I slide out of bed and head into the bathroom but not before noticing the bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand and swallowing four pills—twice the recommended dosage. Grabbing my phone and charger, I plug it into the wall. No way I’m getting any more sleep tonight. It’s not even two yet, but if I try to sleep, I may end up with one of my scarier dreams. I don’t need Finn Carney witnessing my shrieking and rushing in.
And he would rush in. Not because he’s a good person, but because he knows how to take advantage of a situation.
I have a text message from Jamilah, the woman who took the leadership role for the casino staff and who contacted SWU in the first place. She’s brave as hell, and one of the reasons I refuse to quit.
Still, Finn’s comment about my brother scared me. It’s bad enough that I’ve been hurt, but what if Jamilah or my brother get hurt? I don’t know what to do.
The legal documents have been filed and notarized. The election is going to happen now. I made sure of it. There’s no doubt Carney will harass the hell out of his staff and try to suppress voting, but the National Labor Relations Board is scary in their own way.
Where are you? the text message says. It’s from a few hours ago.
It’s late, but Jamilah has a teenage daughter who often sneaks out. She may sleep less than I do.
You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’m at Finn Carney’s. His daddy found out I’m still at it. I type out. I’m not going to hit send.
But I do.
My phone lights up immediately. THE FUCK. YOU NEED ME TO COME GET YOU?
This is why I shouldn’t have replied. The heavy bang of a truck dropping its plow to clear the road sounds in the distance. Another reason why I can’t accept Jamilah’s help right now. None of the Carneys can know who my contacts are. Her name is “Aunt Mary” in my phone.
No, I reply. But I don’t know what to do. He’s trying to convince me to go team Carney.
Jamilah was livid when I was attacked. She even visited me in the hospital, though I warned her away from it. James Carney would kill her with impunity.
But she came anyway. Sometimes when she looks at me it reminds me of my mother.
TELL THE MOTHER FUCKER YOU’VE SEEN THE LIGHT. LIE TO HIS SMARMY ASS.
I almost laugh but don’t want to draw any attention. I’m afraid his father will hurt you or Benjamin if he finds out I lied.
The response is all-caps again. HONEY, FINN IS BOND VILLAIN SMART BUT PURE SEX TOO. DAMSEL IN DISTRESS IT. TRICK HIM INTO THINKING HE’S WON. GIVE HIM SOMETHING SMALL SO HE’LL BELIEVE IT. SEDUCE HIM.
Jamilah is brilliant. If I tell him about the petition, he’ll think he’s changed my mind, just a little, and hopefully he’ll underestimate me.
I’ve never seduced anyone in my life. Completely lacking in seduction skills.
It’s true. I’m still a virgin at the ripe old age of twenty-six. I hadn’t had time for boyfriends and wasn’t sure I wanted to bother after seeing what my mother went through. Men seem to be far more trouble than they’re worth.
SHOW OFF YOUR BOOBS AND PLAY UP THE INNOCENT THING YOU GOT GOING ON. I BELIEVE IN YOU.
But what if he wants something I can’t give him? I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but I don’t count it out, either. I need to fix this problem and do so in a way that makes it seem like I’m cooperating. Caution sparks: I can’t acquiesce out of the blue, so I’ll have to be careful. Finn is a keen observer of human nature. I gave away more information about my family than I probably should have during our conversation earlier, but he’s the definition of a smooth talker. If I were to guess, his downfall is arrogance. He’s someone who’s used to always being right. I’ll lean into the story he’s created about me and use that to get what I want.
Or at least get out of here safely.
Won’t be hard, because most of it’s true.
He resents his father and knows I resent mine. My mind flashes back to his scar. Did his father hurt him, too? Maybe I can play up that angle. Finn isn’t exactly empathetic, but maybe I can bait him into letting his guard down and get helpful information. I don’t buy his rebelling-against-daddy persona for a minute. Finn lives a comfortable life and wants to keep living a comfortable life. He’ll throw me under the bus whenever it suits him.
Okay. I’ll try. I’ll text you again when it’s safe. Radio silence pls.
GIRL U BETTER. RADIO SILENCE NOW.
I delete the texts and shut off my phone.
After I watch the snow fall for a while, I decide to take a shower, grateful for the en suite bathroom. My ankle isn’t any better, no surprise there. It hurts as I strip off my borrowed clothes and climb into the shower. The water pressure is amazing. Luckily our Lothario keeps souvenirs like a rake version of a serial killer, and I find a basket full of toiletries left behind by his former conquests.
I’m not averse to using men’s supplies when I have to, but I don’t want to smell like him.
Trying to fool a man like Finn won’t be easy, and it strikes me as more dangerous than openly defying him. Still, I have to succeed to keep my brother safe.
After my shower, I wash my clothes in the sink. It’s nothing new for me—growing up poor gives you a particular skill set. Luckily, I haven’t had to do it much lately.
As I wring my underwear out, I consider: they’re practical and not at all sexy. Do I have any sexy underwear? Probably not. Certainly nothing that could be construed as lingerie. I set the blow-dryer on low and hoping it won’t wake Finn, dry my hair along with my clothing.
How does one go about locating the right kind of sexy underwear? Most of the “sexy lady” stores in the mall seem more cheesy than anything else—like a teenager’s version of sexy. Finn is in his mid-thirties, sophisticated and wealthy. There’s no way he’d like the cheaply made garments my high school friends and I used to giggle at.
They’ve all finished college and moved far, far away from Everett. Someday I hope I can do the same.
When my clothes are dry, I put them back on. I’m not the kind of girl who can go braless. My mother always tsk’d at me. You got Grandma Goldie’s big ol’ titties on my bird bone frame. Gotta support ’em so they’re not dragging on the ground by the time you’re forty.
My family’s nothing if not classy.
Still, it’s good advice and I hold on to all of my mother’s words of wisdom. Sometimes I’ll forget what she sounded like. That scares me. We were too poor to have the latest technology, so the videos I have of her are grainy at best.
The bruises on my neck are ugly now. Talk about manhandling. Jamilah suggested going the damsel-in-distress route, but he responded more to my anger. I’ll give him that, but always let him win. Always let him think I’m submitting to his masculine prowess against my better judgment. Because I have to.
Surviving difficult men is something the women in my family excel at, for better or worse.
I can do this.
I hate that I’m in this awful position, but I’ll do what it takes to keep my brother safe and get the casino staff organized. Then my brother and I can both leave Boston and I can restart my life.
Finn doesn’t start moving around until nine am. Must be nice. I emerge fully dressed in my work clothes from yesterday. It’s nothing impressive—black slacks and a plain purple sweater. Grandma Goldie always told me she liked me in purple. Made the green in my eyes pop, she’d said. Maybe that’s why she gave me the purple bunny socks.