Page 68 of Searching for Hope

Jericho disappears, coming back with a warm cloth. He runs it over me, cleaning himself from my thighs. “Sorry about the underwear,” he says, pulling me to my feet. My legs shake. He leans close. “But I kind of like knowing that you won’t be wearing any.”

Taking my hand, he leads me toward the door.

“What about the mess?” I look back at the desk and its scattered contents spread over the floor.

“Just leave it. We have cleaners.”

I feel like everyone stares at me as Jericho leads me through the club and outside. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we climb into the car and Barrett starts the drive over to the Gormans.

Michael’s slow grin as he greets us causes a wedge of dread to settle in my chest. There’s something about it that’s too confident, too assured. A hint of sadistic pleasure.

Beside me, Jericho folds his sunglasses and hooks them over his jacket pocket before extending his hand. “Good seeing you again, Michael.” He nods as he shakes Michael’s hand firmly.

A look passes between them as their hands and jaws clench. Inside me there’s a quiet but persistent voice screaming for me to leave. I take a deep breath, blowing it out in a slow steady stream, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart. Closing my eyes for a second, I will away the familiar threat of a flash.

My smile is a little too tight when I focus back on the men. They’re looking at me curiously. Jericho’s hand moves to the small of my back and Michael’s vivid blue eyes follow the motion.

“Are your parents not joining us tonight?” Jericho asks. There’s something insulting in his tone and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Michael.

He nods toward the house. “They’re inside entertaining our guest. We’ve got a surprise for you, Everly.” He holds out his arm, waiting for me to take it while keeping his gaze directed on Jericho. A spark of annoyance ignites in Jericho’s eyes, but he merely smiles.

“A surprise for me?” Taking Michael’s arm, I allow him to lead me inside.

“Our guest of honor.” Michael smiles but it’s laced with ferity which makes the dread in my chest pulse even stronger. He leans close to whisper in my ear and the heat of his breath makes me shudder. “You look stunning, by the way.”

Jericho’s heavy steps echo behind me. His gaze burns into my back. When he’d seen me in the dress I’d chosen for the evening, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing in his gaze. The satin is emerald green. It clings tightly to my legs like a mermaid’s tail and the deep v-neck plunges between my breasts before wrapping into a halter around my neck. On the drive between the club and the Gormans house, Jericho had a hard time looking away. His jaw was clenched as his eyes kept dropping to the swells of my breasts. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, whether it was lust or disproval, or he was remembering me spread over the desk. But whatever it was stirred another wave of arousal within me.

But I wore it because I knew Michael would like it. There was a certain look about the wives of the men my father associated with. They were vapidly thin with makeup flawless and harsh. Their brows were over-plucked, and their faces were under-wrinkled and void of expression. But the main thing they had in common was their sense of fashion. It played the line between classy and sexy, often verging on controversial. Plunging necklines or thigh-high slits. Glimpses of side boob, or backless dresses so low you could see the crack of their asses. I wanted to emulate them. Not because my taste aligns with theirs, but because I want to remind them that I am one of them. I belong here. Or at least, that’s what I want them to think. Last time we came to their house, I dressed to remind them who I was; this time I’m dressed to remind them of who I could be.

As we cross through the house and to the pool out back, Michael leans close and whispers in my ear again. “Surprise.”

There are three people seated on white leather loungers beside the pool. Mr and Mrs Gorman face us, seated on the sofa. Mr Gorman leaps to his feet, shoving his hand in Jericho’s direction before turning to me and grabbing me by the cheeks to pull me in for a kiss. He lingers a little too long and a tendril of discomfort coils in my stomach. There’s something about the man that can make an outwardly innocent action seem so sordid.

“So good to see you again, my dear.” The way he speaks is grandfatherly but the way he makes me feel is nothing familial. I resist a shudder as I pull away, and instead, press my cheek to Mrs Gorman’s, ignoring the cold indifference of her skin.

And then the woman on the sofa turns, smiling brilliantly.

“Lily?” I almost choke on her name. Hurrying over to her, I sit close, leaning to speak quietly in her ear. “What are you doing here?”

chapter twenty-four

BERKLEY

“These lovely people invited me.” My mother looks over at the senior Gormans. “They told me how much you missed me, and they wanted to surprise you for your birthday, so here I am!” She holds her arms out, patiently waiting for me to embrace her, her smile wide.

The dread that had started in my chest earlier falls to the pit of my stomach. I had thought something might transpire because of the friction between Jericho and Michael. I had never in my wildest dreams imagined they’d contact my mother. But I should have known. The threats of men like my father are always veiled, always hidden by something that to the outside could seem like a kind gesture. If anyone accused them otherwise, they could hide behind a blanket of well-meaning intent.

There’s a half-empty glass of red wine on the table, an empty bottle off to the side. Mr and Mrs Gorman glasses are filled with white. Judging from the flush to my mother’s cheeks it isn’t the first bottle she’s had tonight. The dread in the pit of my stomach floods my veins, turning them to ice.

“Everly,” my mother chides. “Give your mother a hug.”

Her naivety knows no bounds. It was as though the time she spent under my father’s control had robbed her of all ability to see evil. I can’t understand how she can’t sense it, the undercurrent of cruelty. After everything she’d been through, I expected there to be a toughness to my mother, a suspicion of the world. But instead, it left her only wanting to see the good in people, because the actuality of the opposite was too real.

In the end she rolls her eyes and pulls me in for a hug. She’s plumper than she used to be. It feels good on her. Guilt washes over me at the fact I haven’t seen her in so long. Nor have I made much of an effort to keep in contact with her, or truth be told, any effort on my behalf at all.

She’s never shielded me from the truth of her captivity, even though I wished she would at times. She speaks openly and freely. It’s her way of dealing with it, as she likes to say. Her way of taking back the power of what happened. But for me, the details of what the man I’d grown up admiring did to her clashed so entirely with the man I thought he was, and listening to it was devastating. I felt hurt by them both. Angry at the lies. Even now there’s something uncomfortable about being around her. I cringe at the information that could spill from her mouth.

“Your birthday?” Jericho says from behind me. For the smallest instant, I had forgotten his presence. Something I thought impossible.

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