Chapter 3
Audrey's POV
As the patrol car leaves, Vincent calls after it through the window. “Three days! I'll pick you up myself!”
He sounds certain enough that I nearly trust him.
One day in detention is enough to show me how foolish that is.
The woman who runs the cell is middle-aged, with a broad, heavy face. She gives me a once-over. “Fresh meat, huh? Don't look like you'll last long.”
On the first night, they keep me awake. A metal cup clatters beside my head. Every few minutes, someone kicks the frame of my bunk. I lie with my eyes closed, pain beating behind my temples.
The next morning, they send me to clean the toilets.
Old stains have hardened into black crust. The stench turns my stomach. Kneeling on the floor, I pick at the worst of it with my fingers until dirt wedges beneath my nails. The brush rubs my fingertips raw. Bloody water drips from my hands.
At lunch, the woman sits across from me with a steaming meal. She dangles a spoon in front of my face before tipping the bowl over me. Hot soup sinks through my clothes. I can't hold back a gasp.
All I ever get to eat is hard bread and soup that's already cold.
Later, she backs me into a corner, catches my arm, and twists as her nails bite into my skin.
“So your family's connected. Think that matters in here? You'd better learn who's in charge.”
I stay quiet. She releases my arm, only to seize my hair and force my face into the sink. Freezing water floods my nose. I struggle, desperate for air, my chest burning.
She pulls me out just when I think I won't get another breath.
Day three is worse. As I crouch down, someone kicks me in the back. I pitch forward, hitting the concrete hard enough that my ribs ache with every breath.
That night, I curl up on my bunk. My back, arms, stomach—there's nowhere that doesn't hurt. I'm covered in bruises. Vincent's reassurance comes back to me: “I've had people inside told to look after you.”
This must be what he meant.
I could almost laugh. I should have understood when I signed the consent form. To him, I'm something to use.
At least I won't have to endure much longer. My body can't take it.
Maybe it's easier to let it end here.
Across the city, Vincent sits in his office and suddenly presses a hand to his chest.
For a moment, a sharp pain makes it hard to breathe.
He takes a drink of water. Too much work, he tells himself.
Then he remembers me walking toward the police car. The blank look on my face as I signed the donation papers.
He puts the images out of his mind.
He's taken care of everything. Three nights in another bed—that's all this is. Once Chloe has her operation, things will settle down.
He knows he owes me. But he's doing this to save my sister. Surely I can understand that.
He phones his consigliere. “Reach an agreement with the victim's family. Whatever they want, pay it. And make sure her bail gets sorted out within three days.”
On the fourth day, I sit in a corner and look through the bars at a small patch of sky.
He's not coming, I tell myself.
Some part of me waits anyway.
The day passes without him.
Late on the fifth afternoon, the door finally opens.
His lawyer has come. He hasn't brought the promised quick resolution. The victim's family refuses to settle, he says. They've hired an attorney of their own, and Vincent is still dealing with it. The lawyer has finally arranged my release on bail. The operation has already been delayed while I've been in custody, and now Chloe's condition has taken a sudden turn. It can't wait any longer. Vincent wants me at the hospital immediately.
I run my fingers over the bruises on my arm. My head hurts so badly I can hardly think. A laugh escapes me.
So that's the hurry. Not concern. Not guilt.
He needs the kidney now.
I get to my feet. “I'm ready.”
This is it, Vincent. I won't be a fool for you again.
Rain is coming down hard when I step outside.
No one is waiting by the entrance. The lawyer is already behind the wheel. He lowers his window a little. “Mr. Hawthorne's at the hospital with Chloe. Order yourself an Uber. They're ready in the OR, so don't waste time.”
Then he's gone.
In my pockets, I find a handful of wrinkled bills. Just enough to get me there.
Water streams off my hair and soaks my clothes. I manage to hail a cab and tell the driver which hospital.
The downpour grows louder. I sink against the seat, feeling so light I can barely tell where my body ends.
At the hospital, I make my way toward the private wing Vincent's guards are watching.
I hear laughter before I get to the room.
“Vincent, once I'm all better, will you take me to the Maldives? For our honeymoon?” Chloe asks in her sweetest voice.
“Anything you want,” he tells her, just as gently.
Mom joins in. “Nothing's too good for our little girl!”
Nausea rises as I stand outside. I hold the doorframe to keep from falling.
Vincent comes out and stops short at the sight of me. Then his expression tightens.
“Jesus. What happened to you? You need to clean yourself up. They're waiting.”
A nurse leads me away to prepare for surgery.
On the chilly gurney, I watch the ceiling lights without a thought in my head.
They bring Chloe in and park her beside me.
She takes one look at my face, widens her eyes, and covers a laugh with her hand. “Wow, Audrey. Where did they drag you from? You look awful.”
She bends toward me. “Can I tell you something? None of this is real. I've been pretending.”
I look at her without surprise.
As though I hadn't noticed.
When has she ever seemed ill? And what would happen if I told them? They'd call me jealous. Say I was trying to ruin things again.
Going along with it is easier than another fight.
I won't be alive much longer, either way.
My gurney begins to roll.
When we reach Vincent, I look straight at him.
“If you ever find out you loved the wrong person and hated the wrong one,” I tell him, “don't cry.”
