Chapter 6

She clutched the backpack against her chest, stumbling through the dark alley. It was the following night.

The things Valencia had experienced in the past twenty-four hours were haunting. Her skin was riddled with goosebumps, and her stomach rolled with nausea with each step she took.

That could be thanks to the bottle of whiskey she’d downed as soon as they’d let her go, or it could be due to the disgust and self-loathing crawling through her body. She’d rather bite glass than look into a mirror at that moment.

What she and Evander had been forced to do… Valencia leaned against the wall, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

And the following morning. The humiliating medical tests they’d both been subjected to throughout the day. Like animals, like merchandise with no value besides monetary. She closed her eyes, swallowing hard against the bitter sobs threatening to claw up her throat.

But it was done.

The bag she held contained everything Eliott Cross had promised her.

How he’d gotten it done in a single day was beyond her, so she didn’t even think about it. She’d been given a new identity. She’d received a bank card for an account containing a million dollars, an address for an apartment she didn’t know the owner of. She’d received a plane ticket and, most importantly, an admission document.

The Hawthorne Institute.

Valencia had only seen it in newspapers. Her bedroom window back at her house was cracked and had been boarded up with cardboard and newspaper. That’s where she’d seen an article about the prestigious high school for elite kids, published in celebration of one of the many competitions the institute had won.

Day after day, she’d stare at that article. She’d sit on her bed and try to imagine the kind of lives those kids lived. The kind of happiness and wealth they enjoyed.

Valencia had only been able to dream of it. But now…

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the new ID and stared at it. Black hair, green eyes, sixteen years old.

Kendall McCarthy.

Valencia Raine had wished, in desperate misery, to be one of those kids.

But Kendall McCarthy already was.

She shoved the ID into her back and clutched it tightly to her chest as she looked around through a blurry vision.

She needed to get to a convenience store so she could buy some dye to make herself match the ID photo. She couldn’t keep wearing a wig, it was too dangerous.

She needed to get a motel room and plan her next move, but she couldn’t take a single step for the life of her.

She’d downed so much of that whiskey, and the rest of the bottle was still in her bag.

When she’d come out of the doctor’s office, shame turning her face red, and had grabbed that bottle from Eliott’s expensive bar, he hadn’t said anything. That amused smirk of his had curved his lips, and he’d allowed her to take the alcohol, waving her out of his house.

Pushing herself off the wall, Valencia swayed and caught herself with a hand on the wall, stumbling through the dark.

Her flight was in a few days. She needed to be ready to leave.

She never wanted to see Miami or even Florida ever again. She never wanted to hear of or see anything from this life again. Once she got on that plane, she would become a new person. She would become Kendall McCarthy, and nobody would ever know that there once existed a Valencia Raine.

Nausea suddenly rocked through her stomach, and she gagged, turned toward the wall with a groan. Suddenly feeling alone, she missed Karma. She didn’t even know how to get back to Club Riviere, Eliott’s driver had dropped her off somewhere she’d never been before.

She tried to breathe to control the nausea, but it didn’t work. Her body lurched, and she shut her eyes as she was violently sick in a dark corner.

The grimy walls of the alley already stank of piss and violence, her own vomit added to that smell and triggered more nausea.

Muffled giggles suddenly drifted toward her, and the sound of shuffling clothing mixed with the sound of her gagging.

Someone whistled and then hissed like they were calling a cat.

Breathing hard, Valencia slowly straightened and tightly shut her eyes as she battled dizziness. She’d never drink again. This was hell.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” someone drawled. More muffled giggling followed as the sound of footsteps approached.

She sighed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There were two of them.

Turning around, she looked at the men, squinting to focus her vision.

“Oooh, she's drunk, isn’t she?” one of the men said. “Come here, baby, we’ll take care of you.”

Her arms tightened around her backpack, and Valencia lowered her gaze, stepping away from the wall and eyeing the gap between her and the men.

If she hesitated any longer, they’d close in and she wouldn’t be able to escape.

“What’s your name?” one of them whispered, a smirk on his face as his friend silently laughed.

Their excitement to have run into a vulnerable girl alone at night made Valencia want to shoot them. But she didn’t have a gun. She didn’t have any weapons. What she had instead was a bag full of things that would put her in more danger if anyone found out.

Refusing to waste any more time, she lowered her head and dashed through the gap between them, ignoring her dizziness as best as she could. She ran as fast as she could, holding her bag tightly. The alley ended soon, the street was near.

There was a cackle in her ear, and then two revolting hands closed around her waist, snatching her back.

She screamed, turning away from the damp breath near her face as they pressed her against the wall.

“Shut up, bitch,” one of them growled. A hand was pressed tightly against her mouth.

He’d spent far more time in Miami than he’d wanted to.

Coming here from Connecticut himself, when he could’ve sent a secretary, was apparently more respect than his new investment deserved.

To have Lucien Sinclair step foot in your company, only for you to beg to reschedule the meeting, is simply ludicrous. Lucien would find another company to invest in, this one clearly wasn’t worth his time.

Sighing, he pushed a hand through his black hair, glancing at his mirrors as he drove. Florida was known for having crazy drivers, and he didn’t have time to get into an accident. Especially since this G-Wag he was driving wasn’t his and he couldn’t be bothered to fill in the paperwork after a crash. He sighed. Well, he’d just buy it then if he crashed.

He was slowing down at a traffic light and getting ready to speed through if there were no cops around when he spotted something in the dark alley on the right side of the road.

Frowning, he slowed down and stopped the car, leaning over the wheel to look across the road and make sense of what he was seeing. There were two men fighting someone.

When Lucien finally made out the small, pale face beneath the wild blond hair and flailing hands, he muttered a curse. Just another day on these filthy streets. Calmly pulling off his belt and popping open his glove compartment, he pulled out his gun and pushed his door open.