Page 78 of Selling Innocence
Bray had come to the small village where one of my many boarding schools had been. My father had ended up putting me in ones in small towns, since he thought I could get into less trouble than in the bigger cities. Bray had shown up out of the blue and signed me out for a day.
I doubted my father had put him on the records, but Bray could hack any computer system, so he had probably just added himself. He’d taken me for ice cream and listened as I’d rambled.
Bray had never been much of a talker, not one who made a point of having deep conversations, but he’d never failed to listen. I’d said I hated it there, that I wanted to come home, to them all, that I was tired of being alone.
He’d said nothing as he’d listened, as he’d let me pour out all my worries. When I’d finished, he’d patted me on the head and told me to follow him. I trusted him enough that I didn’t even care where we were going. I’d have followed him anywhere, knowing if he was with me, I was safe.
We went to a small store full of comfortable clothing, the sort of things girls liked to wear when they had nothing special planned. Looking back, it made me want to laugh. Bray was hopeless when it came to feelings, so it wasn’t a shock that he had no idea how to respond with words.
Besides, he was in a hard place anyway. He couldn’t do anything about my problems. He was bound to my father, to obey him, which meant he was as trapped as I was.
So instead of empty promises he couldn’t keep, or telling me to suck it up, telling me it would get better, he’d taken me to a shop and bought me anything I looked at. When I’d gone back to my dorm room, I’d buried my face against the soft fabric of the pajamas as if those were a sense of home. From that point on, they always made me feel as though I had a home, that I had a family that cared about me no matter how alone I felt.
Suddenly, I knew I needed that feeling, and when I put on the pajamas, I had that same sense that I wasn’t alone.
My last task was to braid my hair back after towel drying it. I secured the bottom with a tie, then looked into the mirror.
Yeah, no wonder everyone asks if I’m sleeping well.
The dark circles under my eyes were the kind that people working graveyard shifts had. Maybe I’d luck out and manage sleep tonight.
“Kenz?” Hayden’s voice floated through the door, into my little haven that was the steam-filled bathroom, breaking the peace.
“Time to face the music,” I muttered before twisting the handle and opening the door.
If I had any question if Tor had ratted me out, Hayden’s severe expression told me. I plastered a forced smile on my lips, pretending I had no idea what was going on. “Did I take too long? Sorry, but this house has the hottest water and the best pressure I’ve felt since moving to Florida.”
Hayden didn’t even smile back. So much for a nice little conversation. “Come on, let’s talk.”
“Right.” I followed him down the long hallway, surprised at how not-worried I was.
Yet again, I’d faced off against the Quad. I’d survived interrogations from them since I was old enough to talk. These four couldn’t break me, especially as I got to know them more and more. They might act tough—and don’t get me wrong, they were tough—but they’d proven they wouldn’t hurt me.
When we reached the living room, I had a moment of déjà vu, recalled when they’d questioned me about the contents of my safe. They all sat in the room, waiting, nailing me with hard, loaded looks as soon as I stepped into the room.
And for a moment, I regretted my clothing choice. There I was still damp from a shower, in a thin tank top and a pair of baggy cotton pants while the four men were fully dressed. Even the fact they wore shoes while I was barefoot set up the dichotomy of our power.
Instead of letting them see that, though, I sat on the couch beside Char and folded my legs beneath me. No one spoke at first, but I endured the discomfort from that.
I will not break first.
As usual, Hayden spoke first. “Let me see.”
“See what?”
He narrowed his eyes, a rare show of temper. I guessed that proved how serious he found this. His tone brooked no argument. He wouldn’t accept me just saying no, so one way or another, he’d get a look at the scar.
Which meant showing was a better option than having them force me—which I was sure they’d do, next.
I sighed and leaned back, gripping the hem of my shirt and lifting it. I tore my gaze from his, hating exposing myself so much.
In fact, a part of me wondered if I wouldn’t have been more comfortable flashing every part of me to them rather than letting them see that scar.
Hayden kneeled in front of me, and I jumped when his fingertips brushed my bare skin, to the edge of the mark.
“Easy,” Hayden said, his voice carefully soft. It wasn’t the same coaxing, sweet voice he used normally, the one when he smiled at me. Instead, this came across forced, as if he used it to smother something deeper. He didn’t pull back, tracing the edges of the scar. He set a hand on my shoulder and pressed me forward, finding the exit wound on the back, following the same manner he’d used at the front.
I shivered at his touch, feeling as though he tore open the wound.