Page 25 of Blade's Princess

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts, aware that my future might hinge on how coherently and convincingly I can tell my story. "Blade found me sleeping in my car three nights ago. It was freezing. I was there because my aunt had kicked me out for the night."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because I hadn't cleaned the windows to her satisfaction.” The absurdity of it strikes me anew as I say it aloud. I hear how it sounds—petty, cruel, nonsensical. "She found smudges my cousins deliberately made after I cleaned them. They do that a lot—mess things up for me so I'll get into trouble."

“I can’t help but notice you have bruises.” He gestures vaguely toward my face, then his eyes harden as they land on Blade across the room.

I touch my upper cheek self-consciously, feeling the tender flesh still swollen beneath my fingertips. "Shedid this. And these." I pull down the neck of my shirt to reveal the yellowed marks on my neck, then lift the edge of my shirt just enough to show the mottled bruising along my ribs. "She's been hurting me like this for years."

Officer Reed shifts his weight, frowning deeply. The detective's professional mask slips for just a moment, revealing something that looks not only like genuine shock, but concern.

"Why didn't you report it?"

“Because…” I look down at my hands, remembering all the times I'd considered running, seeking help. “And then what? Towhat end? Where would I go? She made sure I had no friends, no money, no education beyond what I could secretly sneak online in the middle of the night. And she..." I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat like sharp pebbles. "She has a dog. Max. She hurts him to punish me. She knows that cruelty to animals hurts me more than anything she could do to me directly."

The detective's expression shifts subtly, a flash of something—anger? compassion?—crossing his features. Whatever it is, it’s clear he did not expect this outcome. He places his hands on his hips. Tucking his thumbs into his waistband. “You're nineteen, correct?"

I nod.

"So you're legally an adult. Free to live wherever you choose." He taps his belt thoughtfully. "Mrs. Whitmore claims you stole from her. Cash, jewelry, clothes."

Indignation flares hot in my chest, a burning sensation that momentarily overwhelms my fear. "That's a lie. I own nothing of value. The clothes I came here in were hand-me-downs from my cousins that barely fit. I've never had access to her money or jewelry."

"She was quite specific. A pearl necklace, cash from her desk drawer, designer clothing."

I shake my head vehemently, anger giving me courage. "I've never taken anything that wasn't mine. You can search everything I own—it would take about three minutes. I have maybe five outfits to my name, and those were bought for me since I got here."

The detective studies me for a long moment, his gaze assessing. “I suppose that’s her word against yours.” I force myself to meet his eyes, to not shrink away as I've been conditioned to do. Finally, he says, “I want you to be completelyhonest with me. Are you being held here against your will, Sophie? You can tell me. We can protect you."

I meet his gaze steadily, drawing on a well of strength I didn't know I possessed. "I'm here because I choose to be. For the first time in twelve years, I'm safe. I'm fed. I'm not scrubbing floors until my hands bleed or being beaten for missing a spot of dust." My voice grows stronger with each word. "Blade and his club have shown me more kindness in the past twenty-four hours than my aunt has in twelve years."

Detective Wilson's gaze flicks to Blade, then back to me. Something in his expression shifts, softens just slightly. "You understand why we have concerns. Your aunt is a respected community figure. This club has...a certain reputation."

"My aunt," I say slowly, making sure each word is clear, "is very good at appearing to be something she's not." I lean forward slightly. "She sits on charity boards and hosts fundraisers while treating her own niece like something she scraped off her shoe."

The detective sighs and studies me for a long moment, but his eyes are not unkind. "We'll note that you're here voluntarily and appear unharmed aside from injuries you claim were inflicted prior to your arrival." He hands me a card. "If you need anything, or if your situation changes, call this number."

I take the card, relief flooding through me like a physical sensation, making my limbs weak. "Thank you."

"We'll be in touch if further concerns arise," he tells me, and something in his tone makes me think this isn't over. "Your aunt was quite insistent."

Of course Aunt Margaret won't let go easily. But why not? I think of all the times she made sure I knew what a burden I was, what a hardship. You think she’d be happy to be rid of me.

Ghost escorts the officers out, maintaining the same formal politeness he greeted them with. The moment the door closesbehind them, Blade is at my side, checking me over as if the brief conversation might have damaged me somehow.

"You okay?" he asks, his hands gently cupping my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones.

I nod, though tears well in my eyes. "Max," I whisper, the name carrying all my fear and guilt. “She’s going to be livid and what if she hurts him because of me?"

Blade's expression hardens, determination glinting in his eyes like polished steel. "We'll get him out. Tonight."

Chapter 11

Blade

My knuckles crack as I flex my fingers, studying the blueprints of the Whitmore mansion Cipher managed to acquire.

"Security system is Harrington-Tech," Cipher points out. "Not top-of-the-line, but decent. I can bypass it remotely, loop the cameras on a fifteen-second delay." His fingers move across the tablet, tracing virtual circuits only he can see. "Blind spots here, here, and here."

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