Page 9 of Good Girl

It’s totally anticlimactic when I turn around to a regular, long, gray-carpeted hallway.

Darcy doesn’t say much, just clasps my hand and tugs me and my rolling suitcase out and down the hall. I can’t help but count the doors as we go. It’s something I have always done—count objects. It centers me.

I’d count anything. Tiles. Stairs. Streetlights. Thrusts.

Darcy stops at the last door on the left, in front of a door with a silver number plate proudly stating 1906. He doesn’t pause or give me a second to prepare myself for what’s on the other side. Instead, he simply scans his card against the handle and pushes the door open after it beeps and turns green.

My breath snags inside of my lungs as Darcy releases my hand so that he can enter with my suitcase and patiently hold the door open for me. There is a slight glow coming from behind him but not enough to illuminate the space so that I can see it.

Does the weekend begin the moment I step through the door? And will it be more of what we've already done? They mentionedshowing me more of what they like, but they didn’t give too many details on what is actually going to happen this weekend.

I remember the hunger in Hunter’s—Xavier’s—eyes after he bit my lip and really hope it's more of the same. The way he looked at me...no one has ever looked at me like they’ve wanted to devour me like that. Well, except Darcy, Derek, and Hudson.

Sure, I’ve received lecherous stares and hungry gazes, but the men behind them have just been interested in using my body for their own personal needs.

These men, though...I get the feeling they don’t just want to fuck with my body. They want to fuck with my head, too, if I’ll let them.

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought, because I’m pretty sure I will.

“Changed your mind, princess?”

My spine stiffens as Darcy’s mocking voice repeats the first words that he spoke to me tonight. I glare at him, and he just grins, dark blue eyes twinkling with mischief, the asshole.

With bravado I definitely do not feel, I step through the doorway, and Darcy lets the door close behind me. I trail behind him as he leads me down a short hallway, the faint glow of light getting brighter with more of the space coming into view.

A massive dark colored sectional is right in front of me facing an equally large television that sits on a big chunky wooden cabinet. I can vaguely see the outline of a door on the back wall on the far side of the couch.

My breath catches in my throat as I scan to the left and find an ominous looking floor to ceiling black curtain. It runs the full length of the apartment, effectively cutting it in half, before turning a sharp corner and blocking the end shut as well.

With my heart beating fast, I try not to remember the pictures that they sent me earlier, to not let my imagination run wildabout what is behind the thick fabric. I instinctively know not to touch it. Or even ask about it. Showing any form of curiosity is just asking for trouble. This is a lesson I learned the hard way in the foster system.

I take a deep breath and continue my inspection of the place I’m going to spend the next two days in. Turning even more to the left, I discover that the light glow comes from the black, U-shaped marble kitchen. The fixtures are all silver, and there is a dining table tucked into the corner.

Darcy waits patiently between the lounge and the curtain, almost hidden in its shadows, watching me as I take in their space. I stare back at him in confusion. He frowns and lets go of the suitcase to come back to me, the curtain barely twitching as he walks past it.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

“Where are the others?”

A flicker of something, then a smile, crosses his features. “It’s just me and you tonight. They’ll join us tomorrow.”

An ache, deep inside of me, throbs, like a bruise that someone has persistently touched my entire life. “But they are coming tomorrow, for the whole weekend?”

Darcy stops inches from me, concern replacing his smile as his gaze bounces between my eyes, and he reaches up to cup my face. “Yes, for the whole weekend. Tonight, it’s just you and me. We didn’t want to overwhelm you. But from the moment you wake up tomorrow, to the minute you leave on Sunday afternoon, all four of us will be with you. You won’t get a single moment of peace, unless you ask for it.”

The ache dissipates so quickly that a surge of tears forces itself past the lump in my throat and threatens to fill my eyes. I bit my lip and break eye contact, not needing him to see the needy little girl inside of me who is terrified of being abandoned for what feels like the millionth time in eighteen years.

All I can manage is a nod. Thankfully, Darcy doesn’t try to get me to talk some more, because honestly, I have no idea what will come out of my mouth if he does. Tonight has been such a fucking rollercoaster, I’m not sure I can take too much more.

He just takes my hand and leads me back toward my abandoned suitcase. I’m not usually a seesaw of emotions. I’m even, almost emotionless, because showing emotion in a group home was a weapon that could be used against you later. So I kept them bottled in, locked up tight, to almost sociopathic levels.

Somehow, though, these men are popping the lids open and I am one-hundred percent sure I don’t like it.

My last few months in foster care had been a repeatable series of events. Wake up, school, come home to study, sneak out with Tray to a party, maybe have some fun, but more often than not, bail Tray out of whatever bind he was in that day.

My emotions have to stay bottled up because if I think too hard about it...nope, nope, nope. Not thinking about it.

I’m not in that group home anymore. I’m not near Tray anymore. Though I had to sneak away in the dead of night and leave no trace of myself or where I was going, I’m here now. Only two nights away from starting the rest of my life.

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