Page 72 of Primal God

I shake my head, as if that will help clear it.

It doesn’t.

Uncle Wolfe moves toward me, handing me a pen. “Sign.”

The threat beneath his words is obvious. If I don’t sign, he’ll go right to Dimitri. I take the pen from him and scribble my name on the line where he points.

“And here.” He points again. “Here.”

Each stroke of the pen is the same as dying. There’s no coming back from this. No, my fate is sealed.

When we’re finished, I ask, “Can I leave now?”

Uncle Wolfe says, “Of course. We no longer need you.”

Of course they don’t. I grab my bag and rush out of the house. I don’t stop until I’m safely several houses away. Only then do I pull out my phone and order an Uber. There’s no way I can go back to Dimitri’s with the mind frame that I’m in, so I enter the address for NorthPark Center and then wait for my ride to show up.

Luckily for me, the Uber driver isn’t one of those who likes to chat, and I’m able to stare out the window as we go to the mall.

There has to be a way out of this, but for the life of me, I don’t see one.

“Miss, we’re here.”

“Thanks.”

Inside the mall, I walk aimlessly around. Since it’s Sunday, the stores will close at six. But at least it will give me something to do until then. People glance my way and two girls in their teens even point. I swing into the bathroom and groan.

My god.

No wonder people are staring. There’s a large bruise on my cheek from where Adam hit me. Not only that, but my clothes are covered in dirt and dust from where I fell.

I grab a paper towel and wet it before going into a stall. I do my best to clean myself up, but there’s nothing that’s going to hide the bruise on my cheek and the scrapes on my knees.

Horror spreads through me. How am I going to explain the bruising on my face to Dimitri?

Pulling out my phone, I search for make-up stores in the mall and find the nearest one. Hopefully, they’ll have something to cover it, because what I currently have on isn’t doing the job.

In the store, I find the foundations and browse through them.

A woman walks up to me, smiling. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Just looking for something that will cover this.”

Her eyes widen when I show the other side of my face.

“Do you need to call anyone?” she asks in a low tone.

I shake my head. “No.”

Because no one can help me.

I’m not sure she’s going to say anything when she points. “This works great over tattoos. We can try it, if you’d like.”

I nod and follow her to one of the consulting chairs. She tells me some facts about the brand as she gently applies the make-up.

After a moment, she says, “I think that will work nicely.”

I take the small mirror she’s offering. The make-up has mostly covered the bruising on my cheek. It’s still there if you look hard enough, but hopefully no one will pay that much attention to me.

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