Alace stared at her reflection in the mirror, smoothing the frown from her brows with the pad of one thumb. Not her favorite thing, dressing up, but something she could manage when the situation demanded. Dress carefully chosen with Querida’s identity in mind, it was stylish and fit well, but wouldn’t stand out as being a quality out of reach on a waitress’ budget. Palms to her hips, she gave the stretchy jersey a tug, settling it into place. Black with a high neckline, it dipped low in the back and had just enough swing to the skirt to make some dance moves slightly daring.
Her glance at the clock revealed she had another twenty minutes before Eric should arrive. Alace made the rounds of her apartment, checking the windows and back door, ensuring they were secure. Better safe than sorry. Glancing over her shoulder towards the rest of the house she knew to be empty, she opened her closet and pulled down a shoebox from the top shelf. Lifting the lid, she quickly verified the contents were undisturbed, then carried it over to place on the dresser.
Within the box were the anchors of her life. Her personal reminders of the upcoming job. This was how she chose to accessorize her décor. This is who I am. A folder, an envelope, two filled holsters, two filled sheathes, a tiny earwig, and a plastic bag with two even tinier circles of technology. Everything a girl needs to have a good time. She scowled, not certain why that thought stung.
Tonight, Eric was taking her to a fundraiser benefiting his stepmother’s favorite charity. Something to do with childhood cancer, no doubt. That was great for building support of a political candidate, and Alace knew it was no coincidence that tonight’s dinner and silent auction preceded the next election cycle by only a couple of months.
Stepmother, since a year to the day of the second round of accusations, his mother had filed for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. She remarried several years later, about the time Eric hit his stride in law school, and for the past seven years, he had vacationed every spring at her home in Malibu. Whatever differences there were, she’d kept her mouth shut. Not one whisper of her first husband’s scandals ever darkened her door. Colorado wasn’t that far, but once she got out, she was history as far as Ward’s life and campaign were concerned.
Alace contemplated the shoebox of goodies again. The fundraiser was at the Ward estate, but it would be highly unlikely security would allow attendees into the family portion of the house. Eric no longer lived there, so asking to see his etchings wouldn’t get her anywhere a bug would do her good. The devices were quality, so they weren’t cheap, which meant she couldn’t afford to waste them on an uncertain location. Chewing her lip, she decided on the earwig.
A sophisticated piece of technology, she hadn’t asked Regg where he'd located it, simply accepted it as a critically useful tool in her arsenal. It could work as a transponder, relaying everything in earshot to an accomplice, if she had one. It could work as a receiver, amplifying all detectable conversation and boosting the indistinct to audible. Or it could be connected to an innocent-looking app on her phone, one that didn’t actually record steps—she snorted—but conversations for later playback.
Retrieving the case, she picked up the earwig between finger and thumb and pinched, waiting for the screen on her phone to light up. Once everything was connected, she tucked it into her right ear canal, having already noted Eric liked having her on his right arm. That would put the nearly undetectable device on the opposite side from him, and if everything went as planned, he’d be the only one paying attention to her tonight. Blending was one of the things she did best, and it would be Eric who was on display as supporting his father, not her.
Ducking into the bathroom after putting the box back in its place, Alace studied herself in the mirror. Regg had tried more than once to get her to alter appearances, and at times, when no other way seemed open to her, she’d done so. Coloring her hair or wearing a wig, pretending a need for glasses, plumping her lips with collagen, all temporary measures intended to turn aside surface interest. This time, the face that stared back at her was her own, and she found herself inordinately glad the countenance Eric had seen was real.
Shaking her head at her own musings, Alace moved to the living room and had just gathered her clutch when Eric knocked. She took in a single steadying breath and then reached for the handle, slipping the expected smile into place. Showtime.
***
Alace stuck close to Eric’s side, not because she was uncomfortable in the elite fundraiser setting, but as any woman would who was slightly shy, but supportive of her date. She aimed for a delicate point somewhere between poised and polite when she greeted people as he introduced her. Eric’s hand was draped casually but possessively across her hip, and gave her a squeeze every time she leaned against him. Keeping up a constant stream of information, his preparation for each encounter made her grin. Clearly wanting her to feel comfortable, he gave her a running background on everyone who approached. “That’s his second wife. I don’t remember her name, but the kids don’t like her.”
She’d seen the why of that statement when the woman simpered at Eric, reaching across Alace’s body to boldly rest her hand against his chest while her husband looked around for a server and his next drink. When the couple had finally moved away after what seemed like a round of endless small talk, Alace tipped her head back and informed him, “I don’t like her, either.”
His easy laughter at her quip captured her full attention, and she watched his throat work with the sound of his amusement. When he met her gaze, he was still smiling, those lips remaining curved even as he bent to brush his lips across hers. The contact buzzed like lightning along Alace’s veins, reminding her in intimate places of exactly how well they fit together.
A quick glance around as he straightened confirmed what she already knew. “Everyone’s watching you.”
He leaned close, lips to her ear as he whispered, “Because I’m watching you.”
Pulling back, she glanced around again, then up at his face. Chin dipped to his throat, his eyes were trained steadily on her face. “Why?” A carnal look, dark and intimate, broke across his features and he had just opened his mouth when a voice from behind her caused it to snap shut. Eric’s eyes darted up, gaze fixed at some moving point over her shoulder, his brows drawing together into a scowl.
“Father.” His greeting was curt, brusque even, causing a sense of dread to crawl up her spine. There was no hiding her shiver from him, not when his arm had curved around her shoulder, pinning her in place.
“Eric.” Loud to the point of brazen, a man standing just out of her view spoke. Then a large hand, dark hair bristling from the backs of its fingers, reached around her and clamped tightly on Eric’s bicep. She stared across the width of Eric’s chest as those fingers flexed, wrinkling the fabric as they dug deep. Alace’s neck twisted, angling her chin to the side, and she looked up into Ward’s face. His attention was on Eric, which was good. Rage suffused every cell in her body, and if he’d looked at her, there was no doubt he would have recognized what she represented. Death, looking up at him from suddenly wobbly kitten heels. As it was, having his sole focus on his son gave her the time she needed to drag Querida back into place, settling the mask firmly over her intent. “Glad to see you made it, son.”
The rigidity of Eric’s body was unmistakable. He didn’t want to be sharing air with his father, much less have the man’s hand on him. Alace shuffled to the side slightly, and then let her ankle roll, stumbling. Eric moved with her, holding her upright, which dislodged the grip Ward had on him. It also had the unfortunate effect of directing Ward’s attention to her, but by then, she was ready.
“Your date, son.” A click of his tongue, as one would to a favored dog, made her stomach do a slow roll. “I approve.” Shoving his paw in her direction, he let it hang a moment before stretching another inch, making it clear if she snubbed him, it would be evident to everyone around. A waitress cum bartender wouldn’t do that, and she couldn’t afford to have anyone looking at her any closer than they already would be. Swallowing hard, furiously reminding herself she’d touched slimier things, she let him wrap his hand around hers. Up and down once, twice, and then she was tugging herself free, leaving no question in his mind that if he tried to retain his hold, she’d be the one making it apparent to his guests. Ward’s eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down, then effectively dismissed her, lifting his gaze back to Eric’s. “Haven’t seen enough of you this season, Eric. We’ll be putting together the campaign schedule soon. Should I just have Julie let you know when I need you?”
Eric’s voice was as tight as his muscles, even pitched low for privacy. “You seem to have selective memory. I’m pretty certain we’ve already had this conversation, and I felt I made myself clear.” Alace let her arm creep around his waist, holding tightly, giving him what she hoped was a clear signal of support. “I’m not going to be campaigning for you this go around.”
“I’ll let Julie work the details out.” Ward dismissed Eric’s argument breezily, as if it weren’t worth the breath taken to voice. “Dinner starts in fifteen. Don’t be late.” Clipped instructions that illustrated how out of touch Ward was. “Your table is next to mine.”
Ward turned, effusively greeting someone half a room away, and Alace took in a steadying breath as he moved in that direction, taking the mushroom cloud of anxiety with him. Meeting him in person had been worse than she’d imagined. Clearly Ward was entirely convinced of his own superiority in everything, and over everybody. That was why he felt invincible when it came to the women who dared speak against him, steamrollering them as effectively as he’d parted this crowd on the way to his next target. Give an egomaniacal person the taste of power and it becomes addictive. Feed them a steady dose and that need turns into a surety of privilege.
“Are you all right?” Eric’s mouth was so close the air around her ear trembled with his question, gusts of hot breath caressing her skin. “You stumbled.”
“Who’s Julie?” She straightened and turned, looking up, wondering how to play this. As he had since the beginning, Eric somehow saw past what she held as a disguise and into the center of her.
“You did that on purpose.” His tone wasn’t scolding but marveling. Tone quivering with laughter, he continued, “You did! Look at the way you’re blushing. Why?”
“You didn’t like him touching you.” She shrugged, dipping her chin so he couldn’t see her eyes. “It’s an old waitress trick. Less offensive than stepping away, and people are more likely to believe a stumble than an apology.”
For the second time since they’d arrived at the party, Eric threw back his head and laughed, the bold sound ringing through the tux- and gem-bedecked crowd around them. Crows and magpies, looking for a feast or treasure. “Priceless.” Bending close again, Eric managed to create a feeling of intimacy even though she knew there were a hundred inquisitive couples nearby. “I’d rather not stay for dinner. How about you? Mouth set on veal cutlet and cheesecake?”
“Won’t he be angry if you leave?” Not that she’d expected to get much of anything tonight, with such an impromptu setup, but she’d spent the evening much too far away from Ward to capture anything of interest. Adjoining tables, however, might give her a different angle. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure, Beloved.” Still cocooned in the cushion of space he’d created around them, Eric shifted so she was curled to his side. “I find I’m a selfish bastard tonight. I thought I’d like showing you off, but now I’d rather have you to myself.”
“And dinner? You’re still going to feed me, right?” He was set on leaving, and hesitating wouldn’t gain her anything. Giving way with grace, she reminded him, “I distinctly remember there was the promise of food.”
Chuckling, he took her words at face value, turning them towards the exit. “That’s something you’ll learn about me. I always keep my promises.”
“So do I,” Alace muttered, trailing behind him, clasped hands connecting them as he wove through the groups of chattering magpies, clustered around the power in an effort to find shiny things. “So do I.”
***
“Jesus, baby. You’re going to fucking kill me.” Panted in her ear, Eric’s words made her muscles tighten around him. “Fuck, baby.” This was something she’d noticed about him, noticed and liked. The fact he got a dirty mouth in bed seemed to draw her closer to the edge. “Mm-hmm. Oh, do that again, baby. So hot, the way you feel under me. Gimme more. Fuck.”
Breathing hard, Alace did as demanded, letting him ride her hips as they angled to meet every thrust. Giving him her mouth, she took every stroke, sucking hard when he groaned. When he rose over her, she kept her arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly for a moment, cool air snaking along her sweaty back as he lifted her from the bed. Collapsing back, her hands went over her head to wedge against the headboard, breasts offered as her back arched, and he bent his neck, mouth seeking. She brought one hand to her breast, cupping and directing the nipple to his mouth. Gasping aloud as he gripped with his teeth, she held tightly before Eric took her into his mouth on a voracious suck.
“God, Eric. The things you do to me.” Her words were panted, much as his had been. “Hard, God so hard. I love you inside me.” He rocked into her fiercely, hips rolling to grind deeper, and his growl was barely muffled by her flesh. “So close, honey.” He collapsed to his elbows, releasing her with a slide of his mouth up her chest. One hand shoved under her shoulders, up her back to wind into her hair. He gripped, angling her head for a kiss, and she gave herself to him. “Please.” The word felt wrong, tasting like ashes on her tongue, and she froze for a microsecond. She’d never begged for anything, not since that day. Shoving the memories down, deep, past the bottom of the hole inside her, she buried them in a way that meant she never wanted them to see the light of day. “Honey.”
Fool to think that instant of hesitation would go unremarked. Eric slowed, hips moving on a thrust now instead of pistoning. “Baby?” He pushed up, angling so he could see her face. “Querida? Are you okay?” He’s such a good guy. “Did I hurt you, baby?” She shook her head, lifting her hips, asking without words that he let her put this moment behind them. “Baby?” He ignored her unspoken demand and slowed further, each movement now a slow glide that kept the fire stoked, but allowed it to pull back from the raging blaze of before. “Is everything okay?”
What do you say to the man inside you when at that very moment you’re remembering being violated? Nothing, that’s what you say, because in no way did any man worth anything want to be thought of in the same nanosecond of emotion as a rapist. She couldn’t even apologize, or he’d demand to know what she thought he’d done wrong. Misdirection and lies. Her only defense was an offense.
“Did you hear that?” Fuck, I was so close, too. “I thought I heard the door. Just for a second, and then it was gone.” She smiled and rocked her hips, catching him in the cradle that seemed made for him. “I’m not used to your place.”
“Alarm is set, baby.” He smiled at her, threading his fingers through the hair at her temple, soothing her fears. “It’s just you and me here. No one to see.”
“Just us to hear you. Be quiet, bitch.” That’s what the recording had caught. What her ears remembered? So much more. Between one breath and another, she was caught, thrown back years and years to the terrified girl she’d been.
Trev had a grimy hand gripping her throat, choking the fight out of her. Mouth to her ear, he spoke, not even lowering his voice, unconcerned about witnesses. “Ain’t no one gonna hear you scream, Allie.” Off to the side, his cousin Steve crowed with laughter. “Well, we’ll hear you scream.” He gripped harder, and Alace saw stars sparking along the edges of her vision, blackness creeping in tight spirals. “But we don’t fuckin’ care. Make all the goddamned noise you want, bitch.”
That was the first of the seventeen lifetimes it took for the attack to end. Men and boys, so many of them, hands reaching out to twist and pull. “My fuck. Y’all get to watch this first time. Wanna bet me there’ll be blood?” There’d been plenty when he was done. Trev had pulled out and waved his dick at the circle of onlookers. He’d crowed then, proving the blood link between him and Steve. “Bitch let me tear her V-card up!”
He kept his palm on her back, holding her in place against the hood of the sedan he’d selected for use, hand around her throat as he casually measured the height against his hips, looking for a comfortable ride. Bent double, Alace couldn’t have run, even if waves of pain hadn’t still been ripping her in half. Her tights were cinched tightly around her knees. Hobbled by hosiery, she thought, and her laughter sounded suspiciously like weeping.
“Lookie at this,” he preened, wiping his bloody cock up and down her thighs, painting the skin red with her own blood. “Bitch is still bleeding. Tore her up.” He shifted behind her and prodded with the tip of his cock. “Least she’ll be wetter for seconds.” Pushing inside her, he proved his point with a vicious thrust as she writhed to get away. “Fuck, yeah. She’s ready now, boys.”
Steve was the second lifetime, and he’d yanked the gag from her mouth, fingers hooking around either side of her cheeks. He’d used that hold to pull her back against every plunge, forcing her body to fuck him as if willing.
“Baby, come back to me.” Crooning, this voice didn’t belong in her nightmare, and Alace thrashed, trying to escape the iron hold of the arms around her. “Shhhh, sweetie. Be still, honey. I won’t hurt you. Won’t let anybody hurt you anymore.” The voice seemed to know the gravity of those words, cementing them into place with the bonds of a vow. A promise he’d keep forever if she’d let him. “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again.”
She heard her own voice now, babbling, rising on a cry that exposed her truths. Things she hadn’t willingly confronted for seventeen years, scraped raw by a carelessly uttered word that had thrust her into the past. Her words, spoken on air where ears could hear. “I’m Alace. Still Alace. Alace Sweets. They can’t take that from me. I’m still Alace.”
Her name returned to her on a soft whisper, meant for her ears alone. Reassuring her that she’d been heard, even if, in the end, she didn’t want to be. Eric told her, “That’s right, baby. You’re Alace. Always my Alace.” With that, she surrendered, letting herself dive underneath the dark tide of exhaustion, tired from seventeen lifetimes of fighting.
***
As ever, when she woke it was as if she’d been struck, wide awake in an instant. Her gut seemed to be lying. It said she was safe; however, she knew waking in an unfamiliar bed was anything but safe. Ears straining, she sought confirmation she was alone, and the absence of heat or sounds nearby let her pull in a quick breath of air.
Pushing out from under the soft blanket that had been thrown over her, she crept to the door and pulled it open an inch, then two, letting enough light into the room to recognize Eric’s bedroom. Sheet and comforter still puddled on the floor where he’d tossed them before stretching out on top of her, the blanket looked to have been taken from a nearby chair. A glance at the window showed faint light, probably false dawn, given the lateness of the hour when they’d kissed their way upstairs.
Shoes and clutch would be on the main floor, but her dress—she crouched and scooped it from the floor, tugging it over her head, not bothering to look for her underwear. Out the door and down the hallway, she stayed close to the wall, listening intently. There. Light and sound from a downstairs room, off the hallway that angled away from the stairs she needed. Hand on the rail, she eased downward tread by tread, nerves singing at every creak of wood under her bare feet.
Her shoes were by the entryway table, but the top was bare, her bag nowhere to be seen. Alace angled her face towards that partially open door, getting close before forcing herself to stillness. A shadow passed between the light and doorway, and then back again. Eric’s voice raised for a word, and then hushed, as if he’d silenced himself. The single word overheard lifted every hair on her body as if charged with lightning. “Raped.”
Pressing her back to the wall beside the door, Alace listened, at first able to pick out only a few scattered words and phrases, stacking them alongside the others in her head as she wove them together. A noise, the groan of an upholstered chair. Eric had evidently taken a seat facing the door, aimed her direction, his voice grew clearer, filling in the gaps.
“No, Todd.” Todd Worthson was his best friend, an official judge at the courthouse, his place behind the bench where Eric stood in front of it. “Her name’s not Querida. I don’t care what her ID says. It’s Alace. Alace Sweets.” Breath thick in her throat, Alace stood on numb legs, listening to everything falling apart at once. “And she’s got this listening device. Like a hearing aid, but smaller than anything I’ve ever seen. Smaller than anything I’ve seen from Father’s security force, that’s for sure.” She’d removed the earwig on the way to Eric’s house, tucking it away in the case stored in her clutch. Where her tiny wallet was. Where her phone was. “Her phone’s locked, no surprise. Hell, I keep my phone locked all the time. But, it wiped itself after only two password fails. Who does that? I screw up my password all the time, most people do. Two tries and then a reset? Something’s so wrong here I don’t know what to do.” He paused, no doubt to listen to Todd. “We were in bed earlier and it was going well. Really well. It’s been off the charts every single time, man. But she freaked out. Bad. Shaking and crying, curled up in a tiny ball. She flinched when I tried to touch her.” Another pause. “Yeah, I figured that out on my own. A flashback. PTSD or something. She was crying so hard, sobbing.” Alace put her hands over her ears for a moment, then in the silence between her ears heard the lawyer telling her it looked weak. Hell with looking weak. It was pathetic. Folding her hands into fists, arms rigid at her sides, she listened to Eric’s voice calling out the death knell of their fledgling whatever it could have been. “She was raped. Sounded so young, too young. The things she said, how she described everything. All I could do was hold her. But then she said a name, and it wasn’t Querida Pansy O’Dell. It was Alace. Alace Sweets. I need your help, man. I need to know everything I can about her.”
Enough. Alace moved through the house to the garage door, flipping up a card taped inside the alarm panel to see the code written there. Found it in one. The discovery gave her no pleasure, but it made her exit significantly easier. The car keys hanging on their orderly pegs made his pursuit likely, but they were easily gathered up and stuffed into a decorative vase on the kitchen table. He’d find them, just not right away. Out the door, into the street, the kitten heels not the most comfortable running shoes she’d ever worn, but they’d do.
Twenty minutes later, she was exiting her apartment, backpack in hand. The only condemning things left behind were the items Eric retained possession of. Pulling away from the curb, Alace didn’t bother to look back. There wasn’t anything here for her. Never had been.