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“B-belong?”
She nods. “Yes, Zoe. You belong here with us.”
Although I will my mouth not to ask, the question still rushes out. “Who the hell are you people?”
The woman smiles, showing off her perfect teeth. “Don’t you already know?” she asks softly, sounding almost friendly. “That’s disappointing. I expected more from someone who wants to go to Harvard.”
Ridiculous as it is, her words feel like a slap across my face. I shouldn’t care what this woman thinks. And the fact that it’s taking me longer than normal to piece things together doesn’t make me stupid. Yet, I fucking feel it with the look she’s giving me.
“Reapers,” I whisper, like I’m scared to say the name out loud. “You’re part of the Cali Reapers.”
She nods and pats my head. “Well done, Zoe.”
My head swims and I’m reeling from all the information I’ve received in such a short amount of time. My head feels like it’s ready to burst, and unable to cling to anything, but… “Is Gray still alive?”
Shaking her head, she softly says, “I don’t know, Zoe.”
Tears gather in my eyes, and I’m unable to stop them from falling. I hate that the woman—whoever she is—gets to see me like this. So weak, so scared. But I can’t contain any of it. I’m helpless, and so far out of my depth that I don’t even know which way is up.
“How long?” I croak, pausing to clear my raw throat. “How long has it been? Days? Weeks?”
The woman gives me a smile. “Does it matter? You’re here now, Zoe. And you’re not leaving us.”
“I want to see my dad,” I demand. “Take me to him.”
“All in good time,” she sing-songs. Then she gets up from the small stool next to me she’s been sitting on. “But first, we need to get you some food. Do you want me to leave the lights on?”
Concern mars her features, and she sounds nice. But I’m not that easily fucking fooled. I’ve been around the Kings, Cunts, and Mama C long enough to recognize power when I’m staring it right in the face.
I might not know who this woman is yet. But she’s not a Cunt, or whatever the Reapers call their women. She could be the Mama. Or maybe she belongs to the Prez. Either way, I need to be careful about how I behave.
I watch as the woman walks over to the door. She bangs on it once before it opens, then she disappears from my view, once again leaving me with nothing but my thoughts.
Running my hands down the back of my legs, I feel the cuts and grazes she was treating when I woke up. There are more than I noticed right after Rhiannon crashed the car, and they’re not only on my thighs. There are multiple spanning the length of my legs.
Rhiannon… Why the hell would she do something like that? Even though I’m sad she’s dead, I’m more angry she died without giving me any answers. I have so many whys and not a single explanation.
As I’m left with nothing but my thoughts, I mentally go back to when she entered the room I was holed up in at Dirty Diamonds. Why did I follow her? When she said Gray was injured, all reason left me, and I willingly followed her.
Maybe I was stupid for not reaching out to Alana or even Rose to double-check. But I dare anyone in my situation to act that rationally when their worst fear has just been laid out in front of them.
Sure, if I was watching that scene play out in a movie, I’d be screaming at the screen. Calling the woman too stupid to live, especially if it was a horror. But watching or reading about something is nothing like living it. In real time, you have split seconds to make your move, not multiple pages or scenes.
While I mentally do my best not to berate my past self for acting before thinking, I get out of the bed and walk around the dusky room. It’s small, filthy, and there’s a foul smell permeating the air. I try my best to ignore the many cobwebs and what looks like… nope. As I said, I’m ignoring it.
To keep myself occupied in the windowless room, I walk back and forth, counting my steps. It’s ten paces wide and fifteen long. In other words, it’s small.
I don’t even know why I focus so much on it. Because regardless of size, it’s clear it’s a cage—my cage. One I’m not getting easily out of.
Gray, where the hell are you?
The more I think about him, I can almost feel him. As I lean against the filthy wall and close my eyes, I swear I can hear him rasp, “Princess,” and see his cocky smirk in my mind’s eye.
Please be okay. I need you to be okay.
For all the time I’ve spent defying him, plotting against him, and yeah, at times, even hating him, I crave his nearness on a soul deep level.
My heart has long known what my mind’s refused to entertain. I love him. I love him so much it’s like I’m missing a vital part of myself.
