Chapter 3

Lucas sways. His voice cracks at the edges.

"Vivian. We're not splitting. I told you I'd protect you for life."

I move for the door.

He locks me against his chest. I claw at him. I bite.

Then—a sharp pinch at my neck.

The room tilts. My knees give.

Lucas's lips at my ear, soft, almost tender.

"Sleep it off, baby. Tomorrow nothing's changed."

I come back slow.

Something pulls me out of the dark. Voices. Two of them. Right outside the bedroom door.

"Lucas. Vivian's still in there."

"That's the point, Ren."

"Mmm. Fucking your wife's sister with her three feet away? That's what gets you off?"

I keep my eyes closed.

The drug slowed me down. It didn't shut me off.

The door slams open.

Lucas walks in with Ravenna in his arms. Her dress already shoved up. His shirt half-open.

I don't move. I don't breathe wrong. I don't twitch.

Lucas glances at me. Sees a corpse on the bed. Smirks.

"Out cold. Good."

He drops Ravenna on the foot of the bed. My bed. Our bed.

She laughs, climbs onto her knees, reaches for his belt. "Mmm. Don Langston's golden boy. Show me what you got."

He grabs her by the throat. Not hard. Lazy. Like he owns the air she breathes.

"Shut up and turn around."

"Yes, papi."

The mattress dips. The buckle of his belt hits the floor.

I count my breaths.

One. Two.

Then his voice—low, mean, not for her, for me:

"You think I don't know you're awake, Vivian?"

My lungs stop.

Keep talking, Lucas.

"Yeah. Thought so. Keep pretending, baby. Watch how a real woman takes it."

Ravenna giggles. "Oh, you're cruel. Tell her again."

"Tell her yourself, Ren."

"Vivian. Vivian, honey. He's never fucked you like this, has he?"

Lucas grabs a fistful of her hair. Yanks her head back hard.

"Now don't talk to her. Talk to me."

"Mmm—yes—"

The bed slams against the wall. Once. Twice.

I press my palm flat against the mattress under the sheet. My nails go through my own skin. Blood smears under me.

Five years of marriage.

I'm protecting you.

This is what he was protecting.

When he finishes, he doesn't pull out gentle. He shoves her off and lights a cigarette right there on the bed.

Ravenna stretches. Bare feet pad to my side of the mattress. She leans down. So close her breath hits my eyelashes.

"Sweet dreams, Mrs. Langston."

Lucas exhales smoke at the ceiling. "Let's go. She's seen enough."

The door clicks shut.

I open my eyes.

I roll off the bed and throw up on the floor until there's nothing left but acid.

I sit on the floor in the puddle of my own vomit and shake.

The recording was clean.

My body doesn't care.

I crawl to the door.

Locked from the outside.

Then—a knock. Soft. Careful.

"Mrs. Langston? Are you awake? It's Marta. Let me get you out."

The housekeeper. Old Italian woman. She's been with the Langstons since Lucas was a boy.

Which means she answers to Don Langston. Not to me.

I get up anyway. If they want to set me up, let them.

"Marta. Yes."

The lock clicks. The door cracks open.

She's pale. Her hands shake worse than mine.

"Quickly, ma'am. He smashed your phone. Take mine. Call your family. Now."

I take the phone. I follow her through three corridors, past the gun room, past the kitchen.

I let my thumb hover over the screen. Slow. Stupid. The way a panicked wife would.

"Funny. Ren said you'd run."

Lucas. Behind us. Cold as a grave.

Marta drops to her knees so fast her bones crack on the marble.

"Mr. Langston—I'm sorry, she made me, she said she was going to put Miss Volkov on the Labyrinth, she begged me for my phone to post the listing—I tried to stop her—"

Lucas's eyes go black.

He grabs my jaw. Hard. Fingernails breaking skin.

"You were going to put Ren on the Labyrinth? Over a joke?"

"You think I'd do that. I'm not her, Lucas. I don't sell people."

He snatches the phone from my hand. Scrolls. Then he flips the screen at me and backhands me at the same time.

Crack.

My head snaps. Copper floods my mouth again.

"Stop lying. What the fuck is THIS."

I look at the screen.

A live listing on the Labyrinth.

Item: female, mid-twenties, blonde, Eastern European.

Photo: Ravenna Volkov.

Starting bid: five hundred thousand.

Posted twenty minutes ago.

From this phone.