Page 71 of Property of Chaos

I draw a deep breath.Already better.Relief has my grip tightening over hers. “Five things you can feel.” I barely get the words out, too focused on my senses absorbing her proximity.

“The heat of my skin,” she states. “The floorboards. My twisted T-shirt neck. Hair tickling my shoulder.” Her eyes lift. “And you.”

“A guy could get a big ego from featuring in each one of those lists.”

She smiles, ducking her head. “You’re everywhere.”

“As I should be.” I scoot closer, coaxing her half onto my lap. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I want to make sure I never do it again. I want to make sure there’s no chance I could hurt her.

I want to hurt the reason she shut down on me.

Vanessa swallows, curling her back to rest her forehead against my chest. It’s perfect—except for her racing heart and trembling legs. “What did you manage to piece together after reading my journal?”

“About what, specifically?” The blanket slides down to her shoulders, and I lift my hand to stroke her hair.

“About my past.” She draws a deep breath.

I knit my fingers into the hair at her nape and massage her scalp with my fingertips. “Your stepfather was an abusive and controlling asshole. You escaped him, but it cost you your mother and brother. You left everything behind to survive and feel immeasurable guilt about that.”

She remains silent, and I wonder if I pushed her too far, too soon, by bringing it all up.

“What else?” Her whispered words melt into my chest.

“He limited the information you got.” I drop a heavy sigh. “You mention that you didn’t know much about how banks worked, insurance, or taxes until you left his control.”

“He didn’t let the women have cellphones,” she states in dead monotones. “Or computers. We couldn’t read the news. He allowed us to go to school, but we had minders on the staff who ensured we only socialized with approved students. We would have been schooled on the compound if it were up to him.”

I stiffen. “What do you mean, compound?” That one word can be applied in so many ways. Was he a drug smuggler? A religious nut?

Was she part of a fucking cult?

Why do I not know this already?

“To everybody else, it was Providence Oaks,” Vanessa says with a sigh. She leans back, head down, as she fidgets with her hands between us. “If you look up the name, you’ll find an old webpage they created to sell the lots in the subdivision. But it was all a front. Nobody bought there without an invite.”

“An invite?” I rear back a little to see her face.

She lifts her chin, gaze hooded, and stares at me with dead eyes. “Fromhim.My stepfather.” Vanessa sighs, twisting away to support her weight as she gets to her feet.

I resist the urge to snag her hand and pull her back to me. She moves away to isolate herself, probably because she feels like a burden sharing this shit. I get it. I do the same thing.

But she doesn’t need to stand alone anymore.

“What happened there?” I get an inkling I already know. Deep down, I’ve already read her vague intonations in her journal, seen the pain in her eyes, how she shields herself from the world, and I’ve done the math.

The rage heats my skin before she utters a single word.

“He sold us.”

“The fuck you mean he sold you?” Is this cunt a sex trafficker? Have I pegged this situation all wrong?

“Exactly that, Chaos.” She sweeps through to the kitchen, and I’m forced to follow to hear her words. “He sold my life away one hour at a time.”

“Like a pimp?”

She shrugs one shoulder, and it’s that fucking blasé attitude she has toward the things this man did to her that makes me want to hunt him down and rip his goddamn face off. She shouldn’t be so accustomed to the pain that it doesn’t enrage her anymore. Doesn’t matter.

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