Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(26)

“Stitched up,” he said, a hint of concern in his voice. As if I was acting strange.

“Who did them?”

“I did.”

I imagined him tucking a needle into his skin, not even flinching. Even alone he would be stoic. “You’re hurting.”

He steered me to a deep brown leather sofa in the corner. “I think you’re the one hurting, kitten.”

“No.” I had learned a long time ago how not to feel pain.

Or at least pretending like I didn’t.

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t believe me. I could tell. Instead of saying so, he wrapped his arms around me, and only then did I cry. I cried for this morning and last night. I cried for every day before that.

My brother was one of those miracle babies, when a couple had been trying to have a baby for years and then finally—they did. Everyone heard the stories, little snippets of irony. How the couple resorted to adoption only to conceive within the year.

My whole life was an ironic anecdote.

And my brother, God. A smiling sunshine boy.

I couldn’t understand why my parents seemed to love him best, before I knew. I’d convinced myself it was because he was better—smarter and cuter and generally more likeable. I’d worked myself raw, until I had straight As on every report card, until I smiled brightly in every family photo, until I only moved and spoke and thought whatever my parents did.

None of it worked, though.

My mother had just never felt a connection to me. She confessed it once, in hushed tones to my father, while they were in the kitchen. They never knew I heard. I knew they wished they could give me back, and I supposed I should feel grateful that they never did.

I cried until the front of Philip’s shirt was soaked—not from his shower but from my tears.

These were ugly sobs, painful ones. It was the kind of crying you’d be embarrassed to do in front of anyone, even a close friend.

And Philip wasn’t a close friend. He was more like an enemy.

When I could breathe again, I forced myself to pull away from him. The weak part of me wanted his arm around me again, his solid presence while I fell apart.

I stood. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“I’m not.”

No, he didn’t look sorry. At least he didn’t look amused either. He seemed more curious, as if watching an animal behave in some foreign way. I might be a sociology experiment conducted by one of my professors. Emotional Responses of Displaced Youth, the study would be called.

“I suppose you heard all that.” I realized I was still clutching the phone to my chest like a shield. I tossed it onto the sofa cushion beside him.

He nodded.

Suspicion tugged at me. I narrowed my eyes. It seemed impossible, but there was something about his expression. A total lack of surprise. Even resignation. “Did you already know?”

There was a pause this time. Another nod.

My eyes widened. “Is that why…is that why you came to my dorm?”

For what purpose, though? To warn me? To protect me?

He stood towering over me, ruining my advantage. “Kitten, we don’t need to discuss this now. You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset. My brother is being held for ransom.”

His head cocked. “Is that really why you’re upset?”

I felt like something small and insignificant while he examined me, something simple and yet somehow fascinating. “Of course I am. He’s my brother. I love him.”

“Hmm,” Philip said, a noncommittal sound.

I closed my eyes. Deep breath. “Will you help me find him? Please.”

His smile came slow. “Yes.”

And I wouldn’t pay him back with money, that much was clear. He would take what he’d wanted in the car. What he’d wanted all along. He would take me.

I had the sense suddenly that I was one of his mechanical wire birds, twisted into just the configuration that he liked, made to move and fly when he wanted me to, caught in a cage when he wanted that instead.

“Is that why you came to my dorm room? Because you knew I’d have no choice?” Betrayal tied a knot in my throat. “What kind of man does that make you?”

“A man of opportunity. I didn’t get where I am today by letting them fall through my fingers.”

“You could have asked.” I made my voice low, an angry, unkind version of him. “Ella, would you like to go out with me like a normal couple?”

“We will never be a normal couple.”

At least he was honest about that. Being forced to have sex with him to save my brother. No, that wasn’t normal. “How long?” I demanded because I’d seen what being used had done to Shelly. I’d seen how hard it had been for her to leave. “How long would I be yours?”

“I told you in the car. There is no expiration date. This won’t ever be over.”

I flinched. “You’re wrong.”

“Make no mistake, the thing with your brother just moved up my timetable. I was always coming for you, kitten. You were always mine.”

My heart thudded in something like recognition. Like agreement.

There was a sound at the door. Adrian had puffs of white flour on his shiny dress shirt and a smile on his face. “Dinner’s ready.” He took one look at our expressions and sighed. “I’ll keep it warm.”