Thorne Princess(106)

Next to the clock was a pack of Tylenol—the extra strength ones—a bottle of water, and what looked like a doctor’s prescription. My phone was there, too.

Reaching for it, I felt my back muscles straining, my neck screaming in pain where I’d been beaten. The skin was going to peel off soon, I knew without even looking. I was going to feel the aftershocks of what happened to me for weeks to come.

Grabbing my phone, I sifted through the last calls. Mom. Dad. Hera—that was a new one. Keller called a few times, and so did NeNe and Tara. I couldn’t imagine myself relaying everything that had happened to me in the last forty-eight hours to anyone, if that’s what they were calling about.

Had news leaked yet?

About the kidnap? About Craig and sexual assault charges? About Ransom and me, via Anna?

Only one way to find out.

Unplastering myself from the bed, I dragged myself into the shower. At first, I turned the water too hot. Then, realizing my mistake, how wounded and raw my skin felt, I quickly twisted the shower diverter, opting for ice-cold water. It was a quick affair, followed by patting myself dry carefully. Putting a robe on was too painful. I walked over to my bathroom mirror and lifted my hair up, inspecting the back of my neck and shoulders. The welts looked angry, purple, and deep. Tears filled my eyes.

He could’ve prevented this.

He could’ve given the job to Max.

His grandiose, self-centered, Napoleon complex wouldn’t allow him not to finish something he’d started.

Well, he’d finished me, all right. I had nothing left to give.

And yet, for the first time in my life, I knew what I should do with terrifying clarity.

After lathering my back and neck with aloe, I slipped into my most comfortable pair of pajamas and popped two Tylenol. I made my way downstairs. Ransom sat on my couch, going through his iPad, laptop, and phone simultaneously.

Yup. News broke, all right. The dirty laundry had been aired.

He stood when I appeared in the stairway, as if summoned by a queen.

“Your parents came by earlier.”

I smiled noncommittally. “Of course, they did. Word must’ve gotten out that I’d been kidnapped.”

“It’s all in the news,” Ransom confirmed, looking awkward for once in his life. “The Bratva, the arrests, Craig was taken into custody. All of it.”

Papa Thorne simply couldn’t stomach passing on the photo-op. And if he couldn’t get a picture of him hugging his Sugar Pie, then at the very least, paparazzi snaps of him and Mom embracing one another as they landed in Los Angeles, braving the tarmac winds on their way to their private car.

“I’ve no plans to see them.”

“Figured.” Ransom licked his lips. “I told Anthony it wasn’t a good time.”

“I also don’t think it’s good for me to see you,” I finished.

He arched an eyebrow. “If this is about the Anna article, no one’s buying it. All your friends have denied it publicly. Keller. Tara. The other one with the weird name.”

One less shit storm to worry about, but I knew it didn’t make any difference.

I pushed off the bannister. “Sit down.”

He did. I took the seat as far away from him as possible, knowing how hard it was going to be. If too much of his scent met my nose, if too much of his green eyes touched my soul, I’d cave and let him stay. I’d crack and settle. I’d take a temporary arrangement, even though I wanted happily-ever-after.

Worse still, even if Ransom wanted something serious with me, he was right. I had too many obstacles to overcome. I needed to face the Craig trial alone. I needed to get a job alone. I needed to go through therapy—alone.

“Ransom,” I said, businesslike. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Either you leave here now without putting up a fight, and I don’t make the fact your recklessness almost made me lose my life a public matter.” My assertiveness surprised me. So did the serenity in my voice. “I will not involve Tom, or the police, or my parents. I will not tarnish The Robot’s pristine reputation.”

“Are you threatening me?” His voice was ice-cold.

I shook my head. “Just stating the chain of events, as they will happen, if you don’t evacuate this house yourself. Because the second choice—if you stay…”

I didn’t have to finish the sentence.

He knew I meant business, because he sucked in his cheeks, fighting to keep calm.

“What about your safety?”

“I’m safe enough,” I insisted. “You were never supposed to keep me from harm’s way. You were supposed to babysit me and scare the living crap out of me from making mistakes. Now that Kozlov is locked up, along with the top men in his organization, and you will no longer be here in Los Angeles, the Bratva won’t have a reason to get anywhere near me.”

“What about my babysitting duties?” he spat out.

“I don’t need a babysitter anymore.”

“Your father will not consent to this.” Ransom stood up, puffing his chest. One last-ditch effort to assert his power over me. I stood right along with him, taking a few steps forward.

Toe-to-toe.

Nose-to-nose.

Our heartbeats, however, were out of whack. Mine was racing, trying to claw its way out of my chest. Ransom’s, as always, was slow and steady.