The Dark Elite (The Dark Elite 1)

My body can’t seem to stop shaking, though, no matter how reassuring his words were. I know he must be burning with a million questions, but the first thing he did when we got back to the hotel was encourage me to take a shower.

It’s the first one I’ve taken in several days. I was allowed to shower after we arrived at the men’s house in Chicago, but Zaid stayed in the room with me the entire time, making my skin burn. I probably could’ve asked for another shower later, but I was in no hurry to repeat that experience.

The hotel soap smells like ylang ylang, a scent I normally dislike. But I scrub it all over my body anyway, using my nails as well as my fingertips, as if I’m trying to slough off the entire top layer of my skin.

To shed it like a snake and leave the person I’ve been for the past week behind in a heap.

As I step out of the hot shower and into the steamy bathroom, I feel like I’m in a dream. I want to savor every second until I wake up, even though I know that everything around me is real. By some miracle, I escaped.

I’m safe.

So why don’t I feel more relieved?

There’s a soft knock at the door, followed by Brian’s voice.

“I have your clothes,” he says softly. I stare at the door, not knowing what to do. Basic things have become difficult, strange. “May I come in?”

I wrap one of the hotel robes tightly around me before giving him a yes and opening the door for him. Outside of the hotel bathroom stands the man I was about to marry, so different than the men I’ve spent the past week cooped up with. There’s nothing dark and mysterious about him—just simple, boyish charm. There’s a goodness and earnestness in him that seems so pure, so innocent, so foreign to me now.

He steps into the steamy room and hands me a fresh pair of pants and a faded long-sleeve tee. My clothes. He must’ve brought them from my apartment, in case he actually managed to find me.

Tears burn my eyes, and I swallow hard as I take them. “Thank you.”

He hesitates for a second, and I do too. Waiting for him to leave the bathroom. In our old life back in Washington, I would’ve just dropped the robe and changed in front of him—we’ve seen each other naked plenty of times before. But the thought of standing bared in front of him right now feels too vulnerable, as if he’ll see every place that I’ve been touched.

He’ll see the stitches.

He’ll see the marks.

Brian seems to get the idea, although I’m sure he doesn’t know exactly what I’m thinking. What I’m feeling.

“Right…” He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll get out of your way.”

The door closes behind him, and I slip into the clothes quickly, overwhelmed by the familiar smell of Brian on my clothes—they must’ve been packed in the same suitcase.

The fabric smells of cologne and his favorite laundry detergent, but for some reason, the scent isn’t comforting like I want it to be. Instead, nausea rolls through my stomach, consuming me.

I clench the side of the sink until my hands hurt, trying to calm my breath, trying to push away the strange panic that’s rising up in me. Every second that I was held captive by the men I used to know, I wanted to be rescued, to go back to this. To be with Brian. But now, as I catch sight of the blurry woman reflected in the foggy mirror, I don’t know who she is.

Wide-eyed and confused, she’s overwhelmed by everything that’s swelling inside her.

Guilt.

Betrayal.

Regret.

“Stop it, Grace,” I mutter to myself, clenching the counter harder. Trying to push my feelings out of my body by force. “Stop it right now. It’s nothing but shock. Bullshit emotions that aren’t real. You’re traumatized.”

Then why do I feel guilty for leaving them behind?

Why do I feel like I’ve betrayed them by leaving them?

I don’t actually feel like that, do I? Do I really feel like I owe them something? That I belong with them?

“You’re crazy.” I glare at my reflection. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

It’ll get better when I’m away from Chicago. I know it. People talk about Stockholm syndrome, and I know what the term means, but now I viscerally understand it. It’s fucked up, but a small part of me feels lost without the four men who have dominated my life, emotions, and body ever since they kidnapped me.