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Rough skin brushes my arm and I jolt. I can't help it.
"Aelia. Look at me, angel." Dante's voice flows over me, soothing the jagged edges within me.
I peer up at him. He flinches, and I drop my head with a huff. I know I probably look like shit, so I can't blame him for his reaction. He coughs, and I peek out.
"Seriously?" I mutter, spotting his watering eyes.
"Sorry, angel, but we have to get you out of here. Can you walk?" He coughs again, then gags.
Maybe I just got used to the rank smell, but I feel like he's overreacting. I stumble to my feet, using the wall to steady myself. Dante reaches for me, wincing as he grips my arm.
"You don't have to touch me. I can walk on my own."
I didn't think Dante would find me. I wasn't even sure if he'd look, to be honest. Expecting him to drop everything to find me, to save me, possibly to blow his cover, would be ludicrous. A small kernel of hope kept burning deep inside, though. But I'd rather he not soil his gray suit with how dirty I am. Dried puke and nasty, rancid, mashed up food coat my skin and clothes.
His hand lands on my lower back, heat seeping into my chilled skin. I don't want to shrug him off. I want to fall into him and cry. I want to sob and tell him to get me the hell out of here. Not just this room, not just this building or city. I want out of this state, this country, this existence. I'm tired and broken.
As we step into the hall, I stop, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. I've spent so long denying that I'm broken. So many other women, girls really, come through this place who are worse off than me. They're the broken ones. I wasn't allowed to break. I wasn't allowed to complain. In my mind, I didn't have the right when they were suffering so much worse.
And yet I am broken. Probably in a way that will never be fixed. Dante, for all his grand plans to take down the Guild and save me from this world, can't find all my missing parts. I'm riddled with holes that can never be filled. I snort as the thought sends images too dirty to say out loud. Dante might not be able to save me, but I'm sure he'd be more than happy to fill any hole I present to him. I grimace as I realize I’m spiraling.
"Are you okay?" Dante asks, glancing around.
I open my mouth to blast him. Of course I'm not okay. I've been stuck in a cell for fuck knows how long, forced to eat rotten food. Not to mention Grant not caring about leaving bruises. Usually he keeps them hidden beneath my scraps of fabric, never touching my face. Not this time.
"I'm fine," I mutter.
Footsteps echo on the stairs as we round the corner and I slow, shuffling along behind Dante. He sighs, grabbing my arm and tugging me next to him. I wince, though he's not gripping me hard. Grant wasn't as careful, and Dante's thumb presses on a particularly tender spot.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll do as you’re told next time," he growls, voice carrying, and the footsteps falter.
Higgins, my father's right-hand man, reaches the top of the stairs and eyes us. Dante nods and I turn away so he can’t see my expression. I don’t know if I’ll be able to disguise my disgust from him. I'd like to kick him in the stomach and watch his body tumble all the way to the bottom. If I was lucky, he'd snap his neck. With how my life has gone, I'm pretty sure Karma hates me. Maybe I pissed her off in another life.
"Cruz, Anders would like a word with you," Higgins says, blocking our way.
"Does it look like I have time? Get the fuck out of my way. And tell Anders if he wants to chitchat to find me himself," Dante sneers.
Higgins hesitates, then steps to the side, leaving our path clear. I tense as we pass him, wondering if he'll lash out at me. He doesn't, obviously, but the fear is still there. Hurting me, physically or otherwise, isn't on his to-do list as far as I know. My father holds something over him, I'm pretty sure. I can't see any other reason he would be so loyal.
Dante's room comes into view, a guard standing in front of it. My muscles are cramping from holding myself so stiffly. I hate it, but I cower away from the burly man. I don't recognize him. Guards come and go, shuffled around from one satellite site to another. I glance at Dante, wondering if he even knows about the other cities the Guild is established in. They may be smaller, but they're fed from headquarters. All Jenkins or the other council members would have to do is move to one of those places and reestablish themselves.
"Thanks, Jag. Any problems?" Dante asks.
"Nope. We're good, sir."
Dante claps a hand on Jag's massive shoulder as he pulls me through the door. It shuts behind us and Dante flips the lock. Seizing me again, he marches toward the bathroom. I'm exhausted, my emotions teetering back and forth. Nothing makes sense, and I doubt that will change anytime soon.
"Take them off," Dante says gruffly.
Shuffling around the room, he grabs a few towels, then turns on the shower. I track his precise movements, wondering when he's going to finally take note of me. I may not have been expecting him to come for me, but his reactions are unsettling.
What happened to the man who handled me so gently? The one who defended me? The one who seemed ready to burn down the world for me? Either Dante locked that other man away for some reason, or it was all an act.
"Why'd you come for me?" I ask, wrapping my arms around my stomach. The spaghetti sits like lead in my stomach, but I'm sure it's about to work its way up my throat soon.
He sighs, shaking his head as he shoves his hand under the spray, not bothering to look at me. I shuffle back a step. The shower calls to me, but there's no way I'm getting in without an answer. I'll go back to my closet before I let him use me. Which is exactly what this feels like.
"I can't believe you'd actually ask me that," he finally says.
