Текст книги "Meet Me in the Dark"

Автор книги: J. A. Huss

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“When all my power is stripped away, I still have choices. Like choosing not to give a shit. That’s a very powerful choice when a person thinks she has no power.”

– Sydney

When I wake my whole body hurts. Everywhere the high-pressure water touched me stings like I was burned. I’m untethered, but when I move my legs, the knife pricks erupt in pain. One alone is not enough to matter. But dozens of them all up the inside of my thigh are far, far harder to ignore.

I swallow and realize I’m thirsty again. He’s drugging me. The drugs make me confused. But I’ve always been thirsty. I drink a lot of water on normal days, and being deprived—

Wait. The sink is dripping again.

It’s drugged, my mind tells me.

But why drug it when I just woke up? No. He’s doing something with me. I’m not sure what, but it makes no sense that the water—

I’m cold, I suddenly realize. My whole body is shivering. My dark world comes fully back to me as I wake up from the fog. Everything is so cold, everything… except my feet. They are toasty warm.

Why? Why does none of this make any sense?

I sit up and get dizzy in the blackness with no reference point to concentrate on. I gather myself and wait for my vision to clear.

It never clears. So I close my eyes and swing my legs over. I don’t need eyes. What good are eyes in the dark? After a few minutes I reach down with my toe, noticing they are no longer warm—so that was not some freak accident of biology heating me up—and touch the rough concrete floor. I stand, sway for a moment as I hold onto the table, and then use it to walk to the end. It’s warm over here.

I drop to my knees and crawl forward, the heat building as I go. I get to a wall—not wood, but metal—and my whole palm flattens against it.

It’s a heater or something. About three feet wide and three feet tall. I press my whole body up against it and I can hear sound from the other side.

A fire. It’s a fireplace, only I’m on the other side of it. Separated by a sheet of metal.

But that is better than anything I could’ve hoped for. I sit there, willing myself to relax. He gave me heat. And water, I think as I absently log the sound of the drips on the other side of the room. Heat and water. And I’m clean.

He gave me three things. Which means he will give me more.

I have a little glimmer of hope.

A sudden grating sound shakes me from this fantasy I’m building and there’s a sliver of light as a tray is pushed through a plate-sized hole at the bottom of the room, where the sink is.

Food. That’s four things. And I didn’t do anything for these last two except wake up. I swallow down what that might imply, and crawl along the wall until I reach the tray. The meat is cold and the fruit is warm. But I don’t mind cold meat or warm fruit.

I take a few berries—absently wondering where he got them in the dead of winter—and stuff them in my mouth. They are not very sweet, but I don’t care. The raspberries are ripe and soft. They practically melt in my mouth.

The meat is gamey, but I like game meat. Have learned to like game meat after so many years camping with Garrett. It’s elk, I can tell. There’s not a lot of it, only a few mouthfuls. But it’s been so long since I ate, my stomach feels full when I finish. I force myself to eat the berries too—needing the vitamins they contain—and then I stand up and feel my way over to the dripping sink. I lean my head down and let it pool into my mouth until I can swallow enough to matter, then repeat this a few more times until I feel satisfied. I walk back over to the heat and lie down in front of it, listening for the crackle of wood.

What is he doing?

I ask myself that over and over again. But I already know the answer. He wants Garrett. Hell, I want Garrett.

No. You want Brett, not Garrett.

Is that true? Do I want Brett? What must he think of me? Running away from our wedding? Does he think I planned an escape? Does he think I’ve been kidnapped? Is he looking for me right now? Did he find my truck out there on the mountain?

There was blood in there. I crashed. So that’s why my body is so sore. Maybe it’s not from the hose? Maybe it’s from the crash?

I’m so confused. Why did I ever leave Brett? He was the only good thing in my life since Garrett left.

Case would kill him and you know this, Sydney.

Case would. I have no doubts now. I did the right thing by leaving. Right thing for Brett, anyway. Me? Not so much.

Case is going to kill me. Whatever kindness he’s showing me now is just a means to an end. He’s keeping me alive for his own purposes. He said as much. He hates me and he’s looking forward to my death.

And he killed my father.

Do I care?

No. No, that was another blessing in disguise. My father was a monster. If Case is the monster in the dark, my father is the monster in the light. Hidden by the brightness of his career, his money, and his status.

I let out a small laugh. “Not anymore, asshole.” Because he’s dead. I look around the room and see only blackness. But I can imagine it in my mind. I have a very active imagination. I can imagine my father writhing in pain on that table. Maybe he had the fire hose treatment too?

I laugh for real, picturing him getting one of his suits cut off him. Case slicing him up instead of poking. I mean, I’m young, and cute, and sexy. Even I know this. And my father is old, and mean, and ugly. Case would not be cupping his hand over my father’s private parts like he did mine.

Why did he do that?

He’s going to rape you, Sydney.

I take a moment to let that sink it. He’s going to rape me. I know it. I can feel it.

You can use that against him.

Maybe I can.

A door creaks open on the other side of the room and I force myself not to move. I stare in that direction. No light escapes, like it did when the tray of food was pushed through, so I can’t see anything.

But I can certainly feel him coming in. I can smell him too. And it’s not a rank smell. He doesn’t smell like someone who’s been camping in the woods for a few weeks. This cabin has a shower somewhere, because he just smells like a man.

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” he replies.

“I can tell you everywhere I think Garrett is.”

“I know that, Sydney. But that’s not what I want. I want the place you know him to be.”

“I don’t have that information.”

“You do,” Case insists. “And I’m going to get it out of you.”

“And then rape me and kill me.”

He laughs and my skin prickles up and down my arms. He laughs again and the hair on the nape of my neck stands up. I don’t even have a word for how his laugh affects me.

Fear, that inner voice says. Terror.

I take a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“You’re afraid of everything, Sydney Channing. I’ve been watching you for eight years and never have I ever come across a weaker girl. I have known twelve-year-old girls who are braver than you are right now.”

“I’m not sure she counts.”

“Fuck you,” he snarls.

“You’d like to, wouldn’t you.”

He walks towards me in the dark and I realize he’s wearing night vision. Has been this whole time. Every moment I thought I was in the dark was a lie I told myself. How could he see me nod my head, how could he see I was wearing pretty panties, how could he cut my clothes off me if he wasn’t wearing night vision?

My stomach churns as his boots thud across the floor and then he’s there in front of me. Before I can scoot away, he’s pulled me up to him, holding me against his chest, squeezing my upper arms so tightly I know he’s leaving marks on my skin.

“There’s a huge difference between brave and stupid. You are stupid.”

“Why should I care if I’m stupid?” I ask him. His breath is hot and it floods across my face, smelling a little bit like raspberries. “You’re going to torture me, rape me, and then kill me. What do I have to lose by being stupid instead of brave?”

“Your fiancé,” he replies.

I have to admit, this catches me off guard.

“I know why you left. How many times do I have to say it? I own you. I own your mind, I own your body, and I own your future.” He pauses, like he’s thinking. “Or what’s left of it.”

I struggle to get away and he lets me slip out of his grasp. I back up a few paces, then trip over the lip of the hearth, falling back on my ass. I look up where I think his face is. “If I knew, Case”—I use his name. Isn’t that what they tell you to do? To make a kidnapper see you as a person instead of a target?—“I’d tell you. But I have no clue where Garrett is. I really thought he was dead. I really thought you killed him. I really—”

Case grabs me by the arms and pulls me to my feet before I can finish, dragging me back over to the table. He picks me up, sits me on it, still holding me tightly, and then leans down into my ear. “I know that’s what you think. That’s why you’re still alive.”

That makes no sense.

But then there’s a prick of the syringe into my arm and the burn of drugs as they are forced into my muscle.

“Why are you drugging me?” I ask, my voice trembling. “I’ll answer any question you have, just please. Stop drugging me.”

“Fear, like all emotions, is a weapon I use with skill.”

– Case

I don’t answer her question, just hold her tightly as the drugs take over. She begins to rest against me, her body becoming heavy. After several minutes she slumps down.

I pick her up in my arms and then lay her down on the table, tying her hands first and then her legs. My fingertips travel up her leg, lingering briefly on the prick marks I made with the knife, as I position myself next to her head. I lean down and whisper, “Are you ready?”

I can feel her nod, just slightly, but enough to know the cocktail I came up with is working. “OK, then. Let’s start from the beginning again. What happened after I left you out at the cabin eight years ago? When I left you with Garrett?”

She mumbles but none of her words makes sense.

Fuck. I gave her too much.

“Sydney,” I try again. “Tell me everything that happened when I left you with Garrett at the cabin eight years ago.”

She mumbles again, but it’s a little better now.

I wait for several more minutes, checking my watch, then ask again.

This time she answers. “He was nice.”

Hmmm. I’ve heard this before. She’s said it several times already when under the drugs. So many times, in fact, that I have to assume it’s true. “How was he nice? What did he do?”

“He taught me to fish.”

I shake my head and sigh. “No,” I say sharply. “Before that. Back at the cabin. What did he say?”

“Nothing. He just took care of me. He took us to the Bighorn cabin and we stayed there. It was nice.”

“Nice?” What the fuck game is Garrett playing?

“He took care of me. He protected me.”

I shake my head and have to draw one of two conclusions. The dose was too high. Or that fucker is not what I think he is. I go with the first because the other isn’t even possible.

My breath comes out in a long huff, a mixture of dissatisfaction and fatigue. I’m tired of this shit. I want this to be over. I want to kill this girl and this guy and move on. I want to go back to my friends and say, “It’s done.” I want to see the look of relief on Sasha Cherlin’s face when she finally gets to put the death of her father behind her.

But I can’t do any of that until I figure out what the hell is going on. I understand that Sasha was a threat. She was a twelve-year-old trained assassin. She was a wild card that needed to be dealt with. She was a liability and an asset, because back then she had all the answers everyone needed thanks to her father’s big mouth.

That got him killed. That almost got her killed. But I saved her ass that night and I saved her ass again, over and over since then. She’s grown now. In college. Living a nice, safe, normal life.

So we won. I tell her that, anyway. We won. And I know she shouldn’t believe it. But normal life makes you forget to be wary. She’s lived normal for too long now. The last time I said it a few years ago, she said, OK. We won.

And she believed me.

But I didn’t. I didn’t believe it when I said it and I don’t believe it now.

We lost. Because we never got the answers as to why. Why?

I need to know this, and Garrett McGovern is the path to that level of satisfaction. And my only connection to Garrett is Sydney.

What if I’m wrong? What if Sydney has no answers? She passed the lie detector test when I drugged her up when she first got here. That was ten days ago. She’s been mostly unconscious since then. And she has no memory of it, for sure. That drug is made to wipe your memory.

I need a different approach.

I place my hand on her cheek, flattening my palm against her soft skin. She lets out a little, “Mmmm,” to that gesture and leans into my touch. Like she craves me.

My eyes close at her murmurings and what they might mean, and I take a deep breath to get my mind back on the job. “I want you to concentrate now, Sydney. When was the last time you saw Garrett?”

She takes her own deep breath, mimicking mine. “Yesterday.”

“Fuck.” This is not working right, goddammit. “No, Sydney. It wasn’t yesterday. It was a long time ago. Tell me the last time you saw Garrett.”

“The night before my wedding.”

“Jesus Christ.” She’s got it all fucked up. She’s got me and him all fucked up. I walk out of the room and close the door behind me. I grab fistfuls of my hair and feel a roar coming up. But I calm myself and walk back out into the main room of the cabin and sit on the couch.

I’m not getting anywhere. She’s had too many drugs. She’s had too much trauma since I took her. She’s, quite frankly, not as easy to break as I first thought.

I consider calling my friend to ask for some insight into how I might’ve fucked her memory up so bad. But I nix that idea. He doesn’t do that anymore. None of them do this shit anymore. I’m the last one. I’m the only one left who’s still in the business.

I walk over to the other side of the room and pick up my guitar. And then I walk back over to the couch and lean up against the soft leather of the arm, kicking my feet up and cradling my instrument at the same time.

I begin to strum. It helps me think. Hell—I smile a little as I remember—this guitar got Sasha and me through some really fucked-up times back in the day.

God, I miss her. She’s gonna graduate from college this spring and I’m gonna be there. I’m gonna be there with a present. A gift of satisfaction. Of retribution. Of revenge.

And this stupid girl in the other room is my only chance at making that gift a reality.

My fingers start strumming the song. One I’ve heard Sydney play over and over again since I started watching her. It’s a soft tune, one that Sasha used to like as well, back when she was into that sort of thing. These days she’s all about school. No time for dates, or parties, or music. That kid is a swift-moving arrow with dinosaurs as her target.

The tension eases out of me as I think of my adopted little sister. Not daughter. My friend the amateur psychologist adopted her as his daughter. He can have that title.

I actually laugh at that. All those phone calls he placed to me when she was fourteen, trying to ease her back into civilian life after that mess of a final job we did.

They did, I correct myself.

They all retired. Life went on. And they went on with it.

But me? I’m stuck, man. I’m stuck in time. I’m stuck back in the hills between Cheyenne and Larimer. The night Sydney’s father and Garrett tried to kill Sasha and got her father instead. The night I vowed that we’d get those motherfuckers.

And we did. A long time ago. We got them.

All but one.

I need him.

I need to torture him and make him pay.

I need to kill him. And I need Sydney Channing to make that happen.

I will do whatever it takes to get my revenge.

Whatever. It. Takes.

“When the monster in the dark wants to drag you into the light, just go silent and still.”

– Sydney

I come down off the drugs the same way I did the previous times. Thick, sticky mouth desperate for water. My stomach rumbling. The silence. The bottoms of my feet are warm from the hidden fire. My eyes are blind from the hidden light.

I sigh. Then I sit up and repeat this whole thing over again. Feet to the floor. Walk to the heat to warm myself. There’s a rug covering the stone hearth. The food slips in, along with that coveted sliver of light, through the plate-sized slit in the wall. Crawl over. Eat. Get up. Drink.

He does not come in this time.

Why is he drugging me?

I go back over to the covered fireplace and sit on the rug. It’s not anything special. But it’s more than what I had.

So that’s number five. Five things he’s given me to ease my discomfort. What’s his angle? Lure me into talking with simple pleasures?

It’s working. I am grateful for the rug, the water, the food, the fire, and the fact that I’m not tied up.

I lie back and stretch out. The rug is not long enough for my whole body to lie across it, but I don’t care. I scoot over to the metal plate that keeps most of the heat and all of the firelight out and press myself against it.

It feels good.

I’m not afraid, though I should be. I’m not wishing for anything at the moment. So I think whatever Case is doing, he failed.

My eyes close, and even though I just woke up from the drugs, this is not the same thing. This is exhaustion.

I stay this way for a while and then, ever so subtly, I begin to hear sounds from the other room. His boots thud across the floor. They come near me, like he’s on the other side of the hidden fire, then retreat. The heat becomes more intense. He must’ve added wood.

I smell food. I already ate, so I’m pretty sure this is not for me. But I’m not hungry, so I don’t care.

I let my mind slip to Garrett, then replace those thoughts with Brett. I should be thinking about Brett. He’s good. He’s sweet. His family is nice. And I hate that he will find out what a shitty person I am if they ever find my body.

All the questions that will come out about me. All the answers that will follow.

I swallow down the shame. I’ve seen a few therapists in secret over the years. Appointments when I’ve been out of town for some reason or another. Set up in advance. One-time-only things. I mean, I tell them I’ll come back, but I’m never in the same place twice.

And I tell them all the same story. Made up, of course, but close enough to the truth so I can glean a little bit of help from their responses.

And they all say the same thing. I’m not responsible for my father. I’m not responsible for being related to him. You can’t choose your family, isn’t that what they say? I do not have to be ashamed for things he’s done.

But what about the things I’ve done? The things I’m doing?

The door opens with a creak again.

“You don’t know why I left,” I tell Case as he steps into the room.

“No?” he asks, taking a seat on the wooden table. It creaks from his weight. “Tell me why you left then.”

I could refuse. It’s none of his business. And I’m not required to have light conversation with him. This has nothing to do with what he wants. It’s plain old curiosity. But I’m not going to refuse. I want him to know. “Because I love them. They’re good people and I knew you’d be back. I heard your words. I knew what they meant. And I knew you were just waiting for some big moment to appear back into my life.”

“You came to me, Syd.”

His use of my familiar nickname unsettles me in so many ways. “I ran from them. To save them from you.”

“You came to me. I was waiting out there on the road because I knew you’d come.”

“How the fuck did you know?”

“Because you told me.”

I laugh at that one. “OK.”

“You told me with your actions. I wasn’t even sure if I’d show up that night.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s thinking back on a memory. “I mean, it was definitely a trap. But it went off easy.” He flicks on a small lantern. The little battery-powered bulb inside the glass is just enough to illuminate his face as he talks. “Too easy, Sydney.”

I have not seen his face in years. And I don’t see it now, either. I see his eyes. His deep, yellow-brown eyes that remind me of honey, or amber, or a subdued sunset painted in warm ochre watercolors. “What was?” I whisper, transfixed by his stare.

“You.” He stands up, letting the lantern drop, and then I only see his legs as he comes towards me. He sits down on the hearth next to me and I can feel the heat of the fire coming off his body. I can smell it too. He smells like the memory of the woods on a summer night.

“You were too easy,” he continues. “Maybe Garrett is on his way here right now. Maybe he’s outside, ready to break in and kill us.”

I snort. “You mean you. Not me.”

Case lifts the lantern up again, only this time it’s so he can see my face. “Why?”

“Why what?” I ask back, annoyed.

“Do you love him?”

I squint my eyes from the light, and then swat his hand away, making the lantern sway for a second. I half expect him to smack me for that. But he doesn’t. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He laughs and I can just barely make out the smile.

Jesus fuck. Why does my killer have to look like this? I glance down at his chest and see that he has no shirt on. His gaze follows mine and then when I look up he shrugs.

“It’s hot out there,” he says with a smile, nodding to the other side of the fire that I don’t get the pleasure of experiencing. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it. “Do you like?”

“Like what?” replaces the words about to roll off my tongue.

“My chest.”

I close my eyes and smile, laughing as I do it. “You did not just ask me—”

But then his hand is around my neck and he’s pressed his face right up against mine. “Yes or no?” He fists my hair, pulling it and making me wince.

But I don’t answer him. Fuck that. I’m not telling this murderer that he’s hot.

And then he’s on his feet, swinging me over his shoulder. He slams me down on the wooden table hard enough to knock the breath out of me. My hands are tethered to the wall again, this time not spread apart, but both together, wound up with thin leather strips that were not what held me before. I bring up my legs and kick him in the chest. He steps backwards from the force, and then he growls as he takes one still-kicking leg and clamps a leather cuff on it. He repeats this with the other leg and then there it is.

I’m ready. I’m ready to be raped.

Case takes a breath, like he needs it, and I internally smile that I kicked him hard enough to cause that pause.

“He called you wildcat for a reason, I guess.”

That word stops me. Like instantly. I lie still, unable to move.

“Hush,” Case says.

It comforts me and I settle, so he reforms his question. “Why did he call you wildcat?”

I’m so confused. “Who?”

“Nice try,” Case says with a smirk. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but we’re gonna sort it out, wildcat. We’re definitely gonna sort it out.” And then he pulls a feather out of his jeans pocket and flicks the tip against my bare nipple.

I feel it bunch up from the touch and close my eyes, shaking my head at the same time.

He leans down in my space, right next to my ear, and whispers, “You like it, don’t you?”

“No,” I answer.

“Liar.” He takes the feather and traces it over my ribs. Down one. Up the next. Down again. Up again. Stopping in the center of my stomach. “Why do you carry that acorn in your pocket?”

I’m biting the inside of my lip when he asks that question, and when I let go of it to draw in a breath to speak, I taste blood. It sets me back a moment.

“Why, Syd?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Because only one person calls you that, wildcat?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Because that’s not really a pet name, it’s something so much more?”

“Who the fuck are you talking about?”

Case laughs. “Take one guess, sweetheart.”

I know it’s Garrett. I know this. But what Case is saying doesn’t make sense. So I say nothing.

Case lets out a breath. But then his feather travels down my stomach to the dip between my hips. “Brett likes you bare?”

I fume inside. “That’s none of your business.”

“Have you ever fucked him?”

“Fuck you.”

“I know you haven’t. I’ve heard him complain about it before.”

“Fuck you.”

“He’s afraid you’ll be a huge disappointment in bed.”

I close my eyes to block him out.

“But he’s got nothing to worry about in that department, does he, Syd?”

I remain silent. But Case doesn’t remain still. His feather dips down between my legs, to my sex. He tickles my clit a few times, making me cry out with humiliation. “Stop,” I say.

“Stop?” Case asks. “I don’t think you really mean that, do you, Syd?”

“Stop,” I say again. “Stop now, and you won’t have to add ‘rapist’ to your resume.”

He chuckles under his breath, like I’m so funny. “I’ll stop if you say it again.” I open my mouth, but he clamps a hand over it before I can get the words out. “Hush,” he says.

My mind spins with that hush. Something is there. Something weird.

“Hush,” he says again, like he knows. “Hush, Sydney. Because I think I know why we’re not getting anywhere with the drugs.”

I look up at him. Past the hand that’s still clamped over my mouth. His amber eyes hold me like that. Completely in his grasp. Completely under his control.

“Say yes and I’ll tell you the question that’s on your mind now. Say yes and I’ll stop the confusion. Say yes and I’ll ease it out of you in a way you might enjoy. Right here on the table where I killed your father. I’ll tell you my little secret.” Case pauses for a moment. And then he lifts his hand away from my mouth. The no I’m screaming inside is trapped there in my mind.

Case exhales, releasing the tension he was hiding. He’s not as in control as he wants me to think. And then he resumes his play. The feather tickles my clit once again and I close my eyes and shake my head.

“Say no, then.”

But I don’t say no.

Because hush means something, I just can’t quite place it. Hush. It’s a soft word. A soothing word. Not a mean shut up. Not a harsh be quiet.

Hush.

Case leans over my parted legs with one hand on the inside of my knee. His touch is soft and soothing. He gives me a slight squeeze and then dips his mouth down to my inner thigh and kisses the marks he put there with his knife.

I close my eyes and shake my head. My legs tremble. I want to speak. I want to say no so bad.

But I want to say yes much more.

His tongue travels up my thigh, his hand gently caressing the opposite knee. “Say yes,” he murmurs as he kisses. “Give in to me, Syd. You know you want to.”

I do want to. But I’m not ready to say it out loud yet.

Case unbuckles his belt, undoes his button, and unzips his fly. The lantern isn’t bright enough to see it, but the shadow of his hard dick is thick as he fists it in his hand. He drops the feather and reaches for the knife attached to his belt. And then he drops his pants and we are both naked.

He climbs on the table and straddles my hips.

I let out a whimper.

“I want you to say yes, Sydney. Because yes is the answer to all your problems right now. I’m the answer to all your problems right now. But you can say no. Now’s your chance. Your last chance, Sydney. I can kill you now”—he holds the knife up to his throat, making a slicing gesture across it—“and it will be over. You never have to know the truth. You never have to face this reality. Say no and I’ll make it all the confusion go away. It will be very simple and I’ll make it very quick.”

I stay silent.

“But wildcat, do you really want to move on to the next world being played instead of being a player? Do you really want to give up? Give in? Check out? Don’t you want to know, Sydney? Don’t you want answers to all those burning questions you must have?”

I hold my breath trying to understand him.

“If you give me what I want, I’ll make it better for you.”

What am I supposed to say to that? “Fuck me then. Or kill me. I don’t really care. Do whatever you want.”

“You’re missing the point, cowgirl.” He stares down at me. I can’t see his eyes very well, there are too many shadows. But I know that stare now. I’ve seen it in my head for years. I’ve craved it.

And here he is. The gift I wanted, but not the way I fantasized. I wanted him to choose to save me that night. And even though I know I’m only here so he can use me, I still need to hold on to the illusion I’ve built up in my head. I want Merric Case to desire me so much, he chooses differently. I want him to change my life. I want him to take it back.

“What’s the point?” I ask softly. “Tell me what you need and I’ll try and give it to you.”

He huffs out a breath of air. A sort of satisfied laugh. “Famous last words, Syd. If you really want to give me what I want, you need to tell me what you know.” He crawls up my body, a hand on each side of me, one still grasping the knife. And then he positions his cock in front of my face. “You’ve seen him.”

“Who?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Garrett,” Case says, leaning down to whisper back as his lips cover mine. “You’ve seen him, Syd. Lots of times. You used to disappear every once in a while. Be gone for days. Sometimes up to a week. I used to think you had quite the stealthy skillset.” He pulls back a little so he can see me. His body is covering most of the light behind him, so I can’t see him at all. His face is just a shadow. “But I’ve been thinking about why you’re not responding to the drugs, cowgirl. And the only possible answer is Garrett.”

I shake my heavy head and close my eyes. “I don’t want to play anymore. I don’t want to play—”

“You’re gonna play, Sydney. You know how I know that?”

I don’t answer. I don’t open my eyes. I’m so dizzy.

“Because all I gotta do is tell you to hush.”

I spin. The darkness becomes so much more than blackness. It becomes everything. It becomes safety, and relief, and desire. It calls to me, makes me want him in ways I can’t explain.

It splits me open and empties me out.

And then he’s there with my reward. My last chance is over.

He fills me back up.