Page 55 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“What do we do?” I ask.

Charity grabs my hand. “We stick together,” she says firmly. “We have each other’s backs. We’ll survive this, Elyssa. Just like we’ve survived everything else.”

Her words were strong, filled with conviction.

But I’m not sure I can see the same sentiment reflected in her good eye. As usual, she’s putting on a brave face for my benefit. It makes me feel ashamed. As if I’m the one who constantly needs to be taken care of.

I’m so sick of being the damsel in distress.

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a shower, okay?” Charity says, perking up. “I’ll bet the bathroom is the size of the shelter!”

She buries her worry beneath bravado. That’s another thing I’ve always admired about her. I, on the other hand, am ruled by my fear. I have been since the day I left the Sanctuary.

Charity skips into the bathroom and a second later, I hear her high-pitched, sing-song voice. The one she uses only when she’s really excited.

“I was right! And it has a freaking jacuzzi!” She pops her head out of the bathroom for a moment. “If you don’t see me for a while, don’t be alarmed. I’ve moved in here.”

Smiling, I pick Theo up and follow her into the bathroom. She’s already half-naked, ready to plunge into the tub.

“Those wounds are gonna sting,” I warn her.

“Mama’s used to a little pain,” she sasses right back.

There’s no changing table in the bathroom, but the counters are spacious enough that it doesn’t matter. I grab a towel, marveling at how soft and fluffy it is, and spread it out on the bathroom counter. Then I set Theo down on it and get to work cleaning him up.

By the time I’ve finished, Charity’s snoring gently in the bath.

He’s starting to get a little whiny and I realize that it’s past time to feed him. I would have given him my breast, but my milk dried up months ago. I’d switched to formula when he was only a few weeks old.

Yet another way I’ve failed him as a mother.

I carry Theo unclothed back into the bedroom—just as the door opens again.

I leap back instinctively, but it’s only the stone-faced guard from before. He’s carrying several overflowing bags, all of which he sets down next to the door.

“That was fast,” I remark.

Without a word, he gives me a nod and leaves.

CLICK.The door locks again.

I look at Theo and sigh. “Well, at least it’s a pretty prison.”

I set him down on the bed, barricade him with pillows, and head over to examine the bags. Everything I’d asked for is here and then some. There’s a plush, luxurious baby seat, pacifiers, a variety of different swaddle cloths, rattles, a soft toy shaped like a monkey. More baby clothes than Theo could possibly wear in a lifetime—and, surprisingly, clothes for Charity and me as well.

When I’ve finished sorting through everything, I examine the last bag, which the guard set down a little bit away from the others. To my delight, this one is filled with takeout food. It smells absolutely delicious.

I pull out box after box of steaming hot Chinese food. Lo mein noodles, General Tsao chicken, stir fries and fried rice and a pair of eggrolls the size of my arm. I’m salivating already.

But my son needs to eat first. Ignoring the rumbling in my belly, I grab a soft white onesie and head over to the bed to dress Theo. Then I make him a bottle and head out onto the balcony to feed him.

He’s just finishing up when Charity emerges from the double doors wrapped in a fluffy white robe with dripping wet hair. She’s carrying a couple of the Chinese food cartons, too.

“Didn’t expect to see you for a while,” I tease.

“Kung pao chicken was just about the only thing on the planet that could’ve coaxed me out of the tub,” she explains. “Did you see the baby seat, by the way?”

“I saw.”

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