Page 64 of Wicked Duty
Hot breath against my hair.
“You’re perfect, darling.” A thick Russian accent pollutes my ears as rough hands paw at my body. “I’m going to keep you all for myself, I think. A pretty little prize.”
I whirl and rush into the bedroom, yanking the door shut. The action does nothing to soothe my nerves. Does nothing to chase away the memories.
Maybe I should’ve checked in with Callum before hiding, but he was only going to give me more silence anyway.
Not to mention, I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t even know how I’d begin.
Under the shower spray in the en suite bathroom, panic and disgust rip at me with poison claws. Desperate to banish this helpless, uncontrollable anguish, I crank up the water temperature hotter than I can stand.
Scrub. Rinse. Scrub. Rinse. Scrub, scrub, scrub.
No amount of soap can wash away the shame crawling through my bones.
My time with Viktor represents the lowest point of my life. Even worse than the horrible memories of my family and foster care. I’ve tried every strategy I can to forget—therapy, a new job, medicine, yoga—and still the horror refuses to completely fade away.
I give up after who knows how long—my skin pink and sore—and twist the handle. The switch to cool water stings my abused skin. With a muffled sob, I sink to the tile floor and let the shower beat down on me for ages. The water mingles with my tears, washing them down the drain.
Should I still testify? Even if Viktor gets charged, one of his cronies could release the pictures. I don’t even know what the other photos look like. If they’re worse than the one on my phone, I can kiss my modeling career goodbye. Any career. No one would hire a PR nightmare like me.
And if Viktor can find me with a new phone and number, then he can find me anywhere. I’m not safe. If I push forward with the competition, if I cling to this wallet that’s in my possession, if I try to testify, I’ll end up just like the witness who went missing. Have they found her yet? But if he really wanted me dead, wouldn’t I already be dead? Probably long before I ever met Callum.
Maybe they can’t find the missing witness because Viktor chopped her up into too many pieces.
I gulp down a wave of nausea before finally dragging myself out of the shower and into a hotel robe.
When I first arrived, I shoved my anxiety pills into the bottom of my makeup bag, which is quickly becoming my go-to hiding spot. Now I dig them out and pop the container before rediscovering the bottle is empty. I want to smack myself in the head. With everything happening in my life lately, I completely forgot to refill my prescription. I didn’t even ask Dr. Shaw about it. Dammit, I sure could’ve used a little pharmacological reinforcement tonight.
The crypto wallet sits tucked beside the empty bottle. Seeing it there should bring me relief, but instead, my anxiety spikes higher.
I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. I don’t want to see what stares back at me.
Deciding I may as well lie down, I shuffle into the bedroom. Sleep won’t come, but I feel dizzy on my feet.
As I’m crawling under the covers in the semidarkness, the door bursts open and Callum slaps at the wall until he flicks the switch. Recessed lighting illuminates the space.
I groan, toss the covers off, and sit up. “What is?—”
Oh, shit. He’s visibly pissed.
“Were you planning to tell me about this?”
I flinch away from the angry, demanding tone. My eyes flit away from his and settle on his phone, which is held up and facing me.
My naked body invades my sight.
The terror of exposure closes around my heart like an unforgiving fist.
How…did he get this?
Horror rocks through me. “Where did you get that?”
His glare is a slap to my face. “Answer me, Marlow.”
My stomach plummets as I blink at the ceiling. Despite my best efforts, the tears roll down my cheeks.
Wait.
