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“You don’t know anything,” I bite.

“Which is why I need your help, Imogene. I just need you to answer a few more questions. Did you see evidence of illegal drug sales in and out of Serendee? What about sex trafficking?” She looks down at my dirty white gown. “Were you a witness to Timothy Wray’s involvement in either of these activities?”

“She’s a victim,” Camille says, slamming her fist on the table so hard the agent’s phone skips across the surface. “And she needs rest, food, and possibly medical care. We’ll come back when she’s had all of those, with our attorney. In the meantime, I think you have plenty of others to interrogate.”

I blink up at this woman—my mother. I have never heard anyone speak with such clear conviction. Especially not a woman. There’s no twisting of words or manipulations.

“We’re leaving.”

“One last thing—” She looks to me. “Do you know if Timothy Wray had other property outside the compound? Like another house? Business property? Close connections in another city?”

“Just the Center in town. Otherwise, we never left.” I frown. “Why?”

“Because Timothy Wray and a few others in his circle managed to escape tonight. If you have any idea where they are, you need to tell us now.”

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

Camille gestures for me to rise, and I follow, because I want to be anywhere but here. Also, Levi told me to go with her.

The outer room is filled with men and women in uniform, and I feel foolish in my gown—as if it marks me for being one of Anex’s loyal followers. I only raise my head when I sense someone’s approach. My heart stops. A cop leads three men, all of their hands bound at the wrists. Levi’s red hair jumps out at me first, followed by Elon’s broad shoulders, and then Rex’s ice blue eyes.

They turn without seeing me, down another hall.

“Where are they taking them? Why are they handcuffed?” I ask, turning to Camille in a panic.

“You heard Agent McNair. They’re Timothy’s closet allies. They’ll be questioned extensively.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not your concern. You’re away from them now. You never have to see any of those monsters again.”

Monsters.

I start to argue, to tell her that they aren’t monsters. They’remymen. I love them, but it feels dangerous to say. Numb all over, I follow Camille out of the police station wondering if I’ve traded one nightmare for the other.

21

Imogene

We don’t actually go to Camille’s. Apologizing, she makes a detour, swinging into the hospital parking lot.

“Do we have to do this now?” I ask, arms crossed over my chest. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I know,” Camille says, “but the police want to gather as much evidence as possible.”

“So you’re saying my body is evidence?”

She frowns. “No. I just…” She looks out the window of the car, unable to meet my eye. “I just want to make sure we get him, Imogene, and that means we can’t cut corners.”

A social worker meets us inside, along with another female agent. My head spins. It’s been hours since I’d slept or eaten. I’m worried about the guys—how long would they be at the station? Are they really in trouble. No one has answers. Just demands.

“Imogene, when you’re comfortable, I need you to remove your dress.”

I stiffen at the request. I know what my body looks like under the fabric. Bruised and scarred, some self-inflicted, others not. I hesitate, glancing over at Camille, both wanting her to see what she left me to endure and not wanting her to know.

“A little help?” I ask, gesturing to the row of buttons down the back of my dress. It’s filthy, covered in dirt and grime from my escape—the hem frayed and torn. Camille moves to assist me, her fingers shaking as she works. This is awkward for her, too, but she’s not the one who everyone’s eyes pin to as the fabric drops revealing my Anex approved undergarments.

Freak.