The Girl Who Wasn't Read online

  Behind me, the stairwell door bursts open and several more of our security detail pour out and race across the lobby. They are not fast enough.

  The moment my feet hit the sidewalk, a hand closes over my shoulder and I am ripped from Linc’s grasp. I stumble backward until I slam hard against a chest and the hand on my shoulder becomes an arm wrapped around my throat. Another encircles my waist.

  I have a full view of Gus and Linc—and the men they are fighting off—as I am pulled farther and farther away from them. Linc’s movements are a blur as he manages to sidestep an uppercut punch and produce a gun from some hidden place on his body. He points it at my captor for a split second before realizing I am the barrier between his bullet and my freedom. He lowers the barrel and his attention is redirected as he’s forced to dodge another swing.

  I am yanked again, this time into an alleyway, and abruptly released. The momentum sends me hard against the wall of the building. My back hits first, driving the air from my lungs, and then my head. The pain is instant and splitting, and I cannot see through the cloudy darkness that blurs my vision. I swing out but my fists connect with empty air.

  I blink furiously, but it’s not in time to avoid the fist that crashes into my stomach. Then another. The only thing keeping me on my feet is the force of the fists holding me against the hardness of the wall.

  A shot rings out. The blows cease and my knees buckle. I’m aware of a body slumping to the ground at my feet. The face of my attacker swims into focus. I know him. The realization makes me sick. My stomach heaves though nothing comes up. It’s the boy. The one I saw in the lobby last week. He and his friend asked for my autograph.

  I begin to crumple. Footsteps approach at a run. A pair of arms dart forward and I flinch but it’s not another punch. Instead the hands slip underneath my arms and yank me up so that I’m somewhat on my feet.

  “Raven Rogen,” a voice says. The fact that it is female startles me enough for my eyes to open. I struggle to focus on the face swimming in front of me. The orange hair is like a burning halo framing a face that is strikingly familiar.

  “I know you,” I mumble.

  “You don’t know anything,” she says.

  “I met you … gave you my autograph.”

  “Signature sample. Very handy with the right technology. We had to be certain.” She leans in until our noses almost touch. “I know your secret,” she whispers.

  Farther away, someone shouts. It pulls both of our attention, though I can’t see far enough to identify the owner of the voice. More shouts. Feet pounding.

  She turns back to me but I continue to crane my neck past her to the shouting. I hope help has arrived at last.

  “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way. Time for light’s out.”

  I look back at the girl just in time to see her petite fist slam into my temple. Then her hands cup my cheeks and my head is slammed against the wall. There is a sickening thunk and I know she’s broken the skin. Her hands slide lower to my throat and begin to squeeze. I manage two very short breaths before my oxygen is cut off. I thrash wildly, kicking and clawing for purchase. Anything that will make her let go. But it’s not enough.

  Darkness edges into my peripheral vision and widens until it’s all I see.

  Fog encroaches, threatening to take me under but I refuse. I am vaguely aware of a commotion beside me. A small scuffle. I kick out and my toe connects with the girl’s shin. She grunts. The pressure around my throat releases. By the time I understand it, the redhead is gone and Linc is kneeling over me.

  One of his hands cradles my back and the angle at which he holds me sends a sharp jolt up my side. The other is pressed tightly against the back of my scalp. Too hard. I wince against the pain that is not unlike the migraine I experienced a few days ago.

  When it’s obvious I’m awake, Linc’s voice breaks. “Raven,” he says. It’s half whisper, half desperate cry.

  “Linc.” My lips form the word but the sound is garbled to my ears.

  He shakes his head and shushes me. “Don’t talk. Your throat … it must hurt.” His expression is full of agony, his tone soft and smooth, like a blanket. I shiver. He shakes his head again. “Josephine is on her way down. Just sit tight. Don’t try to move, all right?”

  I shake my head once but the pain pinches sharply so I lie still. With measured movement, Linc frees one arm while still holding pressure against my head with the other. Gently, he brushes strands of escaped hair away from my face, smoothing it sideways and sweeping it behind my ear. I don’t realize it’s the right side until his glance catches on the ink.

  “This tattoo… it’s different than the others.” His hand stills and he leans closer, inspecting. “Is that a … tree?”

  I am blissfully grateful he’s instructed me not to speak. Behind Linc, footsteps sound, and we both stiffen. He glances back, his body blocking my view. I don’t breathe until I feel him relax.

  “Raven?” I recognize Josephine’s voice at the same moment she bends down and her face swims into focus. “Oh my God.” Her gaze sweeps down my neck and chest and her jaw slackens. Her reaction to my appearance is almost as bad as the pain.

  Beyond her, I can make out the blurry shapes of more security guards as they finally arrive from upstairs or wherever Titus has summoned them from. Gus’s white hair shines in the glare of a streetlamp as he moves between the men. None of them approach us but many glance my way with twisted expressions.

  “Does it hurt terribly?” Josephine asks, calling my attention back to her, to the pain.

  I open my mouth, prepared to attempt an answer, but Linc beats me to it. “I don’t think she should talk. Her chest and neck look badly bruised, Jo.”

  Josephine nods. “What happened?”

  “She was strangled,” he tells her in a strained voice.

  “Who …? Did you catch them?”

  He shakes his head. “A couple of her thugs but not the ringleader, the one who had Raven.”

  “A girl did this?” Josephine asks. The disbelief is clear.

  “Well, not alone, obviously,” Linc says. I want to laugh at the defensive note in his voice but I don’t. Nothing about this is funny. Then the face of my attacker appears in my mind—the memory of that burning halo of hair.

  I struggle to sit forward, determined to tell them what I know, but Josephine’s hands gently push me back. “Don’t try to move just yet. Let me have a closer look.”

  She pulls a stethoscope from her bag and presses the cold metal to my skin. I flinch. Not because of the coolness but because even the light contact of the metal pressed against me reignites the sharp pain of my raw and bloodied skin. Some of the scabs covering my tattoos have broken open. The fresh blood and dark ink run together with the swollen bruising.

  “It’s all right,” she murmurs over and over, her voice doing that sing-song thing again where I don’t so much hear the words as feel safe and comforted by the sounds they make. A small light is shined directly into my pupils and then pulled away. I blink and squint until it disappears. I am asked to recite mundane facts. Date, time, my address. I stumble over my full address but manage to get out the correct alias in a garbled whisper.

  When it’s over, I sit back. My throat burns and my chest aches.

  “What do you think?” Linc asks when Josephine has thoroughly looked me over.

  “Believe it or not, I don’t think anything’s broken,” she says. “This bruising to her windpipe is another story. And her chest and neck are pretty battered although some of it is the fresh tattoo breaking open.”

  My confusion is dulled by pain. How can my body hurt this badly and not be broken?

  “Can we move her?” Linc asks.

  “Let me give her something first,” Josephine adds. She reaches into her bag and produces a syringe identical to the one she used the day of my headache. Without being told, I stretch out my arm, exposing the vein in the crook of my elbow and will her to hurry.

  She takes the ti
me to swab my skin with a white cotton cloth and then the needle pricks as it enters and she depresses the plunger. I begin to count. At five, the pain recedes. At eight, it is bearable. At ten, I can breathe again.

  “Better?” Josephine asks.

  “Nod, don’t speak,” Linc reminds me. We both shoot him a look. “It might not hurt now but those drugs are only so strong.”

  I decide it’s better to be safe than sorry and nod my agreement.

  “Good, let’s get you inside,” Josephine says. She looks to Linc. “This would be easier with a gurney. A wheelchair. Something.” There is a hint of frustration I’ve never heard from her before. She’s usually so patient.

  “He doesn’t want her to appear weak. You know there’s a crowd gathered at the door,” Linc says. “Half of them are reporters.”

  “Isn’t there a back way in?” she asks.

  “There is. He’s ordered us to bring her in the front. He wants them to see her walk away from this.”

  “What the heck does he think she is? Some sort of superhero?”

  Linc doesn’t answer. I see them exchange a look before finally turning back to me. “Do you think you can walk?” Josephine asks me gently.

  We all know there’s no other choice but to say yes. I nod.

  They talk me through how we’re going to do it and then gingerly, with one of them on each side, they pull me to my feet. The drugs have dialed the pain back enough that I manage to keep my legs under me. Josephine produces a towel and directs my hand to the place where pressure should be applied to stem the flow of blood. Then we are ready.

  Adrenaline fuels my steps. I am determined to see this through. The thought of being in my own bed, the soft sheets, the mountain of blankets … Maybe Josephine will give me another shot and I can sink into oblivion and forget about what happened for a few hours.

  “Wait,” Linc says, pulling us to a stop at the mouth of the alley. Already, I can hear the volume of the crowd gathered around the corner.

  “What’s wrong?” Josephine asks.

  “I think you should let me lead her inside. You can cut a path for us to get through.”

  “Linc, I don’t know, she’s really unsteady.”

  “You know it will only make her look weak to be carried by both of us.”

  Josephine doesn’t argue.

  “Raven?” Linc says. “Do you think you can walk well enough for Josephine to let go?”

  I think long and hard about his question before answering. I don’t want to say yes only to stumble and fall halfway there. But I know that Linc won’t let that happen. He will hold me up. I nod.

  “Good girl. These people will be looking for weakness. Your attackers could be among them. You need to appear strong. Can you do that?”

  I nod again.

  Josephine slides her arm free from where she’s wedged it underneath my own. I lean harder on Linc to compensate. I waver and then recover as he pulls me closer against him. When I am ready, I put one foot in front of the other and we begin.

  The men part for us as we pass. I see Gus watching but I turn away from him. He is no better than Titus, standing by and watching others try to kill me, only picking up the pieces when it’s clear they have failed. I hate him almost as much as I hate Titus Rogen. And that’s no small thing.

  We pass through the last of the security perimeter and I see the onlookers. They are blocking traffic where they’ve crowded the street in front of Rogen Tower. The doorman is back, looking rumpled and scratched but otherwise intact. He looks beside himself with all of the bodies pressed in around him.

  “Bad news travels fast,” Linc mutters.

  Just along the front is a narrow pathway for me to pass by the cordoned area. It is so close to the surging crowd, I can feel some of them reach out and touch me as we pass. They all shout questions. Flashbulbs go off.

  It is obvious why Titus wanted me to walk. These people are like vultures, claiming they want to see you well but ready to swoop in and devour you the moment you show vulnerability. I will not show them weakness. To do so would confirm everything Titus thinks about me.

  I keep my head down, allowing my hair to curtain my face and neck as much as possible. Still, I can hear the gasps and whispers from those in the front as they see my bruised and bloody flesh. I know it must be bad.

  “Who did this?”

  “Was it about sex? Or drugs?”

  “Does Daniel Ryan know you like it rough?”

  The last one is enough for me to turn my head. A reporter with a beaked nose and thinning hair smirks at me. Linc growls and I look away.

  After what feels like hours, we reach the lobby door. It is swept open with gusto as the doorman is finally allowed to complete his only task. We enter, and I can feel the moment it shuts again. The noise and swirling air cuts off abruptly and leaves a quietness broken only by the sound of our labored breaths as I hobble toward the elevator.

  Josephine rushes ahead and presses the call button then races back to where Linc and I continue our trek, slow and steady. She hovers beside me, matching her pace to mine but never touching me. I can feel the stares of the crowd boring into my back through the glass front doors.

  On the ride up, all I can think about is the redhead’s words: I know your secret.

  When the elevator doors open, Josephine tucks her arm underneath mine and they lead me down the hall. By the time we reach my bedroom, I am terrified. I still haven’t seen or heard anyone since stepping off the elevator. Even Maria is conspicuously absent.

  As I’m helped into bed, I am aware of the gown that still clings to me, though it hangs precariously off one shoulder and has holes all along the bottom hem. Neither Linc nor Josephine comments on it as they go to work bandaging my head and sponging off the open skin along my ink. They tuck me in and pull the covers up tight against my chin. Only then, with the silken sheets rubbing against my bare arms, do I realize I am shivering.

  Linc and Josephine retreat and for a moment, I am scared they will leave me but they only hover near the door and exchange whispers.

  “He’s going to be furious,” Linc says. “But I couldn’t just leave her there to go after the chic.”

  “You did the right thing,” Josephine tells him.

  He snorts. “That all depends on who you ask. I’m probably fired. Or worse.”

  Josephine doesn’t comment on the last part. I shiver, wondering how real the possibility is that Titus would harm Linc for failing an assignment. “Who do you think she is, the girl who did this?” Josephine asks.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get a very good look at her. That red mane of hers is pretty recognizable, though. Shouldn’t be hard to spot again.”

  “You think she’s the one behind all of these attempts?”

  “Maybe,” he says. “And that other kid she was with. We brought him back here. He’s DOA but Gus will do a whole workup, I’m sure. Not that any of it will take into account her safety.” His voice turns to a growl on the last part. Something inside me flutters at his concern.

  Josephine’s voice is full of understanding when she says, “But that is obviously why she has you.”

  Linc doesn’t answer but I can hear him shift his weight and I know they are still there. I begin to drift on a cloud of medication and exhaustion when a sharp knock sounds. The door opens.

  Titus steps in, jarring me awake. Some of the pain returns. He engages Josephine in hushed conversation. Then it is Linc’s turn. Titus’s expression is deadly serious but there is no trace of stress or worry, only concentration. He asks Linc something and then scowls at the response. Before I can guess what it is, Titus breaks away and strides toward the bed.

  “Raven, how are you feeling?” he asks, peering down at me with an expression devoid of concern.

  “I’ve advised her not to speak until I can evaluate any possible damage to her throat,” Josephine says.

  Titus waves a hand at her response, never even looking at her. “Raven?” he repeats. �
��How are you feeling?”

  I lick my lips and open my mouth. The croak that comes out is nothing like my voice but it is sound nonetheless. “It hurts.”

  He nods, as if that’s the only obvious answer. “Josephine will give you another injection to help you sleep. You did well tonight. Rest and we will speak more tomorrow. There’s a party in the evening I want you to be prepared for.”

  “A party?” My croak is louder this time.

  “Sir, tomorrow?” Linc says from his place near the door.

  Titus ignores both of us and smiles his crooked smile. “As I said, we’ll talk in the morning. Get some rest.”

  I am too disgusted to argue with him. He nods at Josephine before closing the door behind him. It isn’t until after he’s gone that I realize I still haven’t told anyone what the redhead said to me about my secret. But right this moment, I don’t want to. The only one I trust to save me is Linc. He’s also the one person I can’t afford to tell the truth.

  Josephine is the first to speak, muttering incoherently under her breath. It is another break in her otherwise patient exterior, and I wonder just what she thinks of Titus Rogen. Linc’s thoughts are more obvious. His hands are fisted at his sides and he stares at a spot on the wall only he can see. Josephine has to shake him to get his attention. Even then, he flinches as if he might strike out at her. She shrinks back and his shoulders relax.

  “Sorry,” he tells her.

  “No harm, no foul,” she says as she crosses to the bedside. She props her bag on the blankets beside me and begins searching through it with both hands. “Linc, I’m going to need your help, if you don’t mind.”

  “What do you need me to do?” he asks, coming around to my other side. His gaze flickers to my neck and the ink there. I look away.

  Josephine hands him several packets of plastic, completely oblivious. “Unwrap these and lay them here. I want to take some swabs for testing,” she says.

  My mouth, nose, and ears are swabbed with cotton that she places inside twist-top canisters. My vitals are taken. Twice. Then she peels the blanket away and directs Linc to adjust two different lamps to improve the lighting around me.