Page 76 of Let Me
I glance around the room, grab the lamp on my side table and get to my feet, my legs shaky. It was such a soft knock. Gentle, almost. My first thought is Rolland. If he’s here, I’ll do my best to kill him.
Fear climbs its way down my spine, my breathing seems to have stopped.
And there it is again.
Too soft.
My door is unlocked. Just like at Mom’s old place, the locks here don’t work anyway. But unlike there, I don’t have a pen in my hands. It and my journal are in my nightstand, and this lamp will hurt a hell of a lot more.
I hold my breath, the lamp in my hands held like a baseball bat, but my legs are trembling. I try to reach for anger instead of fear. I think of Rolland Virani, and suddenly, I’m a little calmer. A little angrier, too.
The knob of my door twists open; I can see the brass turning in the moonlight streaming in through my curtains.
And then Benji Silva steps through, and I feel the floor tilt beneath me.
I don’t lower the lamp, and he smirks at me in the darkness, his eyes gleaming.
I can’t think of a single thing to say as he strides across my room, past the cracked floor-length mirror that shows his reflection, all dressed in black, broad shoulders, face carved from granite. And then he’s right in front of me and I don’t know if I should swing and hit him or listen to what he has to say.
I glance behind him, and the only thing I can think to say is, “Caden?”
At this, he laughs quietly and then he puts his finger over my lips.
“Shh,” he croons, speaking softly. “If you come with me, your mom will be safe. If you don’t…” he trails his finger over my lips, my chin, down my throat, stopping just above my chest. I’m painfully aware that I’m wearing shorts and a tank top; I have far too much exposed skin.
He glances down and my face heats. I tighten my grip on the lamp.
He jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s go, little girl.”
My hands are sweaty on the lamp, and I feel like I can’t breathe. This is wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Caden.” I say his name again, and it leaves my lips like a prayer. But being with Benji right now might be better than being with Caden. I remember how Benji stepped between us, at Caden’s house.
I remember, too, how they recorded me. Recorded us. Anger rushes through me again.
Benji places his palm flat on my chest. “You’ll see him, baby. I promise you.”
“Don’t you dare call me ‘baby’,” I hiss.
He only smirks at me, and then he turns around and walks toward my door.
Mom.
I don’t know what Benji would do to her. But he’s already been to prison. He went, right after Jack. For two years. I don’t know what happened. But I know that he knows the consequences, and he doesn’t seem to care.
Slowly, I put the lamp back on the bedside table. It nearly slips from my grip, nearly clatters to the floor, but I steady it, my heart pounding in my ears.
I can’t think.
I can barely stand.
“Now,” Benji says softly by the door. He’s watching me. Waiting.
I take a breath, and another, trying to steady myself. Finally, I nod, although it’s not for Benji’s sake. It’s for my own. If Caden is with him, maybe we can talk about this. Maybe I can explain. Maybe it’s not too late for that. Because what they did was wrong. But if they think I sent this latest clip, I can understand why they’re angry. Why they’re here.
I walk to the armoire, pull out socks and put them on quickly.
