He doesn’t move much, but his energy shifts, withdraws. He becomes almost bashful. His voice is gruff when he says, “Honey, if that’s true, you need to meet nicer guys.”
My laugh comes out watery. I got expensive jewelry from Byron, but that was about him, about dressing me up like a doll. Kip gave me something thoughtful, something to help me feel safe. I’ve only felt this way once, but it’s already addictive. I want to tell him something else I’m afraid of, just like he keeps asking me to, and watch him fix it for me.
There’s a reason I don’t do drugs like Candy, though. I can’t afford to be dependent.
“You’re more than enough for me,” I tell him. More than I can handle, actually. I take his hand and tug him toward the alley he must have been waiting in.
He follows me two steps and then pulls me back to him. “Sweetheart?”
The word shudders through me. That’s addictive too.
“I want to thank you properly,” I tell him.
But he drops my hand. “That’s not necessary.”
Now he sounds pissed, like he’s clenching his teeth. A muscle in his jaw flexes.
What did I do wrong? I know he wants me. I put my palm on his chest and feel his heart steady underneath. Trailing lower, I feel the bulge in his jeans. Oh yeah, he wants me.
He steps back. “I’m leaving now. And next time you see me, you should use what I gave you.”
Then he is gone, merging back into the shadows, disappearing the same way that he came.
Chapter Nine
Six months ago
There is a space between the walls of the office and the hallway. I don’t know if it was some flaw in the original architectural plans or the result of shoddy workmanship. Or maybe the gap is intentional, a barrier between the ugliness that happens inside this room and the family living space. But I learned as a child that I could fit my body into that space and eavesdrop. Even though I have grown into a woman, I can still fit, my breasts and ass pushed flat against the dusty inner walls.
That’s where I go when I leave my father and Byron in the office. Something about the way they spoke, the energy in the air, told me it was going to be important. So I hide and listen.
Byron’s voice is soft but firm. “We need to announce it. Tonight.”
“So soon?” My father’s voice is a sharp contrast, faint and rasping. So unlike the man I looked up to for so long, the man who could command mercenaries and criminals. Now he suffers every time he takes a breath.
I’m not even sorry.
“This will give us time to make arrangements.”
“She hasn’t even been told,” my father says.
I stiffen where I’m crouched. What haven’t they told me?
“Telling her was your job,” Byron says sharply. “She’s your daughter.”
My mind races, flashing disturbing images behind my eyes, a terrifying slideshow of all the things they could do to me—all the things my father wouldn’t want to say.
Furniture scrapes over hardwood. “It doesn’t matter if she knows,” Byron continues. “She’ll find out with everyone. And she’ll be thrilled. A governor’s son? He’s a bigger catch than I am.”
Ice floods my veins. Oh no. This is so much worse. Because they aren’t talking about me. They’re talking about Clara.
“I’m not sure about the match,” my father murmurs. I have to strain to hear him. “Those reports, in the newspaper…”
“Exaggerations,” Byron says smoothly. Always smooth.
A pause. “There were pictures.”
My heart beats faster. My father never speaks to Byron this way, becoming more meek as he grows sicker. As Byron takes over.