Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(65)

I dropped it into the toilet and watched it sink to the bottom. It looked so innocuous there.

Harmless.

With shaking fingers I flushed the toilet. Water swirled violently, turning the gold chain into a whip contained in white porcelain. Then it disappeared in a noisy whoosh.

And just like that I wanted it back, the only connection I had to a birth mother who didn’t want me.

The only connection I had to a mysterious, powerful man who hadn’t wanted me either.

Without looking at the little test, I left the small room and shut the door behind me. Then I sat down right outside it, like I could barricade the truth inside with my body, hold it in somehow. Truth that might bring Philip back to me, truth that might fulfill his worst fears.

The woman that Philip had tried to do right by… I didn’t blame her for rejecting Philip, for trying to build a more stable life for herself and her child. And the fact that it hadn’t worked, the fact that she had died in childbirth—that as a tragedy. One that her father, Barnes, lived with every day. One that ate him from the inside out.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and tucked my chin on top.

Downstairs I could hear my mother baking. This from the woman who had stopped at the grocery store for cupcakes on the way to school for a bake sale.

I had half expected her to disown me completely once she learned the truth about who had taken Tyler, that it had been his connection to me that endangered him. But she had rallied around me instead, some long-dormant maternal instinct deciding the world was a scary place and that we both needed her at home.

My father had come slinking back a few days after we had returned, but my mother had told him to leave. Even if they hadn’t been the reason for Tyler’s experience, his debts could hurt any one of us again. He hadn’t even had the strength to stand by us when it happened.

So it was just the three of us, struggling to form some kind of new order. My mother still fretted over my brother the most, but that was okay. She tried to talk to me, too, now—stilted, sweet moments that I had longed for once upon a time.

But I couldn’t tell her about this, about what I was waiting for now. It was too personal.

The hallway door opened, and my brother stepped out. He took one look at me and one look at the closed door behind me, and his face paled.

“Is…anyone in there?” he asked.

“You can’t use it,” I replied quickly, unable to say more.

He must have figured it out because he swallowed hard. “Ella…”

“Don’t.”

His eyes closed on a pained expression. Then he sat down beside me, his back against the wall beside the bathroom door. He was standing guard with me, keeping the truth out for a few extra seconds. “Thanks,” I whispered.

“Don’t,” he said.

I turned to him, really studying him for maybe the first time since I had been back. For maybe the first time ever. He looked like a regular teenage boy—cute, if I could be objective about it. Lanky in that way that would definitely fill out well over the next couple of years.

There hadn’t been a mark on him when we’d gotten back. No injuries. And he swore that Marco hadn’t hurt him that way. I still wasn’t sure whether I believed him. Marco had shown that he was not above using sex to get what he wanted, considering what had happened with Adrian. But then again, hurting Tyler wouldn’t have hurt Philip—he was only a hook used to pull Philip to him. So maybe he had made it out okay.

“How are you doing?” I asked softly.

He ran a hand over his face. “Not you too.”

I gave him a small smile. “Mom on your case?”

I knew how stifling her concern could be, but also how sweet. How important it had once been to me. So necessary that I’d once done anything to get it, beseeching and then rebelling.

“I know they’re just trying to help,” he said. “But I can’t talk about it.”

“Then don’t talk about it. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

He swallowed. “Actually I do. I owe you an explanation. And…an apology.”

My heart clenched at the raw guilt in his voice. “No, Tyler, you didn’t—”

“I did,” he nearly shouted. Then he lowered his voice. “I did, Ella. I made this happen.”

I studied him, the pain in his expression, the handsome face and skin that had been unbruised by this experience. There were questions, but I wouldn’t have forced him to answer them, knowing how painful that could be. He had a right to his secrets. A right to his pain, whatever form it had taken. Or so I’d thought. “Okay,” I said more slowly. “How?”

“I wasn’t—” His voice broke, but his expression grew determined. He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t kidnapped. At least, not against my will.”

He glanced at me warily, as if expecting me to suddenly burst out yelling. I didn’t understand enough for that. “What are you talking about? Why were you gone?”

“My friend Chris—you remember him? He started going to these underground parties. I went with him a few times, and I wasn’t really… I didn’t really fit into that scene.”

I stayed silent, remembering the boy I’d seen going into the Meat Market that night. Had that been him?

“And then one day I met this guy.” A short laugh. “He ran into me actually. Then he offered to buy me a shot to make up for it. He was older and confident and…and hot.”