Taking Turns (Turning #1)(104)

She punches the call button for the elevator and it’s just our luck that the f*cking thing opens, waiting patiently. Like it was in on her escape plan.

I follow her in. Hell, all three of us follow her in. She’s busy texting someone. “Chella,” I say, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You’re saying this because you don’t want to tell me about yourself. This isn’t about Rochelle.”

She punches the button for the first floor and the doors begin to close. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” she says. “Game over, Smith. Game. Over.”

I look at Bric, who is frowning so hard, I have a stab of pain in my chest for him. Did he really tell Rochelle to get an abortion?

That pain turns to sickness in my stomach.

Quin is silent now. Standing still. Saying nothing. Dead look on his face as he considers what this means. As he comes to terms with the truth.

Rochelle was pregnant. She had an abortion and she left because of… not him, he realizes.

We both look at Bric at the same time.

The elevator doors open and Chella bolts.

We follow her out, all three of us talking at once.

“Chella,” Bric says, “Please. Stop. Let’s just talk—”

“Chella,” Quin tries at the same time. “Who is your therapist? Chella!”

“Chella,” I say, “Stop. Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Fuck you,” she says, lashing out at all of us as she makes the stairs and starts hopping down them as fast as she can. “Game over!” She yells it so loud it echoes off the lobby ceiling. There is only a doorman and a valet here right now. It’s almost dawn, the day just beginning.

We follow her down the stairs. All three of us trying to chase her down, breaking that final rule we never thought we’d have to break.

The valet has to step aside so Chella doesn’t plow him over as she enters the revolving door and pushes.

I get there just in time to slip in with her. “Chella,” I say, grabbing her shoulder.

She turns on me, mouth an angry line. “Don’t touch me!”

We get outside and she stops, confused for a moment. Maybe wondering if she’s got her car here.

She doesn’t. I know this. “Let me take you home,” I say.

But then Quin and Bric are outside with us. We are all half-dressed in tuxedos. I don’t even have shoes on and everyone on the street is looking at us like we are a some kind of massive trainwreck.

Chella notices the attention the same time I do and stops to take a deep breath. She turns to me, smiling. “I do not want to be part of a public scene,” she says sweetly. “Never again. Give me this one last consideration, at least.”

Quin and Bric stop next to me. We are nothing but questions and guilt.

“Marcella,” a deep, stern voice calls from across the street.

“Oh, that’s just f*cking great,” Chella says, throwing up her arms. “Have you been following me again? Just what the f*ck?”

“Who the hell—” Quin starts.

But we all recognize him before Quin can finish his sentence.

Her father.





Chapter Thirty-Nine - Bric




“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “Let’s go back inside.” I grab Chella by the shoulder, but she turns on me. Turns on me.

“Don’t,” she seethes. “This is over, Bric. I’m not going back inside. I’m not talking to any of you ever again. And I’m not—”

“Marcella,” Senator Walcott says, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around.

“Why are you following me again?” she asks, her voice high and loud. “You got what you wanted, right? You got your brand-spanking new family. Shiny new baby on the way. Wife younger than me. I hate you,” she screams. “I hate you so much!”

And then she starts sobbing uncontrollably.

I look at Smith and he’s dying right now. Right before my eyes.

I look at Quin and he’s already dead.

“He didn’t stop her,” Chella says, pulling on my suit coat. “Do you hear me, Bric? He never stopped her.”

“Marcella,” the senator says. “Get in the car.” We all look at the long black car across the street. “We can discuss this in private.”

But Chella is still tugging on my coat, looking up at me with her big blue eyes, begging me to listen. “He let her take me all over the world, Bric. All over to these awful places.”

“Why, Chella?” I ask. “What happened?”

“Marcella,” her father roars. “I said—”

“You shut the f*ck up,” Smith interjects. “Right now! Just shut the f*ck up!”

“You don’t even know her,” the senator barks back at Smith. “You have no idea who she really is.”

“Well, I’ve only known her a month,” Smith spits through his teeth. “What’s your f*cking excuse?”

“Do you know how it ended?” Chella asks me, pulling me back to her. She is tugging on my suit coat so hard, I have to bend down.

But then she whirls and looks at her father. “They came for me,” she sobs. “She brought them to me. They had a knife and they held me down. They said—”