The Girl Who Wasn't Page 11

  “But if your family got money from the government, why does she work?”

  “Because even a sizable settlement isn’t enough to compete with uptown. And if we can’t afford that, the only place left is the outer rim and, well, you saw the luxury available there.” His words twist with sarcasm but I know it is not directed at me. I can only imagine what he’s been through, and though my own upbringing has occurred more or less inside the walls of a prison, I’ve wanted for nothing—or nothing material, anyway.

  We come to the edge of the wheat. There is a wide lane of shallow grass before the woods encroach and take over. I stop and stare into the trees, my back to the wheat and to Linc. I am still thinking of his story, of a world where everyone had enough, and I find myself wishing for a way to make it so again. I am struck by the irony of our opposing pasts. I’ve been raised lacking nothing in the way of meals and clothing and physical comfort, but the way he looks when he speaks of his family—I am positive I’ve never felt that sort of connection or bond with anyone.

  The closest I have is Lonnie and Ida. And I know I would do anything for them. But I imagine having a mother is a love that goes deeper than anything I’ve experienced with them.

  When I turn back, Linc is watching me with a strange expression. “What is it?” I ask.

  “Your hair is almost exactly the same color as the wheat.”

  “Ida used to say the same thing.”

  The words are out and it’s too late to take them back. Already, his expression has changed from one of earnest interest to one of baffled curiosity.

  “Who is Ida?” he asks.

  “She is … someone I knew a long time ago,” I say. I hope my vagueness will deter any more questions.

  He steps closer, depressing the tall grass with his boots and knocking it aside to plant himself in front of me. “You used to be a much better liar. Did the knock on the head really affect you that much?”

  I hear the demand in the question. I know he is frustrated. I am too. But I hold my ground. “I guess so,” I say with a shrug and what I hope is nonchalance.

  He sighs, searching my face for whatever different answer he was hoping for. “It’s like you’re a different person,” he murmurs, the words an exact repeat of the other day on the track.

  Like before, my heart clenches inside an invisible fist. For a terrifying second, I wonder if he’s figured it out. But he still looks lost and disappointed, and I know that he’s only speaking metaphorically. He has no idea it’s possible, that his words could be literal.

  “I’m still me,” I say. I can hear my voice strain to remain vague. “I guess the bump on the head just made me want to live a little.” I’m referring to the motorcycle. And him. But if he asks, I am prepared to say it’s the motorcycle.

  “What about Daniel?” he shoots back instead. His tone is nasty now. “You didn’t want to live a little with him?”

  “There are other ways to live besides hopping into bed with someone,” I say, suddenly furious that he’s ruined this beautiful moment by accusing me of such things.

  He shakes his head. “That’s what I mean. The old you wouldn’t have said that. The old you wouldn’t have even thought it.”

  “How do you know me so well?” I say, angry at his accusations. Angry because I cannot deny them, not without giving myself away. “You said yourself that we aren’t even friends. We don’t really talk. So how do you all of a sudden know what I’m thinking?”

  “I’ve spent enough time in the same room with you to witness how you choose to live. And none of it involves motorcycle rides, or turning down offers from boys with trust funds, or anything to do with me. You’re not deep enough for these things. You’re surface. You’re Raven Rogen!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I demand.

  “You know exactly what it means. You’re Titus’s daughter. In every way. You care more about the shoes on your feet than the people you step on with them. Me included. So why are you paying attention to me now?”

  We are yelling, but I don’t care. There’s no one to hear and I hate that he’s brought me all the way out here, confided in me, only to throw it all back in my face by reminding me who I am. Who I’m supposed to be. I’m no longer channeling Authentic Raven’s haughtiness. I’m channeling my own. Even if it wasn’t me who did all of the things he said, it’s me now. And I hate that I can’t explain the difference.

  “I have no idea why I’m paying attention to you. You’re nothing more than a rented security guard,” I snap at him.

  He stills and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

  I shouldn’t have said it. I almost don’t care because I’m angry and it felt good to unleash on someone. But I do care. I don’t want to hurt him, but I have.

  He doesn’t speak, which only makes me feel worse. After a moment, he strides past me and disappears into the wheat and I am alone.

  I stand there for a long time, muscles tensed. I am sure that any moment now, I will hear the motorcycle’s engine rev and he will speed off without me, stranding me in this barren field. It is not lost on me that I have a real chance to escape here. I could run in the opposite direction and not stop until I reach the trees. I could find a way to remove my GPS. They would never find me.

  I would be free from Titus. Free from the weight of Authentic Raven around my shoulders, in my head. My words would be mine. My actions. My life.

  And I would be alone.

  No Ida. No Lonnie. No Linc.

  It is the hardest decision I’ve ever made when I turn and walk through the grass. I do not stop until I emerge beside the motorcycle and the angry boy sitting on it.

  Chapter Nine

  Titus isn’t at breakfast the following morning. There’s the usual note about exercise and Gus stands inconspicuously against the wall near the door while I eat my eggs. Maria’s voice is the only sound as she asks me how I slept and if everything tastes okay. She has warmed up to me since the day Titus hit me, though she’s never spoken about the incident directly. I am grateful to her for that.

  My workout consists of the same routine as before: tennis with Sofia—who, unlike her mother, has not warmed up to me—then running the track followed by a shower and lunch. Linc shadows me but he doesn’t speak. I am tempted to try and smooth things over because I didn’t mean half of what I said in the wheat field, but he doesn’t give me a chance with the distance he keeps between us.

  Two days pass. Titus leaves me alone. I am not allowed to leave but neither am I forced into a public appearance or party. I exercise. I eat. I play dress up to pass the afternoons.

  On Wednesday, when I step off the track, Linc is there with a bottle of water. I take a swig and then continue my cool-down walk. He fades back into the shadows of the building and watches with folded arms.

  Gus meets me at the door a few minutes later. He has keys in his hand and he’s looking over my shoulder at Linc as he speaks to me. “Mr. Rogen has decided you should attend the event at Houten’s tonight,” he says.

  Behind me, Linc mutters a curse.

  “What event at Houten’s?” I ask. Gus ignores me.

  “A stylist is already waiting for you upstairs. Maria will meet you in your room after lunch to help you change,” he continues. “Linc, you’re with me for a security briefing, then you’re on protection detail with Williams.”

  “Yes, sir,” Linc says. He doesn’t sound happy.

  Gus nods at the door guard and together they disappear into the stairwell. Linc and I are alone in the gym.

  “What event?” I ask again.

  “There’s a charity dinner at a place called Houten’s tonight. You were invited but I didn’t think they’d actually send you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you always go to these. Which means your attackers will be looking for you.” He runs a hand through his hair and down his face in frustration. “Dammit, they’re dangling you like bait. This is insane.”

  “Why is it insane? You’ve a
lready protected me more than once.”

  “Houten’s is … trickier. More exits, more vulnerable points.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. If Linc is worried, I can’t help but worry too.

  He exhales. “Come on, you better get upstairs.”

  “Linc?” He turns from the stairwell door. “I’m sorry for the things I said.” His shoulders slump but he doesn’t respond. I can see he’s probably not going to. “Please, can we go back to being … friends?” I’m unsure if that’s what we were, but I call it that anyway and hope it’s not assuming too much.

  He growls. “When you say things like that … it pisses me off. The old Raven would never apologize and you’re just … not her. You don’t trust me enough to tell me why or how. And I can’t get past that.”

  “I know,” I say. It is the closest I’ve come to admitting the truth.

  He stares at me another moment and I’m sorry I brought it up because I can’t give him an answer he wants. “Come on,” he says finally.

  Maria is waiting in my room with a steaming tray of food and a woman I’ve never seen before. She is slender and tall. Taller than anyone I’ve seen, male or female. Her brown hair is swept sideways into a twisted tail and her halter-top gown reveals as much skin as possible while still being clothed. I can’t help but stare at her bared arms and chest. Every inch of skin is covered in tattoos. The designs are beautiful. Curving lines with tiny symbols drawn inside intricate shapes. The ink is a dark brown set off by her olive skin.

  “Raven, this is Stella. Titus says she mark you for the show tonight,” Maria says.

  “Mark me? You mean a tattoo?” I ask, still staring at the woman’s ink.

  “Yes. You eat then lay on bed. She work fast,” Maria says.

  “Hello, Stella,” I say when the woman comes forward.

  “Hello, Raven,” she says in a seductively deep voice. When she moves her arms, the symbols along her chest elongate like feathery wisps reaching out to me. She shakes my hand. Hers is warm and strong in mine. Her expression is soft, not a smile but something else, mysterious yet encouraging.

  “I’ll set up my equipment while you eat and then we’ll get started,” she says.

  “Will I look like you when you’re finished?” I ask.

  “You’ll look like the beautiful flower that you are,” she says in a voice leaving no room for discussion. I don’t argue. If my designs are as beautiful as hers, I will take them happily.

  I eat quickly under Maria’s hovering. When she and the cart are gone, Stella directs me to remove my clothes. Her eyes sweep the length of me and I am conscious of my exposed skin, but then she smiles appreciatively and I am at ease.

  I stand unmoving while she approaches. Her expression is serious now, her brows drawn in concentration. I can almost see her mentally placing curving lines and complicated symbols across my shoulders. Still, the scrutiny is thorough and intimate and when her eyes sweep lower, my nipples tingle and harden to points.

  Stella approaches with silent footfalls. Very slowly, she raises her hand and traces a curving line across my flesh. Goose bumps break out over my arms. Her almond eyes flit to mine and then back to my breasts. “You are very beautiful, Raven. I am privileged to mark you.”

  I nod, unsure of my voice or a proper response to her compliment.

  Her hand drops away. She returns to her equipment and the tension between us lifts. “Lie down on your stomach, please,” she says.

  I do as she asks and she spreads a sheet over my lower half before settling in a stool at the edge of the mattress. She bends over me and sweeps my thick hair off my neck. “Hmm,” she says.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, darling. I’m going to attach my design to your existing mark. Are you ready to begin?”

  “I think so.”

  “There is medicine mixed in with the ink. It will be uncomfortable at first. Then you will grow numb. Try to relax.”

  “I will try.”

  She flips a switch on the metal tool held in her hand and it buzzes to life. A sharp prick springs up where it touches my skin. I grit my teeth and hold very still as it moves over me. A few moments later, the discomfort is gone. I feel nothing. The only indication she is touching me is the soft buzz of her machine.

  Stella’s designs take the rest of the afternoon.

  We stop twice for me to stretch and move around between glasses of water. She doesn’t speak beyond describing the designs she’s carving into me. The numbing agent mixed into the ink helps me escape any pain or discomfort. I am asleep before she’s finished.

  When I wake, Stella is gone. The light from my window slants sideways, signaling late afternoon. I sit and stretch. The skin over my arm and ribs feels tight. I look down and gasp at the designs Stella has given me.

  Curving vines frame symbols and pictures. My favorite is a flower too exotic for me to name, wrapped amid thick stalks that curve all the way down my arm onto my ribs. Small scabs have formed over the lines of ink. A couple of them break open when I stretch my arm too far.

  I frown down at my sheets that are stained with small specks of blood where I rolled too far during my nap.

  There is a light knock and the door to my bedroom swings open. It is Maria, a tray of food in her hands.

  “You finished? You feel good? You eat.” She sets the tray on the bed in front of me and disappears into my closet without waiting for my answer. She barely looked at my tattoos but they’re all I see as I eat the meal she’s brought.

  A moment later, Maria emerges. She hooks a piece of floor-length fabric on the edge of the door and goes into the bathroom. The gown she’s chosen for me sparkles and shimmers and reminds me of a jungle pool I saw once on the nature channel. For the first time since assuming my role, I don’t mind the scanty designs of Raven’s wardrobe. It’s too beautiful not to wear.

  Maria is full of energy as she bustles back and forth, ushering me to finish eating and then running a bath that smells like freesia and lilies.

  In the bath, Maria helps me to gently scrub away the blood from the tattoos.

  When I’m bathed and dressed, I sit quietly in front of the mirror while Maria does my hair. It’s swept up and piled thickly against my head with a variety of pins and barrettes. Short wisps escape her capable hands and she leaves them to frame my face. My neck and shoulders are left bare to display Stella’s handiwork. The finishing touch is some foreign perfume Maria sprays on me as I exit. I wrinkle my nose at the heavy lavender scent and head for the door.

  When I emerge, Titus is waiting for me. He nods appreciatively at my dress and I see the relief on Maria’s face as she disappears around a corner toward the kitchen. I have to admit, the dress is magnificent. The way the fabric hangs and glitters makes me feel as if a waterfall is being poured over me at every step. The tattoos are a compliment, an artist’s design enhanced by the framework of the dress. Titus leans in and scrutinizes the area where Stella’s wok attaches to the tree on my neck.

  “Very nice,” Titus says, and though it’s probably meant to be a compliment I can’t help but feel as if he’s simply given me permission—not praise—to look like this.

  “The tattoos are semi-permanent. We needed to do something to take the focus off your product mark,” he explains.

  I am not as surprised as I should be that he would go to such extremes. Maybe this new world has already changed me.

  “Tonight,” he continues, “Gus and Linc and a few others will accompany you but not inside. They would be too conspicuous and I want this dinner to solidify to the public that you are healed and well from your past injuries and your amnesia is gone. Do you understand?”

  “I will be alone in the building?” I ask.

  I can’t help the nerves that are building in my stomach at the thought, especially after what Linc said earlier.

  “Your security team will be downstairs and you’ll be wired so they can hear everything going on. Daniel will be there, as well as p
lenty of others willing to spend any amount of time you’ll give them. You’ll be fine.” He leans down and lowers his voice and adds, “Just be her.” He straightens and pats my cheek in a way that feels like a slap. “Your bruises healed nicely. Let’s not come home with new ones, all right?”

  I am not sure if he means from an attack or from his own hand if I screw this up. The thought of either has me balling my fists at my sides and digging my nails into my palms. Footsteps sound behind me and I turn to find Gus and Linc.

  “Have fun, darling,” Titus says loudly enough for them to hear. Then he moves away to speak to Gus in a low voice.

  Linc joins me in front of the elevator. He takes in all of me and his jaw goes slack. My pulse quickens.

  “Is it okay?” I ask quietly.

  “It is … more than okay,” he says, his voice hoarse.

  I want to ask him to elaborate but then Gus joins us and Linc presses the button, and we file into the elevator. The last thing I see before the doors close is Titus, a twisted smile pasted on his angular face.

  The moment we step off the elevator, I know something is wrong.

  The doorman is missing and half the lights in the lobby are out. I hesitate as we step off the elevator and I feel Linc’s hand on my arm, gently pushing me behind him. With one hand, Gus motions us forward. With the other, he is talking rapidly into his radio, calling for backup.

  “Come on, the car is waiting,” Gus snaps.

  Through the glass front I can see a black car idling by the curb. Normally, our driver is standing there, waiting to open the door, but I don’t see anyone now. Still, Gus tugs me forward. I exchange a look with Linc. His expression is grave and determined as he searches our surroundings.

  “Boss,” Linc begins.

  “I see it,” Gus says. “Keep moving. We need them to show themselves.”

  We walk quickly across the hollow lobby and my breaths are coming so fast, my chest aches with the pressure of too much oxygen. The absence of a doorman doesn’t deter Gus. He shoves through the door without bothering to hold it for us. With one hand, Linc holds the door for me. His other hand slips into mine.