by Lana Sky
Scream?
Multiple women verbalize the same conflicting emotions in heartbreaking detail. At the same time, they speak bravely, without flinching from the trauma of their past, and an air of hope settles over the crowd by the time the final speaker delivers her message to thunderous applause. Riley takes the podium next, and as promised, she mentions my family’s donation and apologizes profusely for the confusion regarding my speaking.
So I don’t know why the hell I step forward, cutting her off midsentence.
“I… Um, it seems she would like to say a word after all,” Riley says smoothly while inching back from the podium. “Everyone, please welcome Snowy Hollings.”
The applause that follows draws heat to my cheeks. How unwarranted. I’m cheered only because of my name—that name. Hollings. A name tied to Forrest and the darkest, most twisted things festering in my soul. How ironic is it that the Hollings name can be coveted by someone fighting a crusade against sexual assault with no clue as to how hypocritical it is that I’m even here?
In a daze, I mount the stage anyway, and I face a crowd of people who should be sniggering. Laughing. Not waiting.
Not listening.
I don’t belong here, but no one seems to know it. They sit patiently in the lingering silence as I clear my throat, desperate to find words. In the end, I stop trying, pretending, and acting. I open my mouth and simply speak.
“I don’t belong here,” I admit before licking my lips to find traction to keep talking. “I’m not…I’m not a victim—”
Applause erupts, and I stiffen, mortified. They misunderstood me, thinking I meant the statement as one of empowerment. If only I were that brave. But I’m not.
“I wish I could say something inspiring or incredible like everyone else,” I add weakly. “But I can’t. All I can say is… No one wants to label events in their life as t-trauma.”
God, I hate that word, but there it is. Traumatic: an event that shatters the world as one knows it. Only now can I finally let myself use it. I inflicted trauma on Brandt Lloyd—and the man I’d grown up believing was my father inflicted similar damage upon me.
Someone in the audience coughs, drawing my attention, and I blink, remembering where I am.
After clearing my throat, I try again. “Why would we? You’re a good daughter. Or a good friend. You’re doing what you must. If someone hurts you, you deserve it b-because…” I break off, heat searing behind my eyes. God, not now. I blink rapidly, clenching the podium to the point of pain. Before I can run, I spot a familiar face in the crowd. Riley.
“Go on,” she mouths, nodding encouragingly. For the first time in so damn long, someone wants me to speak out loud, and I’m finding that I can’t resist the temptation, even if it stings.
“If someone hurts you, you think you deserve it. You believe it. Maybe it’s true…but… You aren’t responsible for someone else’s pain. Your feelings matter as well. Your body matters. No one should be allowed to violate it just because they feel they own it.”
My teeth clamp together over the last words as I marvel at their ferocity. Who are they directed at? Papa? Myself?
I don’t know, and as the crowd responds with applause, I don’t have to decipher them.
At least for now.
The rest of the event passes in a strange, dazed blur. For most of it, I follow Riley, greeting visitors with my plastic, fake smile. Eventually, she disappears, leaving me alone to my own devices.
And all I can do is stare.
The speakers mingle with the crowd and trade stories with visitors. They offer sympathy and convey emotions in ways even Mayfield’s most adept social manipulators never could. They’re genuine, and I find myself swept up in the chaos, just as riveted as the average visitor. It isn’t until I notice the sky darkening above the glass skylights that I realize just how long I’ve gone without stressing about Ronan or Hunter’s vigilance or fighting my own thoughts.
Haven feels more like a feeling than a name, and I wish I could make it last forever. All too soon, guests begin to trickle one by one from the auditorium until just a handful remain. I find Riley greeting the last few stragglers, but when she sees me, she nearly barrels me over in another hug.
“You are amazing!” she exclaims against my shoulder before pulling away. “You are amazing. Not one, but two donations, both equally generous?”
“Two?” I shake my head, convinced I’ve misheard her.
“Yes,” she insists. “Your associate delivered it by hand not too long ago.” Something in my expression must convince her to elaborate. “A man. Tall.”
I sigh. Has Hunter gotten in on the action, attempting to buy my trust back as well? Probably. He’s certainly charming enough to inspire the flush creeping into Riley’s cheeks.
“Dark hair,” she adds as a falling sensation washes down my spine, leaving me lightheaded. “Young. Handsome… Snowy?”
“I’m fine,” I whisper even as I clutch the edge of a table for balance.
She gently touches my shoulder. “Are you sure?”
No… The word won’t leave my tongue, but Riley’s already scurrying across the room.
“Let me get you a chair,” she calls back.
Movement catches the corner of my eye as a hulking figure steps from the shadows the moment she’s gone. Black stubble coats his chin, and bruises beneath his eyes reveal lingering exhaustion. From lack of sleep? Any concern I may feel is all but shattered by the coldness in his gaze.
I’ve never seen such a hard, frozen shade of blue.
I’ve never seen someone so furious.
“Don’t run.”
I’m not sure if I imagined the strained growl. Either way, I’m already racing for the main doors, weaving through the thinning crowd—but I’m not fast enough. Mere paces from freedom, my arm is seized in a grip of iron. One tug has me off-balance. Before I can get my bearings, I’m steered into a narrow room just outside the auditorium.
It’s small. Dark. I faintly make out a table and chairs, which reveals it to be a conference room of some kind—an ironic prison for Blake Lorenz to trap me in now.
“Let me go.” My breathless whisper lacks any conviction, but he releases me anyway. When my gaze darts to the door handle, however, he places his hand over it, blocking it from view.
“All I’m asking for is five damn minutes.”
“For what?”
His eyes narrow into slits. He’s wearing a dark suit, which bolsters his true intent: He’s not here for an idle chat, but business. “Seriously, Snowy, let’s not play this game.”
I’m not faking my confusion. “W-what game?”
“I’m sure you know the one,” he suggests, raising a black eyebrow. “It seems to always begin with you running from me.”
I can’t stop smoothing my hands over the front of my blouse, tucking every part of me away from his scrutiny. “Did I…offend you at the Sebastiáns’ gala? If so, I’m sorry—”
“The gala?” He laughs coldly, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy, Snowy.” There’s a hard note I can’t miss in his voice. Almost a plea. I’m trying my best. Don’t ruin it.
“Okay, then what do you want?” I demand cautiously. “You could call or send a message. You don’t have to ambush me—”
“I don’t?” He blinks. “Funny you’d say that, because I’ve been trying to ‘call or send a message’ every goddamn day for two months and you’ve yet to give me a single response.”
I shake my head, alarmed by the dark expression crossing his features. “You’re lying.”
“Am I? It seems your brothers have taken their roles as your gatekeepers much more seriously than you’ve given them credit for.”
“And they shouldn’t?” A defensive lump forms at the base of my throat. Ronan and Hunter have been nearly insufferable lately, but it isn’t like they don’t have a reason to be. “Let’s not forget the fact that you had them find me naked, wandering the woods alone after you burned down our house.”
“I haven’t.” He doesn’t even wince. It’s as if his face is a siphon, designed to filter all emotion. He’s so different from the boy he used to be that it blows my mind. Brandt would never be so callous. If anything, he’d sense the tears welling behind my eyes, and he’d already start wiping them away. King’s men, Snow, he’d murmur to reassure me. I’ll always be there to pick up the pieces.
“Fine,” I say thickly. “Then I don’t think we have anything to discuss—”
“Listen to me. I didn’t come here to fight with you.” The genuine note catches me off guard. “I came here to warn you. Tell your brothers that they accomplish nothing by sending the police to my goddamn office every morning. I’m not the one threatening you, though I think you have a damn good idea who is—”
“Threatening me?”
He scoffs, studying me with a flick of his gaze. “You know damn well what I mean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Damn.” A frown distorts his cold expression. For a second, he almost looks human again. Pitying? “They haven’t told you…”
I can’t keep the exasperation from my tone. “Told me what?”
“You’ve gone and got a bounty put on your head, Snow,” he declares. “A nasty one. What the hell were you thinking, messing with a man like Lyle Harlow?”
Oh God.
The name triggers a dark wealth of memories, both old and new. Lyle Harlow was my father’s lackey, known for engaging in criminal enterprises. Though it isn’t like I can judge Papa too much, considering that just a few months ago, I consorted with Harlow myself to find the whereabouts of one Blake Lorenz.
“I demand my payment in full, Little Hollings,” he warned me then. Only I never sent a dime.
I don’t have one to spare.
Suffice it to say that a man who’d murder a teenager isn’t above targeting an heiress to avenge a slight. “They haven’t told you,” Blake accused. Just what do Ronan and Hunter know?
“Did you fucking hear what I said?”
“Y-yes.” I turn away from him, crossing my arms to disguise how they’re shaking. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You went to Harlow. How could you be so fucking stupid—”
“And what if I did?” My vision blurs, and warmth paints my cheeks before I can swipe at the tears with the back of my hand. “Why does it matter to you?”
“Don’t.”
Alarmed, I look up and find him balanced on the tips of his toes, his entire body tensed like a coil ready to spring. I can almost visualize the ropes of his control snapping, one by one—a twitching finger here, a pulsing vein there.
Pulling his upper lip from his teeth, he growls, “You may not trust me, but at least give me the benefit of the doubt, Snow. Don’t you dare treat me like I’m a monster. Not again.”
I don’t mean to counter him. I don’t. But something hot rises in me like bile, impossible to keep back. “You cut my hair. You locked me away. You told me awful, vile things. You destroyed everything I ever cared about. What else does that make you?”
“Fine,” he says, his tone dangerously soft. “Then what does that make you?”
Any reply I could say dies in my throat. He’s right. I helped create the person he’s become.
“Maybe I’m even worse,” I rasp, regaining my voice. “So blame me. Hate me. Just let me go.” I start forward, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he seems to loom above, infinitely taller.
“You need to listen to me. Pay Harlow. You have more than enough money—”
“Your money,” I reply more harshly than I meant to. The money he made by selling off my family’s business shares while making me believe he would let me keep them. Blood money. “I don’t want it.”
“This isn’t the time for fucking pride, Snowy!”
I stiffen as he grips my shoulders and forces me to meet his gaze.
“Do you understand how much danger you’re in? Do you know what a man like Harlow would do? He’d make an example of you.” His fingers shoot out to graze my cheek, inching toward my healing scar. “He’d hurt you worse than I ever could. Pay him with the goddamn money.”
“Let…let me go.”
He immediately withdraws his fingers, scowling at the tips—but his opposite hand stays, rooting me to the floor. “You’re playing with fire.”
He sounds too serious. Too stern. My racing heart wants me to read more into it than I should. There’s something ominous in the set of his jaw. It’s the same way he looked the day he promised me the Hollings Estate.
“You’re lying,” I whisper.
“Am I? Or perhaps I’m here to ‘abuse’ you further? Violate your body? Claim I own it? Admit it: Was all that directed at me?”
My face overheats as I recognize the words of my impromptu speech spit back in my face. When I say nothing, he barks out a callous laugh.
“Of course it was. That was a rousing presentation,” he declares, mockingly clapping his hands. “But, even now, you still can’t accuse him out loud, can you? Say his name, Snow. Admit who really hurt you.”
Forrest Hollings. My lips flutter, but words won’t come. Ten years of lying and I can’t find the voice to speak the truth a second time, even to the one person who deserves it the most.
“I thought so,” he hisses. “It’s still easier to blame me, isn’t it? No matter what righteous reasons you may have had. Fine. I want to hear it from your mouth. So say it. Say I raped you for a second time—”
“Stop.”
“It’s what you let them think, isn’t it?” He cocks his head, his gaze honed with laser focus. “Say it. Use me as your goddamn scapegoat. Tell me I hurt you.”
Rape? No. But I can’t begin to classify the damage he’s done to me in other ways.
“You did hurt me.” That voice was a stranger’s, so weak. So pathetic.
“Did I now, Snow?”
I shiver as his eyes flash a dangerous blue.
“Tell me how.”
No. I turn away, but his fingers hook beneath my chin, wrenching my head around to face him.
“Tell me,” he commands. “This time, there is no judge. No jury. Tell me how I hurt you. In detail, Snow.”
“Stop it—”
“Say it.”
“Y-you lied to me,” I hear myself croak, sounding miles away. More tears spill down my cheeks without warning, hot and punishing. “You violated me. You made me feel…you made me feel like I was worthless.”
“Good.” He lets me go, leaving me to stagger for balance. “At least now you know what it fucking feels like. You want to die? Be my guest,” he calls on his way to the door. “But if you want to play the role of traumatized victim, try a little harder. Perhaps more tears as you run gasping from the room next time?” He chuckles while rubbing his chin. “Such intrigue swirling around, ever since your little display at the Sebastiáns’ gala. Bravo. You certainly had them all fooled. They’re whispering about who I am to you. An ex-lover? Blackmailer? High society minds certainly have quite the imagination.”
“I didn’t even know you’d be there,” I admit, my voice thick.
“Ahhh.” He rubs his chin, mulling over a different explanation. “Your brothers sure love exploiting your flair for the dramatics. Hunter, I bet.”
He laughs again, hollowly. Then he clenches his fist and slams it against the wall between us.
“I publicized that fucking donation,” he growls as I jump. “The whole damn world knew I’d be there. Then you show up, after avoiding me for fucking weeks, and you… You act as though you’re the goddamn one hurting.” His voice breaks, betraying something raw and ugly festering underneath. Just as quickly, a cold smile banishes any hint of anger. “Enjoy the drama, Snow,” he says while wrenching open the door. “I look forward to hearing all about how I raped you in the tabloids.”
He leaves, slamming the door behind him so fiercely that it rattles on the hinges.
All I c
an do is struggle to remain standing.
Chapter 5
I spend the next three days locked inside my room with only my window to connect me to the outside world.
Surprisingly, my brothers haven’t mentioned the treatment facility, and I can’t bear to broach the topics Blake brought up. Would Hunter really be so manipulative as to bring me into the man’s orbit, knowing I’d crumble?
The answer lurks at the pit of my stomach: He’s a Hollings. A part of me doesn’t want to go there. Perhaps my brothers are simply worried and the so-called threats against me explain their sudden eagerness to ship me away? I’m not brave enough to ask.
In a bitter compromise, we silently coexist. Mistrust festers, gathering in the air like water swelling behind a fragile dam.
Until it finally breaks.
I wake up smelling the first sign of danger: Ronan’s cologne. He enters my room without warning, and when I startle upright, I find him standing by the window, glaring at the streets below.
“Ronan?”
He cuts his gaze in my direction, and I gasp out loud. His eyes glow red—they’re so bloodshot.
“What’s wrong?” The blood drains from my face. “Is Hunter—”
“Why didn’t you say anything, Snowy?” He sounds rough, the way he does when he’s been drinking. Or…crying? God, he has been. Drying tears glisten on his skin, and my heart throbs warily. “I would have done something. I…I’d have killed that son of a bitch!”
Oh no. Only a few men could earn this amount of scorn from him. “What are you talking about?”
“This!” He throws something onto my bed that I didn’t notice him holding. Flat. Square. A newspaper.
The blazing headline makes me do a double take. Blood rushes from my skull and pools within my overworked heart. I can’t breathe. All I can do is read.
