“That’s him,” I mutter.
Blush catches on instantly, eyes narrowing and we move casually, like we belong here, drifting closer to the corridor’s edge just as another woman approaches.
She’s tall, lean, her mask glittering under the light. She’s clearly one of the club’s workers, gliding in the same direction Gray just went.
We wait until she’s just ahead, stalking behind her, watching our surroundings and when she’s close to the room, we pounce.
I grab her from behind, one arm tight around her waist, the other clamping over her mouth. Blush cuts her off from the side, wrapping both arms around her upper body. She lets out a muffled cry, heels scraping the floor, but we’re already dragging her back into a nearby closet.
The door slams shut, and darkness swallows us.
The smell of cleaning chemicals fills the air and the girl struggles, but Blush is already on her knees, tying her wrists with something she found on a shelf. Crouched behind her, I keep my hand firmly over her mouth.
“Shhh,” I whisper into her ear calmly. “We’re not here for you. Stay quiet and you’ll walk out of here just fine.”
Her eyes, wide and shining in the dark, plead with mine. She’s scared. I feel it in her body. But I don’t look away. I can’t afford to. I know that fear too well—it’s why I’m here.
She nods, almost gradually, and finally goes still. When she’s secured, gagged and tied to an old radiator, me and Blush get to our feet, both breathless.
“You good?” she asks, and I nod once, then pause with my hand on the door.
“I’m going in alone,” I declare, but her hand on my shoulder stops me.
“No you’re fucking not. We’re doing this together. I’ve got your back, but I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” She whispers sternly, her pink eyes boring into mine.
I sigh, knowing I don’t have enough time to argue with her or change her mind. We step out into the corridor, one slow breath at a time, and start walking toward the man who thought he’d never face me again.
Blush slips in first, her steps smooth and confident, and I trail behind her, my heart slamming against my ribcage. The room swallows us whole—dark, soundproof and suffocating.
Then I see him. He’s in the corner, slouched in a deep leather chair, one leg lazily over the other, sipping on a glass of whiskey like it’s just another night for him. The pole in the center glints beneath the low light, the walls black and padded like the inside of a coffin. I stand there, frozen, as Blush eases the door shut behind us with a soft click before turning the lock.
And I just… stare.
He’s older, yeah. But not just aged, he’s depleted. Like life’s been gnawing on him, bit by bit. His once-vivid green eyes are sunken, like something behind them died and no one noticed. His jaw is tighter, stubble at the edges. The man sitting there isn’t the boy I once knew—if I ever really knew him at all. Maybe karma got him before I even could. Maybe he was cursed for the things he did.
My head tilts slowly as I study him, a cocktail of hatred and disbelief boiling inside my veins. He leans forward, placing the drink on a side table, like he’s settling in for the show.
He was never a victim of my foster brothers. He was the architect. The conductor of my worst nightmare.
What kind of man sets up the young, tortured girl who loved him, to be raped horrifically and left for dead? For what reason? It doesn’t matter. He could never justify it.
My throat burns and my eyes well, but I won’t show it—not here, not in front of him, not ever.
I gave this man my innocence.
My first kiss. My trust.
And he dumped it like trash, like I was just another pawn in a sick fucking game.
He lifts his hand, fingers curling in that arrogant little gesture, calling us forward like he owns us.
Blush and I share a quick glance at each other, just a flash of understanding, then we edge closer together.
When we stop in front of him, his bloodshot eyes sweep over both of us. He squints, trying to make sense of the double vision, whether from the drink or the unexpected duo. His brow furrows, and he leans back into the chair with a sluggish exhale.
“There’s two of you?” he mutters, holding up two fingers like he’s not sure they’re real.
I glance at Blush knowing I can’t speak. Not yet. The second he hears my voice, he’ll know it’s me. It needs to happen at the right time. I was planning to make it work somehow, even on my own. But now, standing beside her, I can already feel the backup I didn’t know I needed.