. I wish I could read into that, but I’m struggling to control my own heart rate while my lungs constrict. “She’s safe here. And probably safer here than anywhere else.”
I nod. At least, I try to.
But the room is spinning now. The floor is rising, fast.
I think I hear him shout my name, but I can’t tell. It’s all fuzzy and blurred.
And then… black.
19
DEMYEN
I lay Clara’s unconscious body in the new—for her—guest bedroom in my wing of the main house. I tell myself it’s so I can keep a close eye on her and make sure she doesn’t try to run off again. I tell myself it’s so the in-house doctor can attend to her quickly without bothering anyone else in the house.
In other words, I tell myselflies.
