“He knew my mother,” I whisper, wondering how well. The sick feeling I’m fighting wins.
I run toward what I hope is the master bath and make it to the toilet before getting sick. Sin is right there with me, holding back my hair and running a soothing hand over my back.
“It will be okay, Harlow. He’ll never bother you again. I promise.” His words spin in my head. As long as I stay here in Rochester, I’ll never be free from him. He doesn’t love me. I am his sick obsession.
When nothing else is left in my stomach, I stand up on weak knees with Sin’s help. His arms secure me while I catch my balance.
“I’m here for you, baby.” Picking me up and cradling me in his arms, Sin carries me across the shiny white tile to the sink and sets me on the counter. He wets a washcloth, wipes around my lips, and smoothes the hair from my face. He cares for me with such tenderness, it almost makes me forget the horror that brought me into this room.
“This has all been some crazy plan of his,” I whisper. The words are hard enough to think, let alone say.
“I have my suspicions. Do you feel better? I need to see what Kurt discovered. We may have very little time.” Sin gives me a soft, comforting smile while holding my hands in his own.
“I’m good.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want to hold Sin up and keep him in here nursing me. I have a feeling James will get here sooner rather than later. It’s how he operates, and I have no desire to be standing around when he walks through the door.
Sin helps me off the counter and we walk back into the bedroom.
“What’s all this on the bed?” I ask.
“Kurt has taken everything out of the safe. I need to go through it and see what James hid.” Sin walks over to the cardboard box sitting on the bed and his eyes go wide.
“Holy shit,” he exclaims, turning the box to face me. On the front in large, black letters is one word: HARLOW.
“I knew it.” The words tumble from my lips. So many odd moments come to my memory. The time he slipped and mentioned my high school English class and how I loved my teacher. She encouraged me to write poetry, telling me to practice my God-given gift, but I never told him about her. He said I had, but couldn’t remember. Now, all the weird little quirks that made me doubt my own memory make sense. He played me from the start.
Sin lifts the top off the box and I fear the contents while dying to know what’s inside. My life. My past. My future.
I peer over the top of the box and see papers mixed with photographs, files without marked tabs.
“What the fuck?” Sin mutters under his breath as he shuffles through the top layers and pulls out a few items.
One of them is a photograph of me reading in my hiding place at the club. I haven’t read there for over a year. Another chill runs down my spine. From the looks of the setting and the shorter length of my hair, the photo had to have been taken a year ago, maybe longer.
“There are more just like this one,” Sin comments as he digs deeper.
He opens a file and the first page appears to be a log with daily entries. The logo on the yellowish paper is from a private detective agency named Brennan’s.
Again, my name is typed in caps across the page.
“He had you watched every fucking day.” Sin points to a few days with various entries posted. There were days when I would look over my shoulder as an odd feeling of being watched came over me. I brushed it off as anxiety, but not anymore. I should’ve listened to that voice inside me whispering something was amiss. I was needy and blind to heed the warning.
Sin hands me the daily log sheet and I begin to read over the entries.
May 1st - Home all day.
May 2nd - Left home at 9 a.m. Followed her to the approved dry cleaners and grocery store. Returned home at 11:47 a.m. and didn’t leave for the rest of the day.
The folder contains page after page of documents tracing my daily activities. Every breath I took while living with James was recorded—the times I left the house thinking I was free were nothing more than pretense. I was a true prisoner with a guard to watch my every move.
“When did this start?” I ask, grabbing a few folders off the top.
“I think we know,” Sin says, but I want proof.
I start with the bottom folder in my hands and open it. Checking the day at the top, I see the first entry for last October. Over three months before I even knew James existed.
“He picked me out, waited for the moment when I was the weakest, then trapped me.”
“That son of a bitch,” Sin spits in disgust. “What he did to you comes close to insanity.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, remembering I am no longer with James. But it seems his reach is like a tentacle still holding on to me—a sick and diseased connection I have to escape. I want my freedom. It’s my God-given right.
“This box is coming with us.” Sin takes the papers from my hands and returns them to the box. “We need to leave before James finds us.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, twisting my fingers.
“The hotel across the street. I just hope they have a room.”