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PROLOGUE
EMILEE
Emilee couldn't shake the sense of dread that had settled in her stomach as she moved through The Citadel. The night was supposed to be just another catering gig, another chance to earn a paycheck and move further away from her past. But the moment she spotted Catie in the crowd, everything changed. She’d never expected her to be at the BDSM club’s elite party. She’d heard through the grapevine that she was found and had gone through a year of recovery. Emilee was happy for her; she knew first-hand how hard recovery had been. Seeing her with the tall, sexy man, she was sure Catie had found more than just a second chance at life. She’d found love, too. Love. It wasn’t something in the bags for Emilee. No man would want her after everything she’d done in her life. Dirty. Used. Discarded. Anything but girlfriend material, let alone wife material.
After an hour of trying to avoid her, Emilee finally approached, her tray of champagne flutes trembling slightly. “Hey, Catie,” she said, her voice slicing through the din of conversation.
“Emilee,” Catie replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “You work here now?”
“New gig with Grand Ridge Catering,” Emilee nodded, offering the tray. “Never thought I'd see you here, looking all... clean.” Damn. That wasn’t the right word. Why was she so awkward?
“Life changes,” Catie replied tersely, declining the drink with a subtle hand gesture.
“Sure does,” Emilee agreed, her glance lingering for a moment too long before she moved away. They’d been best friends once. Could she call them that? Really? Were they ever best friends? Surviving the streets, with a needle in one arm or sniffing drugs off a random man’s table, they’d been inseparable. Together, they were safer. Sometimes, they’d even talk about their hopes and dreams, not that either of them was stupid enough to think they’d come true. One hit to the next, it was how they’d lived. She could feel Catie’s eyes boring into her back as she walked off, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on her shoulders. She knew she couldn’t leave it like that.
Taking a deep breath and summoning up courage from the tips of her toes, she turned back and found Catie again, sitting alone. The surrounding air seemed to tingle with static anticipation as she approached. It hadn’t been this way before. They were comfortable together; it was an easy friendship.
“Hey, Catie.” Emilee's voice trembled. “I couldn’t do it, just walk away without telling you that... I'm sorry. I couldn’t pretend everything was okay.” She was sorry Catie had been kidnapped and treated so poorly.
Catie's gaze drifted up, her eyes cold and distant. “Sorry?” Catie's voice cracked, barely containing her anger. “For what? For that night? For allowing them to take me and not doing a damn thing to help?”
Emilee nodded, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I was there, high out of my mind. You needed help, and I... I didn't get it.” In time anyway. She’d tried. Damn, had shetried. But she’d woken up in a hospital and no one could tell her anything about what had happened to Catie.
“Didn't…” Catie's voice faltered. “Ran away,” she whispered, voice laced with frost. “You ran when they came for me.”
“God! Yes, I did. I did. I didn’t know what to do…” Emilee's admission sliced the air, raw and jagged. “And I'll never forgive myself.” She ran to get help. Ran to find a police officer. She ran… and couldn’t remember what happened after she ran. The words wouldn’t come out. She choked on them.
“Neither will I.” Catie stood up, her body trembling with barely suppressed rage. “Do you know what they did to me? They kept me captive, shooting me up for compliance until… until they left me. Alone to go through withdrawal by myself in the middle of the cold forest. Do you know what withdrawing off heroin without help is like? I thought I was going to puke out my organs. The pain… the helplessness… the desperation–”
“Please, Catie,” Emilee reached out, a plea in her touch. She did run, but she ran to find help. She was strung out on drugs, sure, but she’d known the desperation of the situation and wanted to help her friend.
“Stop.” Catie recoiled, her voice a viper's hiss. “Just stop.” There was silence, a chasm stretching between them. Emilee watched as Catie’s face contorted with anger. She wanted to say something, anything, to make it right, but the words caught in her throat.
“Look at me, Catie.” Emilee's voice was insistent, demanding attention.
Catie lifted her eyes. “I see you,” she said, each word a hammer strike. “I see you. I see the coward who stood by and did nothing as her best friend was kidnapped by vicious, violent men.”
“Anything, I'll do anything to make it right.” Emilee's words tumbled out, desperate.
“Live with it,” Catie returned sharply. “Like I have.”
“Please, Catie, I…” Emilee's voice faltered. I tried. I tried to get help. The words wouldn’t come out, and even if they had, would Catie believe her?
“Stop,” Catie interjected, her whisper a serrated blade. “Just stop.”
“I was lost too, back then. I didn't know…” Emilee reached out a hand.
Catie recoiled, a reflex born from survival, not spite. “Didn't know? Didn’t know how to call 9-1-1? Didn’t know how to scream for help? Didn’t know how to report to the police what you’d witnessed?”
“I was high… I didn’t know if what I’d seen was even real until days later. But, look at you now, though. You're so strong.” Emilee didn’t say what she wanted. She’d woken up in the hospital and demanded someone look into Catie’s disappearance. The detective told her there was no evidence of a kidnapping, chalked it up to her being high. Told her it was a nightmare, not reality.
“Am I?” Doubt crept into Catie's voice.
“Of course. You've come so far.”
“Far?” A snort escaped Catie.
“From everything we were.”