Page 132 of Plaything

Having decided, she placed the half-eaten Pop-Tart back on the plate. Here we go.

Her gaze landed on Wyatt again as she spoke. “Do you remember when I hit my head in your office?” she began, her voice forcing itself to be even and calm. I was very confused about what that had to do with anything, but my intrigue peaked as I leaned my arms against the counter.

Wyatt’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, and he nodded, “Yes.”

The remains of her food were being picked at by her nervous fingers as she focused on that rather than looking at any of us for more than a few seconds. “So, I learned from the pretty doctor—the one with the doctor made of plastic,” she eyed Dominic. “Apparently, when something... bad happens to you, sometimes your brain does this really cool thing where it forgets,” she stumbled through her words, looking extra small and shrunken in the stool. I was sure that she could’ve disappeared entirely in my T-shirt at that moment if she wanted to.

It was obvious where she was headed with this. I wanted to save her from as much explaining as I could. “And when you hit your head, it released memories?” I concluded.

Her bottom lip wobbled for a split second before she averted her eyes again. “Dreams,” she whispered. “I thought they were just my sick imagination, but they were memories,” she said mostly to herself. She straightened in her chair and cleared her throat, looking back up at us again. Her wall was made of hay, and she was trying so hard to keep it from blowing over. “I used to sleepwalk as a kid, with my eyes open, but I was completely unconscious and processing very, very little around me.”

I hated where this was going, and I honestly didn’t like the hunch I had about what she’d say next.

She sucked in a breath, “Long story short—”

I knew she would do that. Beat around the bush, give the PG version of a rated R movie, and dismiss the severity of a situation. We should count ourselves lucky that she was willing to share this with us at all, regardless of what she was and wasn’t comfortable giving us the details on.

“One night, when I was about 12, I was sleepwalking and wandered to Charles’ wing of the house. He was in a business meeting, and the man told Charles that if he left the room for five minutes, he’d agree to whatever deal they were discussing.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she stopped talking, blinking tears out of her eyes.

It was worse than I imagined. So much fucking worse.

Uncomfortably, she shifted on the stool before speaking again. “I didn’t want to believe the dreams were real, so tonight I wanted to see Charles’ wing of the house,” she glanced at all of us. “I have never consciously seen anything past the doors, and I knew that if I recognized the room, it was real,” she explained casually as if she weren’t describing several crimes, felonies, corrupt men, and what her own father did.

“Vincent told us the rest,” Dominic cut in, stopping her from having to explain everything else. Considering what she’d already had to reveal, it was a good call on his part.

She slowly nodded, not looking as betrayed as I expected. “I figured he would.”

Wyatt had a disgusted, bewildered expression. “Baby, you have to tell the authorities—”

“And say what?” She snapped. “I have no proof,” she deadpanned. “Even if I did, Charles’ legal team is a monster, and I’m sure whatever business partners that he had jerk off on me are equally as monstrous,” she rushed out, clearly having given this thought.

The venom in her tone when she said the words jerk off sent a shiver up my spine. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or sad, but I was willing to bet it was a combination of both. I knew corrupt people like this existed in the world, but I had never heard of something like this happening, especially to someone close to me. What kind of men lusted after a fucking child? Not only did her father agree, he’d encouraged it.

“Okay…” Wyatt held his hands up, a gentleness in his eyes. He took a breath, probably at a loss for words.

Hell, I didn’t even know what to say. I could have asked if she was okay, but the question was moronic at best. She obviously wasn’t okay. No one would be. The best I could offer were the names of therapists specializing in childhood trauma or sexual abuse. I had friends nationwide who were the best of the best, and if she wanted, I could get her an appointment in the blink of an eye.

With sunken shoulders and the whites of his eyes slightly reddened with emotion, Niko walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.

Niko may have been the smartest of us all. Sometimes, there were no words.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she basked in his comfort. When she opened them again, she looked between the four of us. “Just don’t be weird around me now, okay?” She tried to joke, but none of us cracked a smile.

Weird? Many words came to mind when I thought of how I would act around her. Protective was currently very high on that list. If I felt murderous before, I really did now.

There was no doubt in my mind that the men Vincent mentioned before were others who assaulted her in Charles’ wing. The fact that they were so confident and willing to approach her made my blood run cold. It just showed that they were completely aware of her being unconscious and assumed she had no recollection of what they did.

“Odette, I don’t want you going anywhere near Charles until he’s buried,” I demanded. I didn’t care how harsh I sounded or that he was her only blood relation. Nor did I care about how sad it made her that he was death-bound or if she’d think ill of me.

I couldn’t change the past—as much as I would’ve liked to. If there was one thing I was certain of, that man would never use, manipulate, or abuse her in any kind of way. She wasn’t his anymore.

Chapter Nineteen

Odette

A gentle wince slipped between my teeth as a strong hand gripping my hip woke me. Ouch.

It took me a few seconds to register the sounds and sensations behind me, but once I did, the possible bruises on my hip were an afterthought.

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