by Mia Sheridan
They filed out of the dining room, Aurora, Sydney, and Kandace breaking off from the other girls and climbing the stairs to their attic room. When they’d closed the door behind them, both Aurora and Sydney kicked off their shoes and dropped down on their beds. “God,” Sydney moaned, rubbing her stomach. “I ate too much. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Once an addict, always—oof.” Aurora laughed as Sydney’s pillow hit her in the face. She tossed it back. Sydney caught it and put it beneath her head, her eyes drooping. “Sugar makes me so darn sleepy.”
Kandace had gotten very sleepy soon after eating the desserts Lilith House so “benevolently” gifted too. She didn’t feel sleepy now. She felt wide awake. Wide awake and scared.
You should have eaten the sweets. You should have gone to sleep. Maybe you don’t want to know what happens next.
“Same,” Aurora said, lying down and turning toward Kandace. Her expression morphed into concern. “Hey, are you okay?”
Kandace nodded. “Yeah. I ate too much too.” She rubbed at her stomach. “Ugh.” She couldn’t risk telling them what she suspected, as she was almost positive the desserts were drugged. Sydney and Aurora would be passed out shortly. They’d be no help to her whether she told them or not. Her blood chilled. She was afraid.
But this was something she had to know. If she was going to do something about it later, she had to know what was happening here.
She made a quick trip to the bathroom to brush her teeth and when she returned, the girls were out cold. They hadn’t even changed into their nightgowns. Kandace went over to each in turn, pulling a blanket up to their chins.
Fear enveloped her, and a peculiar sadness she didn’t know how to explain. Loneliness maybe. There was no one to help her. Not here. Not anywhere.
She was in this alone.
“You’re stronger than you think you are,” she whispered to herself.
Quickly, she changed into her nightgown and climbed beneath her own blankets. Minutes later, the lights went out. Kandace lay in bed, the house creaking around her, the wind rushing past the eaves. Her heart beat hollowly, breath quickening when, after about twenty minutes, she heard the soft thud of heavy footsteps on the stairs, climbing closer, closer to the door of their room. It sounded like a man.
Tears threatened, but no, no, she wouldn’t cry. She had to do this. If someone was going to make this stop, she had to know exactly what they were doing first.
Which meant making them believe she was drugged like the others.
The doorknob turned slowly, and Kandace squeezed her eyes shut, willing her breath to even. The door squeaked open, showing a dim shaft of light that she could see even with her lids closed. For a moment, the person standing in the open doorway didn’t move. She could imagine him looking from one girl to the next, ensuring they were unconscious. The footsteps sounded again, moving closer to where Kandace lay, pretending to sleep the sleep of the drugged.
Calm, calm, stay calm. Do not move.
At her bedside, the footsteps came to a halt. She could feel his stare boring down at her. Kandace didn’t think she could go through with this. She almost opened her eyes. Almost screamed, tried to run, something. Her muscles tightened, primed for flight, but then his arms were scooping her up, and she willed herself to go limp again, to allow her body to be carried from the room.
Oh yes, she had been chosen.
The man carried her down the narrow flight of attic stairs. The lights in the hallways had either been turned back on or had never been extinguished. She didn’t dare crack her eyes. Kandace tried to pay attention to where the man turned, which hallways he took, which set of steps he went down so she knew where she was. The second floor, she knew that. A room on the west side at the end of a hall. This room must face the chapel.
The man used his foot to kick the door very softly, three quick taps, and then it was pulled open and he carried her through. The light dimmed behind her eyelids, and the smell of incense met her nose. Was this supposed to be some strange extension of the religious ritual they’d attended earlier? Possibly. Was that how they justified it? She was laid gently on something soft. A bed. Her blood turned to cement in her veins.
“What’s he doing here?”
He? Who is he?
“He always kicks up such a fuss over that ugly little girl being taken away,” Ms. Wykes murmured. “Good thing he loves the chocolate cake so much. Ignore him. Or don’t. You enjoy an audience on occasion, am I right?” There was dark humor in her voice and Kandace’s stomach rolled.
“You may leave now,” the man said. His voice was deep and smooth. Commanding.
“She must be prayed over first,” Ms. Wykes said. “So that her filth does not pass to you. Instead, may you cleanse her wickedness. May she be blessed. May your wife be blessed as well.” His wife? Was that what this was? Kandace and the other girls were useful as a means to relieve the wifely “burden” of other women considered more worthy? Cold metal touched her forehead—a crucifix? That silver one with the gemstones she carried everywhere?—as Ms. Wykes murmured a prayer under her breath, her voice reedy and thin. Panic rose within Kandace but she remained still.
“Don’t leave marks. And do not rouse her,” Ms. Wykes said before her footsteps could be heard moving toward the door. A moment later it shut behind her with a quiet click.
Kandace heard the soft sounds of clothing dropping to the floor and her stomach curdled even more. Run! I can’t do this. But if she let them know she was conscious now, what would they do? They couldn’t possibly risk something like this getting out. She thought of the three young women, their children locked in the basement, even now. What had happened to those women? Had they really left their children here? Or was it something far worse?
Her nightgown was yanked upward and it took all of Kandace’s courage not to cry out with fear and anger and distress.
This man, this stranger was using her unconscious—or so he believed—body to do with as he pleased. She screamed inside her mind. A shudder ran through her veins.
She didn’t expect the slap. The cry of pain and shock came unbidden. She let out a garbled moan, and let her head fall heavily to the side. The man’s breathing sped up. She could hear the sound of his hand working on his own flesh. The violence had excited him, as had her cry.
He slapped her again, but more softly this time. “That’s right,” he grunted. “Take it, you little whore.”
Kandace’s head was turned to the side, so the man didn’t see the tear that rolled from her eye and was soaked up by the bedding beneath her.
He climbed on top of her, his breath moist and heavy as he panted into her neck, calling her vile names as he rubbed his flesh against her. Kandace thought of all the men she’d let use her. She thought of the men she herself had used. She’d never been very discriminating. The things the man was calling her, they were true, weren’t they? Her mother had told her they were. Kandace herself had never denied it. What did this matter? It was for an end.
It was so she could take this place down.
Because now she knew.
So she endured.
The pain.
The burn.
Please stop.
Please stop.
But he didn’t. He rammed into her, ripped her flesh, tore something deep inside she wasn’t sure what to name. Her soul?
No. My soul is mine. It cannot be torn. Not by you.
You’re stronger than you think you are.
She dared to crack her eyes ever so slightly and shock flooded her when her eyes met those of the kid, slumped over on a red chaise lounge, his face turned directly toward her. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, mouth slack, but his gaze was unblinking as he watched her be degraded.
OhGod,ohGod,ohGod. Her shame spiraled. He always kicks up such a fuss over that ugly little thing being taken away, Ms. Wykes had said. Georgia? It had to be her she was referencing. Was it just about protecting Georgia or were they also grooming him for their
religious group? Had he resisted?
He finished with a loud grunt and Kandace squeezed her eyes shut and then forced her facial muscles to relax. As he pulled away, he slapped her one more time and called her filthy, his voice full of disgust. Then he cleaned her quickly—sparing no gentleness—and pulled her underwear up and nightgown down.
He picked her up again and made the journey back to her room where he deposited her in her bed, the door to the room clicking closed behind him.
In the dark, she heard Aurora’s and Sydney’s quiet snores. Kandace turned toward the wall. It didn’t matter what that man had done. The last time she’d had sex, it was because she’d wanted some weed. She’d endured three minutes of sweaty screwing, rolled her eyes as he climbed off, and then happily smoked the drugs he’d offered. Yes, what had occurred tonight wasn’t anything she hadn’t allowed to happen to her dozens of times. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t given permission for more often than she could count.
So why am I crying?
Tears coursed down her cheeks and for a moment, Kandace gave in to the silent sobs that shook her shoulders.
Yes, now she knew. Even if she still had no proof.
Her hand moved slowly to her stomach, acknowledging that which she hadn’t had the courage to acknowledge yet. The tracks of her tears dried, breath becoming even. Her palm moved over the very small bump, the rounding that would only be obvious to her because she knew her own body.
A realization came to her and her eyes opened, staring up at the shadowy beams of the attic ceiling.
She did have proof.
She had the child in her womb.
And now she knew. . . it belonged to one of them.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“My girls,” her mother said, flinging the door open wide and pulling Scarlett and Haddie into a joint embrace. Scarlett dropped her duffel bag on the floor, one arm around her mother, the other around her little girl, breathing in the comfort of her mother’s smell: rose-scented lotion and clean laundry.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, smiling when her mother finally let her go, stepping back and closing the door.
Her mother knelt down, bringing her hands to Haddie’s face. “How’s my grandbaby?” she asked.
Haddie smiled. “Good, Gram.”
She kissed Haddie’s cheek. “Come on into the kitchen,” she said, standing. “I made some coffee cake and apple muffins. And I got you a new coloring book, miss,” she said to Haddie.
Haddie grinned, taking her gram’s hand as they went into the kitchen. Her mother’s house was small and somewhat dated, but it was spic and span and had the warm feel of home.
“Where’s Gerald?” she asked. Gerald was her stepfather, the man her mother had married ten years before. Although Scarlett had been eighteen when her mother married him and therefore Scarlett had never had a real fatherly relationship with him, he was a kind and decent man. Scarlett was happy her mother had found a companion not only to spend her golden years with but to relieve the financial burden she’d carried on her own since Scarlett’s father had died.
“He picked up an extra shift.”
“He’s a hard worker.” Scarlett squeezed her mother’s shoulder as her mother sat down, and then Scarlett took a seat next to her. Haddie had already climbed into a chair and was taking the brand-new crayons out of the package, coloring book spread out in front of her.
“Unicorns,” Haddie said happily, pointing to the book. “They’re magic.”
Scarlett smiled, brushing her daughter’s hair out of her face. “I see, baby.” Sometimes, so rarely, she was nothing but the purest vision of a seven-year-old child and it made Scarlett’s chest ache.
Once her mother had poured coffee for them and dished up the treats, Scarlett glanced at Haddie, immersed in her art. “Thanks for taking her for the night. She’s missed you.” She needs the comfort of the familiar, in a sea of recent upheaval.
“Are you kidding?” Her mother reached across and tipped Haddie’s face up, grinning into it. “I’ve missed this gorgeous face. Miss Haddie and I are going to have a PJ party, make popcorn, and watch a movie. Plus, I want to hear every detail about your new house and what room she’s picked out for me.”
A shadow passed over Haddie’s face but as quickly as it was there, it was gone, and Haddie smiled. “You can sleep in my room, Gram. Mommy says she’ll get me a twindle bed.”
Gram laughed. “I think you mean a trundle. And boy, that sounds fun.” She shot Scarlett a wink.
“I can’t wait for you to see it, Mom. I just want to get some of the bigger work out of the way.” She didn’t mention the fact that she’d fired her contractor and that she’d yet to hire a new one. Her stomach hurt when she thought about how Mason had sounded on the phone. He’d obviously been prepared for the call. Clearly, Camden had told him to expect it. But Scarlett had been unable to deny hearing the crestfallen tone in his voice, and his apology for the deception had sounded so sincere it’d made her cringe. Not only that, but Scarlett was disappointed too. Yes, he’d lied to her, she had every right to fire his ass, but his vision for the house had been grand and inspiring. Of course, now she understood that part of the reason he seemed so in tune with the place, and as though he knew it from every angle, and in every season, was because he did. She didn’t want to steal Mason’s ideas and give them to the next contractor she hired—that would be unethical—but she was definitely going to do something similar to what they’d planned. Mason had understood that the house deserved not to be remade, but to be the best modern version of herself. She straightened her shoulders. She had to move on. She simply couldn’t trust him anymore. Right?
When she got back, she’d put a call in to the other contractor in town, the one she’d never bothered calling after she’d met with Mason. And she wasn’t going to let this slow down the renovation. She was in LA to shop for tile and flooring, and a few other things that she wanted to see in person, rather than just an online picture.
She’d asked her mother to take Haddie for the night, and was going to stay at Merrilee’s house who was—unfortunately for Scarlett—out of town on business. Her mother’s house was small, but Scarlett could have slept on the couch and stayed with Haddie, but truthfully, she needed some alone time and was grateful Merrilee had offered.
She needed one night to sift through her turbulent emotions regarding so many things. One night away from Lilith House, one night away from Farrow, and yes, even one night away from Haddie. Since the moment she’d moved, it’d felt as if her life was a bottle of soda that was being shaken, shaken, and she needed a short break from it all to relieve some of the pressure.
She wasn’t sure yet if she was going to make a trip to the hotel she’d glimpsed in the tabloid photo of Royce. It would likely be an effort in futility. On the remote chance that she did spot someone who was part of his entourage, she doubted she could convince them to give him a message. And moreover, even if he had some of the same people working for him, they’d never remember her from eight years ago. He had legions of female fans trying desperately to pass him a phone number and an invitation all day, every day. Married or not, he probably had one-night stands all the time.
The biggest risk, of course, was that on the off chance that she was successful, she could literally be sued for seeking him out. But . . . it was Haddie’s health in jeopardy here. Or rather, the possibility—the very real fear—that Scarlett was mismanaging a mental illness because she was worried about being stripped of her payoff.
So yeah, maybe she would sit in the lobby in a pair of oversized sunglasses and at the very least, see if an opportunity arose. She owed it to Haddie and to herself.
After she’d finished her coffee and chatted with her mother for half an hour or so, Scarlett stood, kissing Haddie goodbye, giving her mom another embrace and heading for the door.
Scarlett made the drive to Merrilee’s, what should have taken ten minutes, taking an hour. LA traffic was definitely something she didn’t mis
s. By the time she dropped her bag in the living room of Merrilee’s condo, it was already three p.m.
She freshened up and then headed out to a nearby tile store, and then a lighting shop, spending the remainder of the afternoon lost in fixtures and materials that would complement the style and the age of the house, while also bringing it up to date. It was exactly what she’d needed. A few hours alone, and a chance to free her mind—however temporarily—of all that was currently weighing on her.
She called her mom and chatted with Haddie for a few minutes, made herself one of Merrilee’s microwave dinners, and poured a glass of wine. She almost didn’t go to the hotel. She almost put on her PJs and treated herself to an evening of Netflix. But as she stood there in her towel after the shower, she kept seeing that photo of Royce on the cover of the tabloid, kept seeing the headlines in her mind, kept recalling the way Haddie’s gaze slid away from her, and the way her daughter had stood there in the driveway, her expression shocked as she peed on the ground. No, she had to do this. She had to try. There might not be another opportunity to get in touch with Royce, no matter how improbable it was.
She dropped the towel, letting out an exasperated breath. She’d put on the black dress and red heels she’d brought, curl her hair, and have a drink at the bar. She was seldom going to be in LA from here on out. She was a single mom with a young child, a centuries-old house to overhaul, and a business to—hopefully—get off the ground. When was the next time she’d enjoy any nightlife at all?
No time soon.
Scarlett pulled on the strapless black dress, slid the heels on her feet, put on some makeup, and performed the rare task of blow-drying and adding loose, beachy waves to her hair. When she stood back and looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. It had been so long since she’d gotten ready for a social outing. For so many years, she’d had spit-up on her shirt and bags under her eyes, then applesauce in her hair and yesterday’s yoga pants on. Even now that Haddie was older and more self-sufficient every day, she honestly just felt most comfortable at home with her girl, a pizza on the coffee table in front of them, and a Disney movie on TV.