Page 67 of Fangs
I felt that jab like a kick to my ribs.
Mac took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We went and took Em by force and dragged her back here on Madame’s orders. She didn’t want any of it.”
A hush fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.
“Em, why didn’t you tell your brother what really happened?” Mac asked after a while.
“He doesn’t believe me about anything,” I muttered into my knees.
“Well, it’s not just you. We were all there.”
I didn’t reply, feeling stupid. Why hadn’t it occurred to me they would back me up? If he only knew what else I’d let my brother think about me.
Mac approached and sank to a crouch in front of me. “Em, you always have us as backup, ok? You don’t have to do this alone.”
I stared at his boots and hid behind my muddy hair.
“You don’t get to take all the blame for everythin’, you know. You gotta share with the rest of us,” he added in a lighter voice.
I finally lifted my eyes to his, and he gave me a slight smile.
“C’mon, tub’s probably full enough.” He offered his hands, and I let him pull me to my feet. He frowned. “Your hands are freezing. You better make this a quick bath.”
He released me and started leading the way to the bathing room. I halted on the threshold, blinking rapidly in shock. Mac leaned over and turned the water off in the large white tub in a small nook, surrounded by windows with frosted glass for privacy. White curtains lined the windows. Thin strips of light-colored wood covered the walls, and a beautiful old mirror hung above the white pedestal sink. The floor was concrete, but two giant fur rugs covered it. The room was bright, calming, and peaceful—not at all what I expected from Madame. I glanced around, noting the basket of towels and the small table with soap and bottles. This room hadn’t been stripped.
“Nemo’s lettin’ anyone who would like a bath use this room, kinda like a public bathhouse, I guess,” Mac said quietly. When I didn’t move or say anything, he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Do you, uh, need help?”
My cheeks heated again. “No.”
“Alright, well, I’ll wait out here.” He went around me and carefully shut the door behind him.
I abruptly turned away from the tub and tried to shut out the painful memories of Trey and I sitting in the bathtub together at the trading post. I tried not to remember his strong fingers rubbing the sore muscles in my back, his hand trailing lightly across my skin, and the soft kisses he pressed to my shoulder.
I rummaged through the few cupboards in a desperate attempt at a distraction. Most of them had towels and soap, but in one, I found a clear glass bottle with a faded label that read “Madame.” I opened it, sniffed, then took a tentative sip. Whatever it was, it went down a lot smoother than Mootzie’s shit. I stripped off my muddy clothes, braced myself, and climbed into the tub of ice-cold water with the bottle. The freezing temperature reminded me uncomfortably of the icy river, and my teeth immediately started chattering again, so I took a long drink.
I rinsed myself, grimacing as the water turned brown from all the mud. I tried not to think about Madame relaxing in this room, tried not to think about her blood spurting from her neck, tried not to think about the bullet going through Trey’s skull, tried not to think about Juck pressing the red-hot metal against my skin, tried not to think about the horror on Wolf’s face. The alcohol helped, so I kept drinking it. When someone knocked on the door a while later, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore, and the bottle was empty.
“Em?” Mac called at the door. “You doin’ alright?”
“I’m fine,” I yelled back.
I heard him huff a laugh. “Are you actually, though?”
“I’m great.”
“Great, huh?” He sounded amused. “Well, that’s good.”
I examined the little tray of soaps and bottles. Madame got the nice stuff. There was a bottle marked for hair, so I poured some into my hand. It came out faster than I expected, or maybe I was more tipsy than I thought. Either way, the soap filled my palm and overflowed before I realized what was happening. I swore under my breath, then giggled at my clumsiness. I quickly dumped my palmful of soap into my hair, marveling at how it lathered immediately—much nicer than regular soap.
Then, the scent hit me.
My entire body locked up as Madame’s sickly, sweet scent filled the room. I could hear the screams, the desperate pleas, and Madame’s cold voice snapping “again.” I could smell the vomit and urine. I could feel the blood coating my hands.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe.It’s just soap. It’s just a fuckin’ smell. It’s not her.I tried to lather my hair up faster, but every inhale made the screams in my head louder. I gave up and dunked under the water, but the shallow breath of air I took before I went under did not sustain me long. I broke the surface, gasping in a breath and then choking on the smell.Fuck.I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of here.
I scrambled out of the tub. My hair was still sudsy, but I didn’t care. I barely remembered to grab a towel to wrap around myself before I darted out of the bathroom.
Lee and Mac had found two wooden chairs somewhere and were sitting in front of the wood stove. They both glanced up and then jumped to their feet when I came flying out.
