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I duck back out of sight and hold my breath. I hope to God I hid in time. Saying my heart is in my throat isn’t a metaphor. I can taste the blood. The iron tang offear.
Because I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
And if my monster of a stepfather sees me here, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
“Either that,” he drawls, “or he’s hoping a respectable woman will get drunk enough to forget that Ivan is a fucking sadist.”
My stepfather’s voice fades away as he moves through the crowd, but I stay put. I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
It’s been years since I’ve been that close to him. Could he sense how near I was? Did his skin crawl with disgust like mine did?
I doubt that very much. Why would it?
Monsters never run from their prey.
7
CORA
“You look spooked.”
The voice behind me upsets the delicate balance I’m striking in these heels. I fall forward, catch myself on the railing, and then jerk myself right back to make sure my stepfather doesn’t catch sight of me. The breeze is cold in all the wrong places.
I sort myself into something resembling stability. “Huh?”
“That look on your face. Like you just saw a ghost.”
“I’m fine. No ghosts. I’m just having second thoughts about that drink.” I’ve already had a bit more than my usual night out allowance, but I’ll do anything to spend a few more minutes in this room, safe from the boogeyman of my past.
I need time to come up with an escape plan.
“Alcohol is not going to improve your situation,” he remarks as he turns to the bar to pour me a second drink anyway.
“What situation is that?”
He looks back over his shoulder, dark eyebrow arched. “Do you actually need me to explain it?”
I grit my teeth. “You wanna know something? You play the hero type—saving me from a drunk man downstairs and offering your jacket—but you’re kind of an asshole.”
“Only ‘kind of’?
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather be a full-blown asshole?”
He walks over with a smirk and a fresh drink. “If you’re going to do something, you might as well commit.”
I grimace, but I take the drink and throw half of it back. The alcohol burns going down. It still tastes terrible, but I’m not in this for the flavor profile. If I’m going to walk out of this room with my bits and bobs hanging out of a borrowed suit jacket, I need a little liquid courage.
“Now,” he continues, “are you going to keep trading barbs or are you going to tell me why you looked so scared just now?”
I shake my head. “I’m not scared.”
Not anymore, at least.
I have no desire at all to see my stepfather or relive any portion of my past, but I’m notscaredof him. I escaped and he hasn’t caught me yet. As far as I’m concerned, that means I’ve won.
“You saw something. Or someone. I want to know who it was.”
“No one. It was nothing. I just, uh…tripped.” I lift one leg to show off my heels. “It’s what I get for wearing impractical footwear. I should always remember to wear shoes I can run in.”
