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“What do you think, Alton?”
“I didn’t ask him for his opinion, Marcus, but yours. Now, answer the simple question.”
My father nods his head, his lips thinning. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. London could use new friend.”
More like any friend. I’m a prisoner in my own home, the home my mother’s father left her, and the only time I see the outside is when I work. No school. No fun. All I’m good for is to cook and clean—to bring home money so they can make payments to the Riveras.
Or spend it on some idiotic idea.
And let’s not forget the poker tables my father frequents almost every other day.
We’re lucky that Mom’s family came from money and that our house is completely paid off. That when we came back from Miami after another failure from Alton, we had somewhere to live.
“Perfect.” While Javier grabs Mariah’s chair to pull it out, Malcolm does the same with mine, smiling at me, but then just as soon his eyes narrow. “Why are you full of bruises, Ms. Foster? Did you have an accident recently?”
Dad chokes on his drink while Alton looks at me, daring me to say anything. What’s worse is that I know Malcolm saw these earlier, but why put me on the spot like this? Why mention it now in front of them?
“Just a minor slip last night,” I lie, and he knows this. The way he glares toward the men in my family lets them know he isn’t buying a single word coming out of my mouth. That he’s doing this on purpose. That he’s paying attention to even the most minute thing. “It’s nothing, Mr. Asher. I’m clumsy.”
I hate having to cover for them, but it’ll be worse if I don’t. Alton has never hit me, but I fear that day isn’t too far into the future. The more I deny him, recoil from his advances, the angrier he gets.
Moreover, if he does, my father will never stop him. He’ll never disagree or go against his prodigy.
Malcolm purses his lips, eyes hard. “No more clumsiness, London. No more bruises.”
“Okay,” I whisper, hating the way everyone stares at me. At the purplish marks left behind by the men who are supposed to protect me above all else. “I’ll pay better attention to—”
Just then, a stomach grumbles loudly and Mariah laughs. “Sorry. I missed breakfast this morning due to work.”
Thank God that works and the tension level drops as her boyfriend and mine—
No, not mine. I can’t allow myself to get lost in him.
Malcolm asks me to trust him, and I’ll try. However, my plans won’t change.
He is a customer and a means to an end. My mind can’t negate that. I’m so close to getting out of this clusterfuck, and it’s the only thing that matters.
Their chuckles bring me back to the present and I know that I missed something, not that my brother or father notice the distress I am suddenly under. The confusion. Instead, they reach to serve themselves while Magda continues to bring in trays of food.
But his eyes aren’t fooled. No, those deep seafoam eyes stare at me. See me.
Realize the danger I live under.
Moreover, it’s in that dark stare that I get lost in once more. That I find myself wanting to lean toward. My skin tingles and heartbeats accelerate—my body is in tune with his every exhale, and for a second, I give in and hope. Make believe that he’s here to rescue me from this hell of a life.
Trust me, he mouths again, and God, I want to.
I just don’t know how.
9
I ARRIVE AT THE office on Monday, the sun bouncing off the mirrored windows of the skyline while the streets begin to fill with morning commuters. It’s early, but something doesn’t belong in the picture before me, and I exit my car, making eye contact with a maintenance van across the street.
They aren’t the best at hiding or looking for surveillance cameras—my guys had them on their radar within the first ten minutes.
Two of them.
The first is an older man, portly and with a mustache that hasn’t changed since the seventies. He’s someone I’ve dealt with before in the past and have a certain level of respect for. A man who still follows his moral compass.
