Brook pushed open the door to her apartment. The hinges screamed.
The smell of damp drywall and stale cigarettes hit her instantly. She locked the deadbolt, slid the chain into place, and leaned her forehead against the peeling paint of the door.
She walked to the tiny kitchen table and dropped the white corporate card onto the scratched laminate.
Julian Cardenas IV.
Project Manager. The Cardenas Consolidated logo sat in the corner next to a phone number.
Her phone vibrated on the table, rattling against the wood. The caller ID said Tammy.
Brook snatched it up. "Tammy?"
"Brook, did you get away?" Tammy's voice was a harsh, terrified whisper.
"I got married, Tammy," Brook said. She sank into the wobbly kitchen chair. "I did it."
Silence stretched over the line. Then, the sound of a muffled sob broke through the speaker.
"It's too late, Brook," Tammy cried. Her voice cracked with panic. "Dad already took the deposit from Travis."
Brook's stomach violently cramped. She doubled over slightly, pressing her free hand against her abdomen.
"Fifty thousand dollars," Tammy choked out. "They're going to sell you to him, Brook. Mom said if you don't come back, she's going to hunt you down and make your life a living hell until you beg to marry Travis."
Bobbi's twisted, furious face flashed in Brook's mind. The memory of Bobbi's heavy rings striking her cheek made her skin burn.
Brook looked down at the corporate business card.
Julian was a stranger. But he was a stranger who had stood between her and Bobbi. He was a legal shield.
"I'm not coming back, Tammy," Brook said. Her voice dropped an octave, hardening into something brittle and sharp. "I am legally married. They can't force me to do anything."
"Who is he?" Tammy asked. "Is he safe?"
Brook closed her eyes. She remembered the solid wall of Julian's chest. The calm, cold way he handled the clerk.
"His name is Julian. That's all I know."
"Just... be careful, Brook. Please."
The line went dead.
Brook dropped the phone. She couldn't stay here. Bobbi had the address. Travis had the address.
She picked up her phone again, opened a new text message, and typed in the number from the corporate card.
Mr. Cardenas, this is Brook. When can we discuss the living arrangements for this marriage?
She hit send. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Three seconds later, a reply popped up.
I'll come get you at 9 AM tomorrow. Be ready.
Brook stared at the glowing screen. She didn't know what she was walking into. But as the Seattle rain began to lash against her cracked window, she pulled her knees to her chest and felt a tiny, fragile spark of hope.
