The Girl Who Wasn't Read online

  My hands around his midsection tighten. I want badly to run my gloved hands over the planes of his chest but I don’t dare give myself away. Not when I’m so close to … something.

  Linc downshifts to pause at an empty intersection and the motorcycle bucks beneath me. The vibrations from the engine send tingles between my thighs and make my legs quiver. Linc's hand still rests on my thigh. I ache as I imagine them exploring higher. To the sensitive place where I can feel every little thing.

  Without understanding the need, I move subtly, grinding my hips against the seat. The purr of the engine soaks into every inch of me. Heating me, teasing me, taking me closer to the edge of whatever this is. It overwhelms me, pushes me past the point of caring whether he notices my rhythmic thrusts.

  My breathing slows to shallow bursts. All of my concentration is focused on satisfying this hunger. If it’s anything like the buildup, I can only imagine what it’s like on the other side.

  Linc speeds up, sending stronger vibrations to my thighs. We’re weaving through traffic now. I don’t know where we are or how long before we’re home, but I don’t look. I don’t stop. I can’t. There’s something amazing just out of reach. I’m determined to get there. Finally.

  The result is amazing.

  The sensation between my legs explodes. It takes over my entire body. I shiver hard enough for Linc to feel. His hand shifts and rubs, unsuspecting, along my thigh. He’s trying to warm me. He has no idea I’m lava beneath his touch.

  The pressure of his hand intensifies as the buildup inside me reaches a climax. I cry out, grateful for the wind that steals the sound of my voice before it can reach his ears. My legs shake with a jilted twitch. Then I go limp.

  I force myself to breathe. Long drags of helmet-filtered oxygen fill my lungs. It’s just short of a wheeze. I close my eyes. My legs go still as the fiery sensation takes over and burns like molten lava through my core. I cling dizzily to Linc, letting the feeling wash over me. For a few electrifying seconds, I am completely out of control of my own body.

  Whatever just happened, it was real. Authentic. And no one, not even Titus Rogen, can take that from me.

  All too soon, the road gives way to warehouses, then businesses, closed and boarded and littered with dirty sidewalks, trash, sleeping bodies. I caught glimpses in the car the other day, but this view is different. I can see it all, no tinted windows to paint it less horrifying.

  We pass a stumbling man and have to swerve to keep from running him over. He doesn’t even jump back. I wonder if he’s aware we are there at all. Children play with some red-eyed animal that hovers behind an overturned dumpster. Their clothes are ragged and dirty, even in the darkness. Through the filter of my helmet, the air is stale and sullied.

  The afterglow of what I’ve just experienced quickly fades underneath the neon lights of poverty. I want him to drive faster and get me gone from this place. It reeks of filth and of wanting and makes the inside of my skin ache for these people who have so little when I suddenly have so much.

  In a few moments, the warehouses with shattered windows and boarded doorways give way to moderate apartments and then slowly, it all fades into the glitter of uptown.

  Linc lets me off in front of the revolving doors of Rogen Tower. I slide off, mindful of where the fabric of my dress has ridden up. My legs are tingling from cold and the leftover rush. My knees are soft, as if my muscles have relaxed past the point of being useful. I’m careful to keep steady on my pointy heels.

  After my fumbling fingers release the snap, I slide the helmet over my head and hand it back. He flips the visor up on his helmet, revealing the top half of his face. He looks sorry, though for what, I’m not sure.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “I hope you don’t mind I took the long way home.”

  “Not at all. That was … amazing.” My cheeks warm at the memory of what I’ve just experienced. I feel exposed, like there’s no possible way he can’t read it on my face.

  He grins. “I’m glad you liked it. I’ll see you later.”

  I blink, terrified for a moment that he’s figured it out. But then I see him patting the motorcycle appreciatively. He means the ride. The speed. The wind. I exhale. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?”

  “That would be fun.”

  Butterflies dance inside my stomach. He has no idea. His foot depresses a lever and the engine growls. I frown. “You’re not coming up?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll be back in the morning. You better get going. Gus is waiting in the lobby.”

  At his nod, I twist around and catch sight of Gus watching us from the other side of the glass. I’m not sure but I feel like I’m in trouble, though surviving is my only crime.

  When I turn back, it’s to the sound of the bike’s engine revving. “Bye,” I say, but I doubt Linc hears me. He’s already pulling into the flow of traffic and speeding off.

  Gus is unsmiling but silent as he escorts me upstairs. By the time the elevator dings for the penthouse, I think maybe I’ve avoided the inevitable. But the first thing I see when the doors open is Titus. His demeanor shifts at the sight of me and I think the brick wall I hit earlier wasn’t nearly as impenetrable.

  “Raven,” he says.

  Gus nudges me from behind, driving me forward, and Titus steps in front of me, blocking my path.

  “Care to explain what happened?” Titus asks.

  “Someone came after me. Linc stopped him,” I say, doing my best to hold his stare. I can feel my chin jut forward, a trait I learned from Lonnie, and I hope it makes me look fearless.

  He takes a step toward me and my shoulders go rigid. “Do not think for one second that I don’t know what sort of nonsense had you up on that roof tonight,” he says.

  “I don’t know what you—”

  Without warning, his hand flies across my cheek and I am driven back. My shoulders hit the wall first and then the back of my head. I wince as my headache from earlier pounds anew.

  “You are a fucking idiot!” he hisses, “for thinking you’d survive without me. For thinking I‘d give you the chance to try.”

  He is in my face now. I can feel his hot breath, taste the staleness that mingles with the scent of alcohol. My eyes are squeezed shut because I know that if I open them, moisture will escape, and I refuse to cry for him.

  “You are goddamned lucky Linc was there. If he wasn’t, you’d only be getting what you deserve for betraying me. Betraying your purpose.” I can feel his shoulders pressing close, his lips inches from my nose. I press my lips together to keep from making a sound, knowing any response will be interpreted as weakness.

  “Know this,” he whispers. “If you try again, I will terminate you myself.”

  His footsteps echo as he retreats. I don’t open my eyes until the sound dies away. I expect Gus to be waiting for me from where he stood by and watched the whole exchange with a bored expression, but he is gone too. A hand at my elbow startles me. I jerk away with a short cry and find Maria, the maid, staring at me.

  “Would you like some help getting ready for bed?” she asks timidly, and I know she heard everything.

  “Yes, thank you.” My voice is deceivingly steady, even to my own ears. I should be proud that I’ve kept my cool but I’m ashamed. And angry. My hands shake with the emotion. It is heady and almost too big for my body. If human rage is anything like this, it explains the root of the evil I’ve seen tonight.

  Chapter Six

  Taylor comes for lunch the next day, accosting me as I enter the parlor, her brows are raised with practiced concern and morbid curiosity. The bruise on my cheek doesn’t help matters, though the staff has already been informed it was part of my rooftop attack. Only Maria knows the truth—and Gus, but he never gives anything away.

  “Are you all right?” Taylor asks, managing to hug me while barely touching me. She smells like orange juice and smoke. I wrinkle my nose and pull away. “Oh, I had brunch with some friends in the art district. Sm
oky as hell but great for a quick buzz,” she explains. “Gawd, I heard about your close call last night and I just cannot believe the assholes out there who get their rocks off trying to hurt women. I mean, you could have been killed—or worse.” She stops, newly horrified as she realizes what her words imply. “I mean, they didn’t actually … touch you, did they?”

  “No, they didn’t,” I say, thinking of Linc and the way he commanded the situation so effortlessly, so fearlessly. I remember his comment on the rooftop, how he is not afraid to die, and I know it is the truth.

  I wonder what it would be like to have nothing left to live for—or what it is I think I have.

  “… Bet Daniel will be livid when he finds out. Just beside himself with worry, I mean, the lowlifes thinking they can come into our part of town is downright degrading, even if they didn’t actually touch you.” She stops, cocks her head at me. “You did call him, right?”

  “Who?”

  “Daniel. Are you even listening to me?”

  “I …”

  “Just because you guys aren’t officially an item to the rest of the world, he would still want to know. I mean, three public appearances … that’s, like, practically engaged, which isn’t a big deal since I guess that’s the plan. But at least tell him so he can stay ahead of the press.”

  Engaged? It’s a surprise but after hearing about Daniel being groomed to take over Rogen Corp, this makes sense. “You’re right, I should call him.”

  “Speaking of which, what’s up with your cell? I call and call and it goes straight to voice mail.”

  I falter, unsure what to say. I hadn’t thought of it until now, but whatever phone Raven Rogen owned has not been given to me. I wonder who Titus thinks I would call. “My phone is … broken. I dropped it when I was attacked.”

  “Ugh,” she says, as if that is the most annoying part of what happened to me.

  “I’ll get a new one soon,” I say, trying to emulate her annoyance.

  She nods once, and just like that, moves on. For the rest of the meal, she does not speak of my attack again. Even when I reach across the table for the salt shaker, revealing the purpling bruise on the inside of my forearm, a perfect match for a handprint, she doesn’t comment.

  She speaks of parties and couples and scandals and affairs. Who’s dating whom. Who’s cheating, who’s broke, who’s running for office. She gives an entire monologue that lasts as long as my lemon meringue muffin about the size of Senator Warren’s penis and how the strategic use of it will gain him re-election—provided Taylor doesn’t get pissed enough to tell his wife he sometimes fucks interns on his conference table.

  It isn’t hard to understand the meaning of the words she throws around. One thing about being with Taylor is the swift education in all of the subjects Twig City failed to teach. I’m caught up before dessert.

  Beyond that, the politics in this world scare me. In Twig City, there are two classes: Imitations and Authentics. The latter rule the former. That will never change. Here, the rise and fall of power is based on fortunes and blackmail and sex scandals exposed. It is good that I will not be a part of it for long. I could never fit in here. I don’t want to.

  Taylor leaves an hour later with promises that we will see each other soon at some benefit gala or another. A senator is getting re-elected. The fact that Taylor knows this without a doubt three days before the election is not lost on me. Everything is a game here.

  I don’t feel like I play very well.

  ***

  After lunch, I am confined to my room with a subtle click of the lock, but I don’t mind. Not this time. I am more comfortable alone than I am with a single Authentic I’ve met here. And part of me is terrified over seeing Titus if I’m allowed to wander. The makeup job covering the bruise he left on my cheek has worn off, so I touch it up with unsteady fingers as I stare at my reflection.

  I am paler than usual, my skin tone almost matching my translucent hair. When I’ve covered the bruise as best I can, I attempt the same with the darkened circles under my lids. I’ve never had a problem sleeping before coming here, but I rarely sleep more than two hours at a time anymore. It’s too quiet. I miss the humming pipes, the melody of a room full of rhythmic breathing. Ida and Lonnie.

  My chest aches when I think of them. I wonder if Lonnie is comforting Ida or if she’s taken her usual “stiff upper lip” stance and expected Ida to do the same. Fragile Ida. She is not cut out for this, despite what they tell us about our “chemical makeup” and our being “created to serve.” I am glad that it is me and not her who has been called up.

  My thoughts wander to Linc. I haven’t seen him today. I wonder if he is in trouble for killing that man before they could learn who he was. I think of the motorcycle ride home and my lips curve into a small smile that feels like a secret. My mood lifts.

  I tinker with Authentic Raven’s stereo and switch it from the jazzy album she had playing to a moody drums-and-guitar sound.

  Radio is new for me. So is the freedom and variety. Commercials are my favorite. The choices are endless. These people get to choose what food or clothing to buy. It shocks me how many different sorts of fabric there are for curtains alone. In Twig City, no one has curtains because no one has a window.

  Out of boredom and then sheer delight, I spend an hour trying on the different clothes in the walk-in. And the shoes. My feet feel like princesses in the heels. As much as I dread more parties, I am willing to go if it means I can wear a pair of these shoes.

  I brave some of the tinier dresses and stare at myself in the full-length mirror, trying to recognize the girl reflected back. It’s strange and thrilling to see myself in such suggestive clothing. Raven clearly didn’t have a problem with it. When I pull a silky camisole over my head, I almost remove it immediately.

  The cream-colored fabric is so sheer, it’s transparent. My nipples are dark rings with pointy tips. My panties are nothing more than a thin line of string before dipping into the curve of my thigh and disappearing as if they aren’t there at all.

  I imagine what it would be like to fall asleep in something so naughty—and be woken by Linc. I imagine him running a hand over the shiny fabric. His expression would darken when he saw the outline of my breasts through the thin layer. I ache at the thought of him slipping a hand underneath the nightgown, running his fingers across my hip.

  I know without needing to be told, the release I experienced on the motorcycle would be nothing compared to having him join me.

  Gus comes to get me for dinner. He is his usual unsmiling self but there is something else. Caution. “Daniel Ryan is joining you for dinner. Dress accordingly and meet me in the dining hall in ten minutes. Don’t be late or I’ll have to come get you.”

  The way he says it, menacing and certain, chills me. Despite the fact that he leaves the door unlocked, I know I won’t try anything.

  I dress for dinner in a pants suit that has a matching half-jacket and hope this is what Gus meant by “accordingly.” I have no idea what Daniel is like but if Taylor is any indication, he will notice something like a wrong outfit.

  I make my way around the circular hallway, certain I’m being watched. I cannot see cameras but they are there. Titus is not so trusting that he would let me walk this far unescorted, especially after last night.

  I see him as soon as I cross the threshold. Linc. Near the back of the room, hands clasped behind his back, head down as he concentrates on whatever Gus is whispering at him. He doesn’t see me, but I breathe all the way out in relief. My mind doesn’t register the twisted worry I’ve been carrying until it’s melting away at the sight of him.

  Gus finishes what he’s saying and Linc straightens. He raises his chin and catches me watching. I feel my cheeks warm. I curse myself for it and look away—straight at Titus. He has risen from his seat at the head of the table to greet me. He stares at me with a hard set to his jaw and I know that I’ve made him angry with something as simple as failing to acknowledge him first. Be
hind his left shoulder is the boy who has come to see me.

  “Good evening, Raven,” Daniel says. His expression is relaxed and easy but even from this distance, I can see how polished and manicured he is. From the perfect cut of his jacket to the precision of his mussed and gelled hair, I distrust him immediately.

  “Good evening,” I reply, taking a tentative step into the room.

  I look at Titus again, silently asking permission to approach. He sweeps his hand toward the seat on his right. “You look lovely, Raven. Come, sit with us.”

  We take our seats and the meal is served. Daniel watches me curiously and I know that somehow, I’ve already done something wrong. Something Authentic Raven would not have. I think Linc is watching me too, and I have the urge to turn, but I don’t. Titus is close. I can feel my skin growing cold at his nearness.

  “Your father told me there was another attack last night,” Daniel says when we have our soup. “I wish you would’ve called me. I worry.”

  His voice is pleasant. Too pleasant considering the topic of conversation is my attempted murder. “I didn’t think …,” I begin, unsure what else to say.

  Titus pats my hand and I have to force myself not to recoil. “She really doesn’t think, Daniel.” He laughs and it’s harsh, unkind. “She’s too caught up in her own little world of clothes and shoes.”

  He is baiting me, I think. Or testing me. I don’t respond.

  Daniel laughs lightly, as if this is a familiar idea where I’m concerned. “This girl and her wardrobe,” he agrees.

  Under the table, something brushes against my ankle, and I drop my fork in surprise. It clatters against my plate. Titus looks at me quizzically, but I mumble an apology and go back to eating.

  Several minutes later, something hard presses against my foot and travels upward to the outside of my knee. I look up and catch Daniel watching me. He winks and goes back to his food. I steal a glance under the table and find Daniel’s foot stroking my leg.