"Shall we?" He sweeps his hand toward the door.
I roll my eyes, and stomp to the glass doors like a petulant child, yanking them open. His smugness irritates me.
"After you, Mr. Mason."
I hold the left door, allowing him and the other members of the team to enter. We file through a second set of doors, and I breathe deeply.
I can do this. Just breathe.
The team stands together a short distance inside the building. I clear my throat, and they make a small path for me to move through. Nothing could prepare me for what's inside the first floor.
No wonder the windows have mirror tint on them.
I stand, stock still, next to Blake, scanning the room. My chest tightens and it hurts to breathe. Beds line the walls, and nurses bustle about tending to girls and women of all ages. In the center of the room is a sitting area with a few sofas, large chairs, and one large chaise lounge. Several younger girls sit, staring at their hands. The room is eerily quiet, except for a petite, dark haired girl on one of the hospital beds.
"Destul! Destul!"
The woman tending her wipes a cloth down her back. I take a step closer. Her face is pale, tears soaking her sallow cheeks. The thick drops slip from her chin onto her thin legs, leaving wet pools on her dirty pants.
"Honey, you have to hold still," the woman says in a harsh tone.
I can't take it. I jog over to the woman and before she can touch the
towel to the girl's back, I grab her wrist and squeeze.
"What are you doing?"
"Leave her alone," I say through gritted teeth.
"Lily, she's just doing her job," Blake says, his jaw and eyes tight.
He and the team move quickly to the side of the bed. They leave room around it, probably not wanting to frighten the little, shattered girl, staring at me in disbelief.
"Do you want her to stop?"
"She doesn't speak English, she speaks Russian," says the dumb bitch, glaring at me.
"Are you stupid?" I let go of her wrist. She steps back, and Blake moves to stand next to her. "She's Romanian, not Russian. Destul means 'enough'. She was telling you to stop."
"Lily . . . you know Romanian?" Sammi steps closer to me.
My gaze finds Jax. Tears shine in the bottom of his eyes mixed with anger. Our deep, dark secret is about to be unleashed, and the aftermath is sure to be just as ugly.
"I'm Romanian, Sammi."
"Wait, you said you were from Texas," Jameson blurts out, his eyes sweeping from me to Jax.
"All part of the lie, Mamba," I whisper, reaching into my shirt and pulling out my necklace. Everyone takes it in, and then returns their horror-stricken glares to my face. I swallow, rubbing the back of my neck nervously.
I lock eyes with the girl sitting on the table. She's wearing a bra and loose fitting jeans. Her tears have stopped, but her hands clamp down so tightly around the edge of the hospital bed her knuckles are white.
"Care e numeletau?" I haven't spoken Romanian since I was seventeen, but it isn't something I'm likely to forget.
"Sorina," she says in a weak voice. She shifts her body and winces.
"Vorbesti engleza?" I can't stand here and speak in Romanian all day. Blake and the team need to understand what people like her are feeling. They think they understand, but they don't. Not truly.
"Yes, ma'am," she says.