Pretty When
You Cry
by Skye Warren
Genre: Dark Romance
I came from a place of dirt floors and holy scriptures. They told me the
world outside is full of sin, and the first night I escape, I know it’s true.
Ivan saves me, but he does more than that. He takes me. He makes me his own
girl.
My conditioning runs too deep. Ivan sees what I am.
That’s the thing about showing a mouse to a cat. He wants to play. And
it’s terrifying, even for me. Because the only thing darker than my past is
his.
So far a
city looks exactly how I thought it would—gutted buildings and dark alleys.
A den of
wickedness.
This
morning I woke up on my floor mat in Harmony Hills. Sunlight streamed through
the window while dust rose up to meet it. The white walls somehow kept their
color despite rough dirt floors.
A
desperate trek through the woods and a series of bus rides later, I made it to
a city. This city. Tanglewood. It could have been anywhere. They’re all the
same, all sinful, all scary—and the only thing that makes this one special is
that I ran out of money for bus tickets.
My shoes
are made of white canvas, already fraying and black from the grime of the
streets. I made these shoes by hand when I turned twelve, and the heel on the
left side has never fit quite right. But the bamboo soles lasted four years in
the hills. Now they’re cracking against concrete. I can feel every lump in the
pavement, every loose rock, every rounded hump as the sidewalk turns to
cobblestone and then back again.
That’s
not the worst part.
There’s
someone following me. Maybe more than one person. I try to listen for the
footsteps, but it’s hard to hear over the pounding in my ears, the thud of my
heart against my chest. Panic is a tangible force in my head, a gritty
quicksand that threatens to pull me down.
I could
end up on my knees before this night is over.
But I
don’t think I’ll be saying my evening prayers.
Men are
standing outside a gate that hangs open on its hinges. They fall silent as I
walk close. I tighten my arms where they are folded over my chest and look
down. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me. It wasn’t true when I was little,
and it’s not true now.
One of
them steps in front of me.
My breath
catches, and I stop walking. My whole body is trembling by the time I meet his
eyes, bloodshot red in a shadowed face. “What’s your name?” he asks in a
gravelly voice.
I jerk my
head. No.
“Now
that’s not very polite, is it?” Another one steps closer, and then I smell him.
They couldn’t have showered in the past day or even week.
Cleanliness
is a virtue.
Being
quiet and obedient and small is a virtue too. “I’m sorry. I just want to—”
I don’t
know what comes next. I want to run. I want to hide. I want to pretend the past
fifteen years as a disciple of the Harmony Hills never happened. None of that
is possible when I’m surrounded by men. I take a step back and bump into
another man. Hands close around my arms.
A sound
escapes me—fear and protest. It’s more than I would have done this morning,
that sound.
I’m
turned to face the man behind me. He smiles a broken-toothed smile. “Doesn’t
matter what you want, darling.”
My mouth
opens, but I can’t scream. I can’t scream because I’ve been taught not to.
Because I know no one will come. Because the consequences of crying are worse
than what will happen next.
Then the
man’s eyes widen in something like fear. It’s a foreign expression on his face.
It doesn’t belong. I wouldn’t even believe it except he takes a step back.
My chest
squeezes tight. What’s behind me? Who is behind me that could have inspired
that kind of fear? The men surrounding me are monsters, but they’re backing off
now, stepping away, hands up in surrender. No harm done, that’s what they’re
saying without words.
I whirl
and almost slip on a loose cobblestone.
The man
standing in front of me is completely still. That’s the first thing I notice
about him—before I see the fine cut of his black suit or the glint of a silver
watch under his cuff. Before I see the expression on his face, devoid of
compassion or emotion. Devoid of humanity.
“We
didn’t know she worked for you,” one of the men mumbles.
They’re
still backing up, forming a circle around us, growing wider. I’m in the middle.
I’m the drop, and the men around me form a ripple. Then they fade into the blackness
and are gone.
It’s just
me and the man in the suit.
He hasn’t
spoken. I’m not sure he’s going to. I half expect him to pull out a gun from
somewhere underneath that smooth black fabric and shoot me. That’s what happens
in the city, isn’t it? That’s what everyone told me about the outside world,
how dangerous it is. And even while some part of me had nodded along, had
believed them, another part of me had refused.
There had
to be beauty outside the white stucco walls. Beauty that wasn’t contained and
controlled. Beauty with color. Only apparently I was wrong. I haven’t seen
anything beautiful—except him.
He’s
beautiful in a strange and sinful way, one that makes me more afraid. Not
colorful exactly. His eyes are a gray color I’ve never seen before, both deep
and opaque at the same time.
He steps
closer, the light from a marquee sign illuminating his face, making him look
even more sinister. “What’s your name?”
I
couldn’t answer those other men, but I find something inside for him. I find
truth. “I’m not allowed to say my name to someone else.”
He
studies me for a long moment, taking in my tangled hair and my white dress.
“Why not?”
Because
God will punish me. “Because I’m running away.”
He nods
like this is what he expected. “Do you have money?”
I have
fifteen dollars left after bus fare. “Some.”
His lips
twist, and I wonder if that’s what a smile looks like on him. It’s terrifying.
“No, you don’t,” he says. “The question is, what would you do to earn some?”
Anything.
My voice
is just a whisper. “I’m a good girl.”
He
laughs, and I see that I was wrong before. That wasn’t a smile. It was a taunt.
A challenge. This is a real smile, one with teeth. The sound rolls through me
like a coming storm, deep and foreboding.
“I know,”
he says gently. “What’s your name?”
“Candace.”
He
studies me. “Pretty name.”
His voice
is deep with promise and something else I can’t decipher. All I know is he
isn’t really talking about my name. And I know it isn’t really a compliment.
“Thank you.”
“Now come
inside, Candace.”
He turns
and walks away before I can answer. I can feel the night closing in on me, the
sharks in the water waiting to strike. It’s not really a choice. I think the
man knows that. He’s counting on it. Whatever is going to happen inside will be
bad, and the only thing worse is what would have happened outside.
I hurry
to catch up with him, almost running across the crumbled driveway, under the
marquee sign for the Grand, desperate for the dubious safety of the man who
could hold the darkness at bay. It’s the same thing that kept me in Harmony
Hills for so long—fear and twisted gratitude.
Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today
Bestselling author of dark romance. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely
romantic.
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