I nod without releasing him, my eyes wide. I would suck more than his fingers, and he must know that. He makes no move to undo his pants—to fuck me or to let me suck him. He just keeps his fingers in my mouth, casual and perverse, letting me take comfort from the fullness.
There are questions I want to ask him. Things I need to say.
But I don’t want him to move his hand, so I continue sucking, taking my reward for being such a good girl. I let him touch me. You have to give in. And I do that, if only for one night. That’s how I fall asleep, with his steady breathing as my lullaby, his thumb caressing my cheek, his fingers resting on my tongue.
Chapter Twelve
I dream of volcanos, of giant explosions and the drifting of ash. I see red molten rivers that turn black. The earth cracks open, swallows us whole, reclaiming what it had lost.
I feel the singe of my skin, smell burned flesh. I hear the screams—and I sit up.
My screams. I pant, trying to gather myself. I heard myself scream. The sheets are tangled around my waist. The room is empty. I wait in the inky night, almost expecting Ivan to burst in the room. Won’t he have heard me?
Maybe he’s deep in sleep. Or more likely, maybe his bedroom is far away from here, on the other side of this massive house with thick walls. His room is on the third floor. I know that much, but he never let me in there. Not in the year that I lived here, and sure as hell not last night. The first and only time I tried to explore it as a naive sixteen-year-old, I actually got lost. When Ivan found me, he sternly marched me downstairs with strict instructions never to return.
He treats me like a child, and I obey him, because I like it.
I still like it, but not enough to stay.
I need more than that.
Part of me is disappointed he didn’t hear. I want to see what he’d do to comfort me, what else he might give me to suck. Another part of me knows this is for the best. This is my chance.
I cross the room and find my cell phone in the pocket of my jeans. The light blinds me for a second before I can make a call.
One ring. Two.
“Hello?”
“Clara. It’s me. Candy.”
“Yeeeah,” she says, drawing out the word, sounding distracted. “They have this thing called caller ID. I saw it was you before I answered.”
“Mhm, thanks for the technology lesson, but actually I need your help with something else.”
I can feel her attention snap to me over the line. “Something wrong?”
That means she hasn’t heard about the blood at the Grand. That’s good. If she knew, she might be more inclined to side with Ivan about this. “I need you to pick me up from Fourth and Lennox in twenty minutes.”
“Are you in trouble? Should I bring Kip?”
Clara is the little sister of Honor, one of the girls who used to dance at the club. When Honor got into trouble, Clara spent a couple of hours at the Grand under my questionable supervision. We struck up something resembling a friendship, even though I have no business talking to someone that innocent. Not anymore.
Kip is Honor’s very protective, very dangerous husband. He’d be only too happy to protect me, but it would put them all at risk.
It would also eventually get back to Ivan.
“Tell no one,” I say, doing my best stern-elder impression. Even though I’m only one year older than her.
“Okay, Ms. Mysterious. I’ll be there.”
“Are you coming from home? Head down I-32 and exit at—”
“They also have this thing called maps. Like on phones. And—”
“Smart-ass,” I say, but I can’t help but smile. Even in the midst of all this, deep in the heart of a torn up city, she’s a breath of fresh air.
I hang up with a sense of anticipation and dread. Anticipation because I have a lot to do in twenty minutes. I have to sneak out of Ivan’s house, which is almost as hard as sneaking in. Of course I have the advantage of knowing most of his pass codes and Luca’s habits.
And dread because now I have to leave Ivan, for real. Maybe I always knew he would fight me when I told him I’d leave. Maybe I always hoped it would lead to something like last night, where he’d finally touch me. Finally treat me like a woman.
Now I’m leaving forever, and he’s not here to stop me. I know this is for the best. I need to stay one step ahead of the man who’s after me—and more importantly, my presence here will put everyone in danger.
I’m also disobeying Ivan, and deep inside, that feels like the worst sin of all.
* * *
I’m soaking wet by the time I reach Fourth and Lennox. It turns out there is a moat. Who knew?
Okay, it’s more like a drainage ditch, but it accomplished the same thing. Now I’m shivering in wet jeans while I huddle against the brick building. My phone gave up the fight with the water. At least no one will be able to track me with it. I toss it into a gutter before melting back into the shadows.
I’m still in the upscale side of Tanglewood, near where Ivan lives, so I don’t want to be seen. A woman without a car or a man nearby would definitely stand out.
The cherry-red hatchback pulls to a stop at the curb, and I hop inside. “Hey.”
Clara gives me a look that says she’s going to need more of an explanation than that. Fair enough. She deserves some answers, but I’m going to have to be careful. The more she knows, the more likely she is to go digging, asking more questions when I’m gone, getting herself into trouble.
“So, where are we going?” she says, as casual as if we were going to hang out at the mall. And now I’m suddenly depressed that we never got to hang out at the mall. It would have been sweet to do something normal, for her and for me. We both grew up sheltered. We had that in common.
“We’re going to the truck stop down I-32. That’s where you get off this ride.”
She doesn’t seem surprised about that. Just worried. “I’m supposed to leave you in the middle of nowhere?”
“No,” I say patiently. “At a truck stop. That’s somewhere.”
Her eyes flash. “And if you get killed, I’m supposed to be okay with that?”
“I’m not going to get killed.” Not that she would find out if I did. At the very least I’ll vanish before my hypothetical murder takes place. “Anyway, this isn’t…it’s not a game. It’s not a party.”
She knows about my party habits. Well, everyone does. Not to brag, but I’m kind of infamous for it. I think Clara even guessed why I did it for so long. We’re very different, the wild stripper and the quiet artist, but we have certain things in common.
Worry enters her eyes. “If it’s not a game, then what is it?”
“I’m leaving. For good.” And because I know she’ll argue, I add softly, “I have to.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it. She must have figured out that an emotional denial wouldn’t sway me. Smart girl. I glance toward the backseat. Her backpack is half-open, rolled up paper peeking out from the zipper.
“Shit,” I say. “Were you at the studio or some shit?”
She rents space in some kind of studio co-op so she has space for her large sculptures.
“At two o’clock in the morning?” She sounds amused. “They aren’t even open.”
“How the hell would I know?” I sigh. “I’m the worst influence. I shouldn’t have called. You were probably sketching. Or you know, sleeping.”
“Something like that,” she mutters.
I’ve hit a nerve. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says, obviously lying.
I’m torn between curiosity and a strange protective desire to hide her away from the world. Is this what Ivan feels about me? No wonder he always looks like he has a stick up his ass. It’s maddening. “Clara.”
She snorts. “So you can keep your secrets, secrets which might get you hurt, secrets that mean I won’t ever get to see you again after tonight, but I have to tell you everything I’m thinking.”
I hear the pain in her voice, and my heart squeezes. “I didn’t think you would miss me,” I whisper.