We reached the city just after dawn, and from the yacht I could see smoke still rising from the Westside. It looked like a war zone, buildings with blown-out windows, streets littered with debris, emergency vehicles everywhere trying to contain the damage.
I stood on the deck watching it all, wrapped in a blanket Nina had given me, trying to process that my entire neighborhood had been destroyed. Everything I'd known, as terrible as it had been, was just gone.
"It's harder than you thought it would be, isn't it?" Nina appeared beside me, her own eyes on the destruction. "Seeing it in daylight."
"I didn't think I'd care," I admitted. "That place gave me nothing but pain. But it was still home, you know?"
Nina nodded. "Yeah, I know. For what it's worth, most of the residents got out alive. Tillman's people went in with precision, they were targeting Damien's operation specifically, not civilians."
"Most isn't all," I said quietly.
"No," Nina agreed. "It's not."
A commotion behind us made us turn. Marcus was leading a group of people up from below deck, and my stomach dropped when I recognized them. Survivors from the Westside, maybe two dozen people looking exhausted and scared. And at the front was Damien Cross himself, his expensive suit rumpled and dirty, his face bruised.
His eyes found me immediately, and the hatred in them made me step back. "You," he snarled. "This is your fault, you little bitch."
Before I could respond, Tillman was there, appearing out of nowhere to put himself between Damien and me. The change in him was immediate and terrifying. Where before he'd been controlled, now he radiated violence barely leashed.
"Watch your mouth," Tillman said, his voice deadly quiet.
Damien seemed to realize his mistake, but his pride wouldn't let him back down completely. "You don't understand, that girl is the reason all of this happened. She's been feeding information to your enemies, setting you up."
"Is that so?" Tillman's tone was conversational, which somehow made it more frightening. "And you have proof of this?"
"I can get it," Damien said quickly. "Documents, recorded conversations, everything you need to see that she's been playing you."
I felt sick. Damien was trying to use me as a scapegoat, blaming me for his own crimes. And the worst part was, I had no way to prove my innocence.
Tillman looked back at me, his expression unreadable. "What do you say to that, Helen?"
My throat was too tight to speak. I just shook my head, knowing it wouldn't be enough, knowing Damien was more believable than some nobody girl with scars and no credibility.
"I'll look into it," Tillman finally said, turning back to Damien. "In the meantime, you and your people will be relocated to my compound. Consider yourselves under house arrest until I sort out the truth."
Damien's face went pale. Being in Tillman's compound meant being completely under his control, with no chance of escape. But he nodded, probably realizing that refusing would be worse.
As the survivors were led away, I felt Tillman's eyes on me again. "Come with me," he said, and I followed him to what looked like an office on the yacht, all dark wood and leather furniture.
He closed the door and gestured for me to sit. I perched on the edge of a chair, my hands twisted together in my lap.
"Tell me everything," Tillman said, leaning against his desk. "From the beginning. How you ended up in Damien's care, what you saw, what you heard. All of it."
So I told him. About my mother dying when I was twelve, about Damien becoming my legal guardian even though he never wanted me. About the years of abuse, the constant terror, the way he'd use me as a punching bag whenever he was angry or drunk or just bored. I told him about overhearing the conversation in Damien's office three nights before the attack, about how Damien had been making deals with people he shouldn't, how money had been disappearing from the territory's accounts.
"He caught me outside his office," I said, my voice shaking. "He knew I'd heard something even though I tried to lie. That's when he, when he really hurt me. Worse than usual. He said if I ever told anyone what I heard, he'd kill me slowly."
Tillman's expression hadn't changed throughout my story, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of his desk. "And you never thought to report this to someone? To the police?"
I almost laughed. "The police don't come to the Westside, not for people like me. And everyone knew what Damien was, they just didn't care. I was nobody, I didn't matter."
"You matter now," Tillman said, and there was something fierce in his voice that made me look up at him.
Our eyes met and held, and that electric feeling was back, stronger than before. I didn't understand it, didn't know what it meant, but I couldn't look away.
"Sir?" Marcus knocked and entered without waiting for permission. "The cars are ready to head to the compound."
Tillman nodded, still looking at me. "Helen rides with me."
We disembarked and I got my first real look at Tillman's operation. The compound was in an industrial area on the edge of downtown, surrounded by high walls topped with cameras and what looked like actual guards. The building itself was modern glass and steel, looking more like a corporate headquarters than what I'd expected.
Inside was even more impressive. Clean lines, expensive furniture, people moving with purpose through hallways that seemed to go on forever. Nina stayed close to me, probably sensing my overwhelm, as we followed Tillman through the maze.
"This is the residential wing," Nina explained. "Tillman's people live here, work here, basically it's a self-contained community. You'll have your own room, access to the common areas, pretty much free run of the place."
"Except I'm a prisoner," I said quietly.
Nina didn't deny it. "For now, yeah. Until Tillman figures out what's true and what's not. But Helen, prisons could be a lot worse than this."
She wasn't wrong. My room was on the fifth floor, spacious and bright with a huge window looking out over the city. Private bathroom, comfortable furniture, even a small kitchenette. It was nicer than anywhere I'd ever lived by a factor of about a thousand.
"Get settled," Nina said. "I'll come back in a few hours and show you around. In the meantime, if you need anything, just pick up that phone and dial zero. Someone will help you."
She left me alone, and I sat on the bed trying to process everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. I'd gone from running for my life to being rescued to being accused of crimes I didn't commit to being installed in what amounted to a luxury prison. My head was spinning.
A knock on the door interrupted my spiral. I opened it to find a woman standing there, tall and gorgeous with long dark hair and eyes that assessed me with open contempt. She was dressed expensively, designer clothes and perfect makeup, and she looked at me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe.
"So you're the stray Tillman picked up," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I'm Sophia Cross. I'm sure you remember me."
My blood ran cold. Damien's daughter, one of the people who'd made my life hell, was here.
"What do you want?" I managed to ask.
Sophia smiled, and it was all teeth, nothing warm about it. "Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Can't imagine what Tillman sees in you, you're nothing special. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll figure that out soon enough."
She looked me up and down one more time, then walked away laughing. I closed the door and locked it, my hands shaking.
This place might look like luxury, but I was starting to realize it was just a prettier cage than I was used to.