Chapter 8 No.8

Felicity slid down the bathroom door until she hit the cold tile floor. She put her head between her knees and tried to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like a war zone. Her lip was swollen to twice its size. Her mascara was running down her cheeks in black rivers.

She turned on the tap. She splashed cold water on her face. The sting made her hiss.

She needed to get out of this torn dress. She needed to put on Dewitt's jacket properly.

She reached behind her back to undo the zipper. But there was no zipper. Barnett had ripped it. The torn fabric had snagged on the mangled zipper, creating a hopeless tangle at the small of her back.

She tugged at it. Her fingers were slippery with sweat and water. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Come on," she whimpered.

She pulled harder. The knot tightened. It dug into her spine.

She twisted her body, trying to see it in the mirror. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder-the one Barnett had wrenched earlier.

She tried again. And again.

Five minutes passed.

She couldn't do it. She was trapped in the ruin of her own life.

A sob escaped her throat. Then another. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but the dam broke. She cried. Not loudly. Just a pathetic, gasping weeping.

Knock. Knock.

"Time's up," Dewitt's voice came through the door.

Felicity froze. She wiped her eyes frantically.

"I... I need a minute," she choked out.

"Open the door, or I'm coming in."

"I can't!"

Dewitt didn't wait. He strode to a large oil painting on the corridor wall beside the bathroom, swung it open on a hidden hinge, and retrieved a master key from a small, concealed safe. The lock clicked. Of course he had a key.

The door opened.

Dewitt stood there. He looked annoyed.

"What is taking so-"

He stopped.

Felicity was standing by the sink. Her back was to him. She was clutching the front of her dress to her chest.

Her back was bare.

And it was covered in bruises.

Handprints on her arms. A dark purple welt across her ribs. And angry red chafe marks around the knot in the fabric.

Dewitt stared. The annoyance evaporated. This was the price of the game she was playing. He'd seen it before-women who let things get rough to drive up the price or satisfy a client's depraved tastes. It was just another transaction, uglier than most. But the sheer brutality of it sent a cold stone dropping into his stomach.

Felicity tried to twist away, to hide her back against the wall.

"Don't look!"

Dewitt stepped into the bathroom. The space suddenly felt very small.

He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. He didn't squeeze. He just held her in place.

"Stop moving," he said. His voice was different. Deeper. Softer.

He looked at the knot. It was pulled so tight the fabric had become a hard lump.

Felicity trembled under his hands. His palms were warm.

"I can't get it off," she whispered. "I'm stuck."

Dewitt looked at the bruises around the knot.

"Damn it," he muttered.