Saving Hailey: Chapter 12

PRESENT DAY

“Come in,” I say, startled by the politeness of hearing three firm knocks on my door.

“How’s the pain this morning?” Blaze says as he enters. He smiles when he spots me on the edge of the bed, toweling my hair dry. “I guess you’re doing better?”

“Yes, a little better. Thank you for the clothes.”

Last night, along with dinner, the maid delivered a rack of clothes: warm hoodies, sweaters, tracksuit bottoms, leggings, and plain cotton underwear.

Blaze waves his hand dismissively, resting near the doorway. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

I stop toweling my hair, my heart thumping a little faster. He wasn’t here when his men dragged me into the ballroom. He wasn’t here while I was locked in the room with thirty beds, or when Darius attacked me under the icy shower.

Having Blaze around has made me feel… comfortable. Safe, even. But only when he’s in the room. He stopped by for a chat a few times yesterday, and he’s here now, his presence soothing me like a warm blanket. Once he leaves, the illusion of safety gives way to fear… and if he’s nowhere in the vicinity it’ll be twice as potent. I don’t want him leaving the house.

“It’s auction night,” Blaze adds.

Auction night…

“Will my guest be auctioned with the others, Darius?”

“No, Boss, she won’t.”

“And which girls are you allowed to playdate with here?”

“The ones for auction.”

“You’re selling the girls,” I whisper.

I want to scream that what he does is sick, vile, plain wrong. That he is sick, but survival instinct makes me bite my tongue. He’s been kind since he arrived, but it doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me if I insult him.

“Yes,” he confirms. “Contrary to what you might think, they know the endgame when we round them up in Russia, Latvia, Slovenia, some of those other eastern European countries, I can’t remember all their weird names. They’re not forced into this life, Hailey. They come willingly.”

“They willingly agree to what happens in the ballroom?”

His jaw clamps tight, his nostrils flaring. He doesn’t lash out like I expect. He simply shrugs it off, eyes boring into mine. “Think of it as test-driving a car. It’s usually the new owner who takes it for a ride, but it’s different at an auction. My clients expect the best, so the girls need to be tested. Besides… a night in the ballroom keeps my men happy.”

That beautiful rug flashes before my eyes. The pattern distorts with girls crawling beneath, I hear their cries, pleas, the foul, satiated groaning of men. The slap of flesh coming together, the gagging…

I shut my eyes, swallowing the bile climbing my throat. Tears burn my eyes because I can’t save them…

Helplessness might be the worst feeling.

A soft knock centers me back in the present.

“Come in, Marai,” Blaze says.

A young maid enters, carrying a tray with breakfast, two coffees and painkillers. The scent of French toast wafts through the air, but instead of my stomach growling, it tightens painfully, protesting any food intake.

Idly conversing about Rape ahead of breakfast will spoil any girl’s appetite. Or maybe I’m still clinging to Nash’s words like I have since day one.

Smarter. You need to be smarter, Hailey.

I haven’t eaten since I arrived, other than that sandwich I couldn’t keep down for Darius. I don’t think I should drink either once Blaze leaves. I’m not safe here without him. Darius might be dead, but he wasn’t the only man eyeing me like a toy in that ballroom…

With Blaze gone, who’ll stop them slipping me a few roofies, then climbing through the window once I can’t call for help?

It’s not a rational thought, but fear is rarely rational.

“Can I come with you tonight?” I ask, twisting the towel between my fingers.

He cocks an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the request. He’s not the only one… I just asked to watch those girls get auctioned because I feel safe with the man selling them.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Blaze says, weighing every word. “You shouldn’t worry, Hailey. Most of my men are coming along for the show. I’m leaving a few behind, including Rex, who will stand at your door the whole night. You’ll be safe.”

The maid sets the tray on the nightstand, hands Blaze his white coffee and retreats with a respectful bow of her head.

“You need to eat, Hailey,” Blaze says.

I nod, even though one look at the French toast has me covering my mouth with the back of my hand. I’ve never been good at keeping food down in stressful situations.

I do, however, reach for my coffee with less suspicion today. It took me two hours to finish the first cup yesterday morning because I took long breaks between every mouthful. Nothing happened, so I drank the cup Marai brought up in the afternoon much faster, enjoying the bitterness while it was still warm.

I’m also no longer pathologically weak. No longer than twelve hours ago, my hands trembled like an alcoholic on their first sober day, but today, the coffee’s barely sloshing in the cup.

I guess the energy from the sugar is helping.

Blaze rounds the bed, his eyes narrowing on my hands as I lift the cup, taking a small sip.

“Lean forward.”

“No, it’s—”

“It wasn’t a request. Nice doesn’t work on you. Either you let me take a look at your back voluntarily, or Rex will hold you down while I check your bones.”

I bite my lip, a shudder passing through me. Looks like he ran out of patience.

I set the cup aside and grit my teeth as I scoot forward, ignoring the pain, locking it at the back of my mind with all the other feelings I can’t deal with right now. It doesn’t work particularly well, but it helps brace the agony.

“I’ll pull the hoodie up, so keep the duvet close,” he denotes, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

I can’t figure him out. He’s nice, but it might be a façade, a ploy to ignite a false sense of security before he strikes. He doesn’t want to use force in case it jams my memories, but what happens when he realizes playing nice is fruitless? Will he threaten me with a gun or beat the information out of me?

No… he wouldn’t, would he? He keeps saying I’m safe.

I close my fingers on the duvet, pulling it up just as Blaze softly lifts my hoodie. There’s no gasp or sharp inhale. No clues to how bad my back looks.

He gathers the fabric up, then rubs his palm against his pants to warm it up. “I’ll touch you now.”

I give him a curt nod. Even though I know what’s coming, I still jerk when I feel his hand at the small of my back. Not because he’s touching me, but because it hurts.

“It’s okay,” he says, his tone emotionless, like a robot spewing pre-programmed comfort.

He presses his whole palm to my skin, making me twitch away, my skin crawling. He doesn’t retreat, holding still like he’s getting me used to his touch. And it works… I relax a little once he slowly works his way up, pressing various spots and tracing lines all around before moving to my ribs.

Everything hurts, though not as much as yesterday. I guess exhaustion and lack of energy really does make things worse.

“Nothing’s broken,” he says, covering my back and purposefully striding away. “I’d suggest bandaging in case there’s a hairline fracture somewhere, but I have a feeling you’ll say no.”

Of course I’ll say no.

Wrapping my ribs would require flashing my breasts and no way that’s happening after what Darius did to me in the shower.

“I’m fine,” I say, leaning back against the pillows.

He makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat, clearly unappeased. I can’t figure him out. He looks genuinely concerned about my wellbeing, even though he doesn’t have to be personally involved. He doesn’t care that his men torture women down the hall, leaving them broken in more ways than one, but he does care that Darius shoved me under the rug.

“You should take a bath, eat, and rest, Hailey,” he adds, his tone firmer. “A tired mind is a useless mind.”

He doesn’t add that unless I’m useful, there’s no reason to play nice. There’s no need for clarification. It’s obvious.

Up to now, I’ve been far from useful. The tiny flashback I had about Alex mentioning Aalyiah is my only new memory since Lakeside.

“I’ll stop by before I leave,” he says and, with a curt nod, he leaves me alone, closing the door behind him.

The room falls into a suffocating silence, interrupted only by the muffled groans of the mansion. Thankfully, I can’t hear any girls crying, screaming, or howling, just men wandering the corridors.

A strange mix of relief and fear settles in my gut. Relief that Blaze, with his unsettling calmness, is gone. He may make this place more bearable, but it’s still his place. Fear, because every moment I spend in this gilded cage without giving him the evidence is a moment closer to pain.

He won’t be this patient forever…