Page 58 of Saved By My Buyers

Jack and I nod, signing the contract without hesitation. Neither of us have any issues with the terms of the contract, even though if things go well, we’ll be keeping her forever.

“She’ll be waiting for you in her dressing room,” the handler murmurs. “Please follow me.”

Jack and I are hot on her heels as she leads us through the club. The long hallway to the dressing room features black walls, marble floors, and chandelier ceilings. Not one expense was slated even here.

There’s a number nine outside of Dahlia’s room, matching up to the lot order she went out in. The handler knocks on the door before she inclines her head toward us and leaves.

“Coming,” the same voice that I’ve spoken to twice on the phone says, opening the door. “Wait, what?”

“Hey, Dolly,” Jack says softly, stepping forward. The movement forces her to walk back, eyes wide. “I promise, we had no idea you’d be here when we first arrived.”

I want to tell him to stop, to give her a chance to breathe, but I can’t catch my breath enough to say a word as I follow behind him.

“How is this possible?” she asks, her brown eyes shimmering with tears. “Am I dreaming?”

“No,” I say, finding my voice. Dahlia’s sharp gaze finds mine, and her chest begins to heave with emotion. She's wearing a gauzy black robe over her teddy, and her knees fold underneath her.

“Bronwyn?” she wails, and I begin to cry again, rushing forward and dropping to the floor to clutch her hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m so sorry. I came home as soon as I could four years ago. Gareth wouldn’t let me, but Jack bought me a ticket. He called the way you asked him to,” I gasp, sobbing.

Jack closes the door behind himself, his mismatched eyes appearing tortured as he watches us, his back pressed against the wall as if holding it up.

“I couldn’t stay,” she sobs. “Gareth left me a knife to kill myself. He said it was the only way to keep you from finding out.”

I can’t not touch her anymore. Throwing my arms around her thin shoulders, I hold her tightly.

“It’s okay to choose yourself,” I weep. “You got out, you’re safe.”

“I haven’t been safe for a long time,” she whispers, holding me tightly. “Wait… you’re here with Jack?”

I can feel Dahlia retreating, and I don’t want to let her go, but have to. Pulling back, I give a shuddering breath as I nod.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “He took me in, and I finished high school at a public school. First, Jack helped me get back into the house while no one was around to find your note and pack. I was eighteen, sad, and sitting on the couch one night drinking when he came home from work.”

“It just happened,” Jack says softly, a tear rolling down his cheek with heavy footsteps until he lowers himself to the ground. “We were both hurting, drunk, and had sex.”

“You had sex,” Dahlia repeats, eyes wide. “So you’re together. You came here to find someone… oh fuck.”

“It’s been four years, and we kept hoping and waiting for you to reach out,” I say, the hurt bleeding into my voice. “You’ve been in Detroit this entire time?”

Dahlia snorts, dashing the tears leaking out of her eyes. “This is really fucking rich,” she mutters. “I was homeless when I left your house. Jack, you once walked right fucking past me!”

The color leaves Jack’s face and he catches himself on the floor before he falls over.

“What? No, that’s not possible,” he grunts. “Do you know how many laws I’ve broken trying to find you? I can’t believe I’d?—”

“It was my eighteenth birthday,” she rasps. “I should stop celebrating them. They always mark another year of misery. So, apparently I’m yours for the weekend. Are you going to take my virginity too, Jack?”

Dahlia’s eyes spark with a fire that I didn’t see the entire time she strutted on stage earlier. The confidence was feigned, the energy a performance. Now? She’s fiery and fucking pissed.

I shouldn’t be feeling the butterflies in my stomach as I gaze at her and the way she’s snarling at Jack. Yet, I am, because as long as she can push back and scream and yell, she’s still here and fighting.

Dahlia may be sparring with the wrong person, though.

Jack fucking lives for brats.

“Maybe,” Jack growls. “You’ll have to get off this goddamned ground to find out, though, Dolly.”

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