Laiken

The next morning, Dominic's car is still gone.

I watch for it to appear for way too long as I linger in the front room of the house. Maybe he's busy with work. It's not impossible, probably even likely. But it's nearly dinner time before I quit finding excuses to peek at the driveway, and that's only because Mellie seeks me out. “Laiken!” she calls, shuffling towards me while holding a white cloth bag as tall as her.

Side-stepping the window, I fold my hands behind my back. “Hey, what's going on?”

She shoves the bag at me. “Annie told me, to relay to you, that you've got an hour to get ready for a special dinner tonight.”

Scrunching my mouth into a balloon-knot, I hold up the bag. There's a dress inside, I can see the glittering gold hem peeking from the open bottom. “Dinner with who?”

“The Steel Works partners.”

It's like a wave of heartburn rumbles up from my guts to my mouth. “Oh.”

She doesn't catch my disappointment. Or maybe she just ignores it. “Get to your room, clean up, and make yourself look as nice as you can. Sounds like it'll be a pretty formal get together.”

Fingering the bottom of the dress, I trace a few stitches that ruin the otherwise gorgeous hem. It's hard to see the damage, but I can feel it. Wait, is this . . . “Mellie, this is the dress I wore to the ballroom party.”

“Hmm?” She's writing something in a tiny notepad. Clicking the pen loudly, she begins to walk away, marching to her next destination. “Just wear it, be down here in an hour—why am I repeating myself? I know you heard me.”

I stare at her fading back. Something about this is strange. You're just upset because you have to see Franklin again. Who else will be there tonight? I should have asked if Dominic is attending, too. I grip the dress tighter. No. It's good I didn't. This mooning over Dominic is out of control.

Taking a deep breath, I walk until I reach my room. My goal is to stop thinking about that frustrating, possibly dangerous, man.  But it's difficult when I'm about to put on the same dress he fingered me in.

Throwing the gown on the bed, I enter my bathroom, running scalding hot water in the shower. The steam fogs everything—I inhale it, imagining it's seeping into my cells and cleaning me from the inside out.

I need his claws out of my heart.

Every time I try, the barbs slice me, bleeding me dry. Removing Dominic from my existence might kill me in the process.

I shower until my skin shrivels up. I wish I could stay in there longer, but there's a timer hanging over my head. Twisting the metal knob, I step carefully over the tub's rim. My toes sink into the white circular rug. Directly across from me, I spot myself in the mirror.

Wavy and thick, my hair drips water as it hangs past my hips. It sticks to my spine. When I grab it to wrap it in a towel, I heft the weight of it. This glorious, beautiful, useless hair only reminds me that I kept my promise, and Kara didn't.

I still don't know what happened to her. If I hadn't talked to her the day she moved in, I might not know she was even living in the same house. As I weave my damp hair into a braid, counting the loops, I think about Kara's poise at the ballroom party.

She was a natural there. She belonged. Did she cut her hair herself, casually shrugging off our promise because it was something childish? Or had a person like Emma gone after her with scissors, and Kara had no one like Dominic to save her?

Dominic.

No, none of that.

I dress quickly, confirming this dress is definitely the one from the ballroom. Running my palm down the front, I stand before the lengthy mirror. It's easy to picture Dominic standing behind me, his hand tracing the zipper, his fingers questing for my virgin pussy under the dress.

Shivering with hot flashes, I fluff the hem and stand tall. The time for thinking about Dominic as someone who can get that close to me is over. It should have never begun.

****

WHEN I REACH THE FRONT room, Silas and his wife are standing there, talking to a man in sunglasses and a black suit. I recognize Miles. He nods a few times, then slips out the door, leaving it open. Annie spots me coming. Her eyes skid off of me, like she doesn't want to look at me.

Silas motions for me to follow them out the door. “Hurry up,” he says gruffly, not waiting. I didn't think I was late—Mellie said an hour, it hasn't been longer than that. Lifting the hem of my dress, I run as fast as I can in my heels through the open door. The sun is dipping behind the trees, turning the leaves ember-red.

Two black town cars are lined up in the driveway. Each has a driver inside, their faces disguised by the tinted glass. Silas opens the backdoor of the last car for Annie.

Miles motions for me to follow him to the first vehicle. His sunglasses hide his eyes, disguising any emotion I could have gleaned from them. He yanks the backdoor open for me.

Putting my hand on the seat, I start to get in the car. Suddenly I'm transported back in time, to the moment that I was taken from my home. It makes my head spin, chokes the air from my lungs. “Get in,” Miles grumbles impatiently.

Pull yourself together, I tell myself. I inch my way inside, shoving my dress out of the way so it doesn't get caught in the door when he slams it shut. There's no one in here with me—well, besides the driver. I recognize Theo in the rear view mirror. He glances at me then he stares out the windshield, waiting for some unsaid instructions.

We're at the head of the line, like they want to make sure they can see me while we drive, as if it's possible for me to take control of this car and escape. I don't even know how to drive a car.

I do my best to ignore their ability to make me feel like a prisoner even while we're about to leave the estate. It's the first time I'll have left in six years, and my heart is hammering louder than the engine.

I settle against my seat; the material clings to the backs of my arms, making me regret not grabbing a warm shawl in my haste. Squinting through the windows, I wonder if Dominic is in the car with his parents. I haven't seen him yet. “Excuse me,” I say, tapping the driver's seat. “Is Dominic coming too?”

Theo looks over his shoulder at me, then steers us through the front gates. “Pretty sure he had other things to do tonight.”

At least I can keep my promise to Kara easier this way. But thinking that doesn't soothe my disappointment. I also hate the fact that I'm going to have to deal with Franklin again, especially without Dominic on site to swoop in for another rescue. It's only dinner. I can manage a dinner.

As we drive down the road, I push my nose to the glass and sigh. There are tall trees lining the street, packed tight so that I can't see beyond them. Their trunks are a pretty light gray; the leaves look like orange and red sprinkles. There are bits of green still holding fast and I study them longingly. Green is my favorite color, but it also hurts my heart when I think about it, because it reminds me inevitably of the place I grew up in.

It was always so green there.

I know what a highway is, but I'm still amazed when we exit from the quiet street onto the bustling, multiple lane road. It's late in the evening and the headlights glow in the dark. I look straight at some of them and flinch from the blinding spots, but I don't care, I want to see everything.

My excitement helps me bury the lead ball of fear in my belly. It's hard to be scared of anything when I'm exhilarated by new sights.

Theo turns on the radio; a gentle rock tune comes through the speakers. Music is one of the things that I have access to at my discretion. There's a whole room of records, and even more racks of CDs, in the house.

I spent many hours just sprawled out on the wooden floor, looking up at the skylight as drums and guitars rumbled through my ears. Mom had a lot of music, too. She'd play it on a battery-powered radio that crackled more in one speaker than the other. I missed it.

Theo curves down a highway exit, depositing us a few minutes later onto a winding driveway. It's nearly invisible with all the brush pressing in on either side. There are no gates or any kind of barrier, which shocks me. I'm so used to seeing those sprawling metal bars locking me inside.

The house at the end is two stories tall; the roof peaked like an upside down ice cream cone. It's a pretty ivory color, the trim a jungle green. Lamps line the leaf-coated ground all the way up to the rounded steps of the front door.

The engine cuts, then Theo exits the car. He comes around and opens my door. “We're here,” he says. He reaches out to help me, and I let him do it because I'm worried my heels will slip on the foliage covering the ground. When I'm free, he lets me go and backs away, standing watch by the driver's side.

Silas and Annie step into view. Miles exits their vehicle, walking around, speaking quietly to them both. Annie turns away, her long, velvety blue dress swishing leaves from the path as she heads for the house's door. Silas comes to her side, cupping her elbow, helping her up the steps. When they get to the top, she moves away from him, a subtle movement—but I notice.

I follow them, wondering why we're the only vehicles here. “Are we early?” I ask.

Silas frowns at me, but doesn't respond. The door slides open, Franklin standing there in a pair of brown slacks and a white button down. He doesn't have a tie on, and I feel like we're all overdressed compared to him.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says with a chuckle.

I look around with fresh eyes. “This is your house?”

“It is,” he says cheerfully. He looks at Silas and Annie one by one, as if to ask something to them silently. “Come inside,” he finally says, backing out of the way.

I follow everyone in, noting that the place smells like cigars. It's a heavy, awful smell that burns my nose. The front room is big; all white tiles covered by a circular gray rug that leads to a staircase with a balcony extending around the room. I wonder where it goes, but I don't have time to find out, because the others are walking through an archway to the right.

I follow them, still scanning the walls curiously. There are no photos, only the occasional painting of a lake or something more abstract. I wonder if Franklin picked out the paintings. He probably has some designer who figured out what looks best on his walls.

Stepping into a softly lit dining room with reddish walls, I hang back from the group. The table is long and dark. There are candles set on it; they look like they were lit a long time ago, because the wax is dripping down the sides, the wicks very short. Either he doesn't have many dinner parties and is reusing the same candles, or he was waiting for us for a long time.

I count the chairs; seven, but none have place mats or plates. I don't smell food cooking, just the damn cigar-stink. I go to reach for a chair but Franklin beats me to it, pulling it out for me. “Thanks,” I mumble, sitting stiffly.

His hands are on the wood behind me, his breath on my neck. “I'm so glad you came.”

I force a smile and face forward, looking at the far wall, where a display of fine China sits in a cabinet. “Your place is lovely,” I say. I put my hands on the table, fidgeting. “Where is everyone else?”

“Oh, it's just us tonight,” he replies. I hear the smile in his voice even though I can't see his face from where he is behind me. Franklin moves into view, running his hand down the front of his shirt, outlining his rounded belly. He drops next to me so hard that the chair groans. Annie and Silas sit across from us.

“Did you get the recent packet I sent you?” Silas asks, reaching for a pitcher of water that was sitting on the table. The ice cubes are almost all melted. He fills an empty glass, sipping.

“Please, let's not talk about work right now,” Franklin says. “Tonight is about getting to know each other.”

He keeps sending looks at me, and I counter by staring into my empty glass. “What are we having to eat?” I ask, not because I'm hungry, but because I suddenly want to get this night over with as fast as possible. The sooner we get our food the sooner we can leave.

“Something special,” he says, drawing the last word out.

Annie and Silas exchange a look. “Will you excuse us for second?” she asks, rising to her feet. Silas stands, pushing his chair in, than hers. Both of them move through the archway that we entered. I wonder what they've gone off to talk about. Maybe the realized how weird this is, like I have.

“You haven't touched the water,” Franklin says. “Perhaps you'd like something stronger?”

“I'm only eighteen.” I give him a pointed look.

“No one would know but us,” he says, smiling wider. “Isn't it fun to be naughty?”

I'm trying so hard to pretend I don't hate his guts. I still remember what he said to me at the luncheon, about how he likes biters. I shudder at the memory. “They're sure taking awhile. Maybe I should check on them.”

His hands lie flat on the table. His nails are manicured neatly, if a bit plain, just like his house. Everything is sort of uninteresting, not much heart or life to it. It suits him. “They're fine. Forget about them.” He appraises me with a familiarity he doesn't deserve. “I'm so glad you wore that gold dress again. When I saw you in the ballroom, your hair swaying, that dress squeezing your curves, I knew I had to have you.”

Franklin reaches for me—I jerk backwards, jumping to my feet, sending my chair tumbling. “I'd like to leave now,” I say, as scathingly as I can. I'm struggling to hide my mounting terror. “Annie!” I call. “Silas!”

Some of his smile fades away. “They can't hear you. They wouldn't help you if they could.”

I'm beginning to hyperventilate. “There's no dinner, is there?” I back away, keeping my attention on him as I inch towards the archway. “This is some sick game. Annie! Silas! I—ah!” My heel catches the legs of the chair, knocking me on my ass.

Franklin prowls forward. The red walls reflect in his irises, giving him a demonic look. “Calm down,” he whispers gently. Crouching, he snatches at me. I think he's going for my arms, so I move them, but he grabs my braid, winding it like he's reeling in a fish. “You're making this into a bigger deal than it has to be.”

I claw at his sleeves. His thick jacket protects him. “Let me go! Whatever you want from me, I'm not giving it to you!”

His grip curls ever tenser. My scalp is a flaring ball of pain. Franklin lifts me until his lips brush my ear, his voice hoarse. “You know what I want. And you'll give it to me because I've already paid for it.”