Chapter 29: The Sacrifice

Chapter 29: The Sacrifice
Laura's POV

My hand freezes on the bathroom door handle. The metal feels like ice against my palm, but my whole body burns with fever. Through the thin wood, I hear Vincent's voice that same gravelly tone that haunted my teenage years, the sound of my mother's worst choices coming home to roost.

"Two million dollars," he says, and my stomach drops like I'm falling off a cliff. "Plus interest."

This is my fault. All of it. Andy didn't ask for my baggage, my history, my mother's terrible taste in men. He just wanted a fake wife for six months. Instead, he gets Vincent breaking into his home, threatening the woman who raised him, demanding money that could buy a small house.

I press my ear against the door. Andy's voice shakes when he speaks strong, wonderful Andy who's never been afraid of anything in his life. Now he's terrified because of me. Because I brought this poison into his world.

My knees buckle, and I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the cold marble floor. The bathroom tiles bite into my legs through the thin silk of my dress. I wrap my arms around myself, but I can't stop shaking.

I'm fifteen again, hiding in my bedroom closet while Vincent screams at my mother in the kitchen. The smell of his cheap cologne mixed with beer and cigarettes. The sound of her sobbing, begging him not to hurt her. The crash of dishes breaking against the wall. I'd pressed my hands over my ears so hard they went numb, but I could still hear everything.

"Please, Vincent," my mother had cried. "Laura doesn't know anything about the money. She's just a kid."

But Vincent's laugh had been cold as winter. "She's not going to be a kid forever, Maria. And when she grows up, she's going to be very valuable to me."

Even then, at fifteen, I'd known what he meant. I'd seen the way his eyes followed me when he thought no one was looking. The way he touched my shoulder when he said hello, his fingers lingering too long. The way he talked about my "potential" like I was livestock he was planning to sell.

That night, I'd made a promise to myself: I would never let Vincent get his hands on me. I would run, hide, disappear whatever it took. For eleven years, I'd kept that promise.

Until now.

Catherine's muffled voice brings me back to the present. She's trying to speak through the tape over her mouth, probably trying to comfort Andy or tell him she's okay. But she's not okay. None of us are okay. Vincent doesn't just want money he wants to own people, to break them down until they're nothing but tools for his use.

I can't let him do that to Catherine. I can't let him destroy Andy the way he destroyed my childhood.

My hands shake as I reach for the door lock. The click sounds loud as a gunshot in the small bathroom. I hear Andy's sharp intake of breath from the other side.

"No," he whispers. "Laura, don't."

But I'm already turning the handle. The door swings open, and suddenly I'm standing in the wreckage of what used to be our celebration. Glass covers the floor like stars fallen from heaven. The beautiful chandelier still sparkles overhead, but everything below it is broken.

Vincent stands in the middle of the chaos like a king in his castle. He's older than I remember gray threads through his black hair, and deep lines cut around his eyes. But he's still big, still dangerous, still wearing that smile that makes my skin crawl.

"Well, well," he says, and his voice is exactly the same as it was eleven years ago. "Little Laura, all grown up."

My throat closes. I can't breathe, can't speak, can't move. For a moment, I'm fifteen again, paralyzed by fear and the smell of his cologne. But then I see Catherine tied to the chair, her eyes wide with worry not for herself, but for me. I see Andy's face, pale and desperate, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

These people love me. They're willing to fight for me, to sacrifice for me. I can't let them pay for my mother's mistakes.

"Vincent." My voice comes out steadier than I expected. "Let them go. This is between you and me."

He laughs, throwing his head back like I've told the funniest joke in the world. "Between you and me? Oh, sweetheart, this stopped being just between us the minute you started playing house with rich boy here."

One of his men a thin guy with dead eyes and scars on his knuckles steps closer to Andy. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Don't touch him," I say, and this time my voice is stronger. "Please. I'll give you whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" Vincent's eyes light up with the same predatory gleam I remember from my nightmares. He walks toward me slowly, like a cat stalking a mouse. "That's a dangerous offer, little girl."

The smell hits me when he gets close cigarettes and whiskey and something else, something that reminds me of fear and pain. My mother used to smell like this after Vincent's visits, like his presence soaked into her skin and wouldn't wash off.

"I remember when you were just a skinny kid with big eyes," he says, reaching out to touch my face. I force myself not to flinch away. "Always watching, always listening. I told your mama you'd be worth something someday."

His fingers are rough against my cheek, and I taste bile in the back of my throat. But I don't move. I can't show weakness, not when Andy and Catherine are watching.

"Two million dollars," I say. "That's what you want, right? I'll get it for you."

"Will you now?" Vincent's hand drops to my shoulder, gripping tight enough to bruise. "And how's a little con artist like you going to get that kind of money?"

Heat rushes to my face. He knows about my marriages, about what I've done to survive. Of course he does. Vincent makes it his business to know everyone's secrets.

"I have resources," I say, hating how small my voice sounds.

"Resources." He laughs again. "You mean you'll marry another rich fool and take him for everything he's worth?"

"Stop." Andy's voice cuts through the room like a knife. He takes a step forward, and Vincent's other men tense like attack dogs waiting for a command. "Don't talk to her like that."

Vincent turns to look at Andy, his hand still gripping my shoulder. "Oh, this one's got it bad, doesn't he? Look at him, ready to fight for his little bride." His fingers dig deeper into my skin. "Tell me, Andy did she make you feel special? Did she convince you that you were different from all the others?"

"Shut up," Andy says, but I can hear the doubt creeping into his voice. Vincent's poison is working, just like it always does.

"Because you're not different," Vincent continues. "You're just another mark with a bank account. Laura here, she's got a gift for making men fall in love with her. Been doing it since she was nineteen."

My chest feels like it's caving in. Every word is true, and Andy knows it. I see the pain flash across his face, the moment when Vincent's words hit their target.

"That's not" I start to say, but Vincent's grip tightens, cutting off my words.

"Not what? Not true?" Vincent grins at Andy. "Ask her how many men she's married. Ask her how much money she's made breaking hearts."

The silence stretches between us like a chasm. Andy's eyes meet mine across the wreckage of the room, and I see everything I've been afraid of doubt, hurt, the walls going back up around his heart.

"It doesn't matter," Andy says finally, and his voice is stronger than I expected. "Whatever she's done, whoever she's been l love her. And I'm not going to let you hurt her."

Vincent's grip on my shoulder relaxes with surprise. I think he expected Andy to crumble, to turn against me like so many others have. But Andy steps forward instead, moving closer to us despite the danger.

"How touching," Vincent says, but his voice has lost some of its confidence. "True love conquers all, is that it?"

"Something like that." Andy's eyes never leave mine. "Laura, whatever you're thinking, don't do it. We'll figure this out together."

Together. The word hits me like a physical blow. When was the last time anyone wanted to face trouble with me instead of running away from it?

But I can't let Andy sacrifice himself for my mistakes. I can't let Catherine pay for my mother's debts. Some things are worth more than my own safety.

"I'll go with you," I tell Vincent, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. "Right now. No conditions. Just let them go."

"Laura, no!" Andy lurches forward, but Vincent's man grabs his arm, holding him back.

"Interesting offer," Vincent says, studying my face like he's reading a book. "But I think I like this arrangement better. Your boyfriend here can pay my money, and I still get to collect what's mine."

What's his. Like I'm property, like I've always been property in his eyes. The fifteen-year-old girl inside me wants to run and hide, but I'm not fifteen anymore. I'm twenty-six, and I'm tired of running.

"I'm not yours," I say, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. "I never was."

Vincent's smile turns ugly. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

He raises his hand, and for a moment I think he's going to hit me. But then his phone buzzes, loud and sharp in the sudden silence.

He glances at the screen, and his face changes. The confidence drains away, replaced by something that looks almost like fear.

"Boss?" one of his men asks.

Vincent stares at his phone, his face going pale. "We need to leave. Now."

"What about the money?" the thin man asks.

"Forget the money." Vincent's voice is tight with panic. "We're blown. Someone knows we're here."

He looks at me one last time, and I see something in his eyes I've never seen before uncertainty. Fear.

"This isn't over, little girl," he says. "Not by a long shot."

Then he's moving toward the door, his men scrambling to follow. But just as they reach the entrance, the lights go out.

Complete darkness swallows the room, and someone screams.