Chapter 21
TEST
GRAYSON
It’s the fear of the unknown that plagues most of us. Even London, with all her knowledge and skills to navigate the darkest minds, isn’t immune to the terror of not knowing what awaits her on the other side.
She trembles in my arms. Her frantic cries crack against the pines. Adrenaline floods her body, my touch something sinister to her, rather than a comfort.
Still, I run my fingers through her hair, attempting to soothe her. She needs to be calm for what comes next.
The earthy scent of the woods blends with her delicate fragrance of lilac, and this feels right, like she belongs. Like she’s home.
“I have to chain you up now,” I say against her temple, tightening my hold as I brace for her fight.
But her resistance is weak, muscles fatigued, mind exhausted. Her energy is depleted, her body drained and starved. This could be her breaking point—if only she’d accept it.
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “Grayson, please. Just take me inside. I’m dehydrated and hungry. I’m filthy. You can fight the compulsion. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”
I press my lips to the top of her head. “This isn’t only your punishment, it’s mine,” I say to her. “Why do you think the one person I develop these impossible feelings for turns out to be a narcissistic sociopath?”
A broken sob racks her chest. “Please…” she whispers.
She’s not listening. I groan as I lift her off my chest. “We both have some things to figure out, London. Only one way to do that.”
Her wrists are bruised and raw, dried blood rings her skin beneath the chains. I guide her toward a tall pine and link the chain around the narrow trunk. Her whimpers are starting to grate across my nerves.
“You’re not some helpless victim,” I say, my tone hard. “You know why you’re here.”
“I don’t, Grayson. Tell me.” She releases a cry of frustration. Using her shoulder, she swipes matted bangs from her forehead. “When I get free…” She trails off, leaving her threat hanging between us.
I pick up the shovel and face her. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Then I drive the blade into the earth.
“I don’t have everything I want here,” I tell her as I toss dirt onto the pile. “I had to mentally catalogue most things. Some exceptions had to be made. But I built this beautiful, three-dimensional model. Your very own trap.”
My gaze drifts over her shivering form pressed against the bark, her knees drawn to her chest.
“You can’t go through with this,” she says, her voice ragged.
“I already know who you are, Grayson. Where’s the video camera?
Where’s the photos of my victims? Oh, there aren’t any, because I don’t have any.
” Her jaw tightens with anger. “You can’t follow through with this because it defies your ritual—your entire fucking belief system. ”
“As I said, exceptions had to be made.” Another shovelful of dirt hits the pile, the wood of the handle splintering against my palms. “You have a trail of victims, London. I’ll let you recall their faces on your own.”
“There are no victims, you sadistic fuck,” she practically growls.
I pause, turning to face her fully so I can take her in. Her chest rises and falls beneath her torn blouse, her eyes blaze fiercely even in her exhausted state. Dirt and sweat streak her skin, her hair tangled, as wild as her defiance. The filthy, raw beauty of her turns my blood molten.
I grip the shovel tighter. “Be thankful I have a task to distract me,” I warn her, letting her read the threat in my eyes as my gaze roams over her body shamelessly.
By the time the hole is deep enough, the sun is starting to filter through the treetops. The crickets have gone silent, the woods are still, a chill blanketing the air.
I toss the shovel aside and drag the wooden shipping crate into the freshly dug earth. It’s not a coffin, but it will suffice.
After I nail a few more planks to cover the gaps, I climb out and kneel before London. She’s drained, her expensive clothes ruined, skin rippled with shivers. Her head hangs bowed, and I cup her face, lifting her eyes to mine.
“You can end our pain,” I say, thumbs brushing away the smeared tear tracks. “Just confess, London. Admit the truth of who you are and what you’ve done, and this all ends.”
Her eyes focus on me right before she spits in my face. “You’re not my fucking priest.”
A dark smile curves my mouth as I wipe my face. I unshackle her wrists and haul her to her feet. “Then I’ll see you in hell, baby.”
She shouts and kicks, gaining a second wind as I drag her to the crate.
“London Grace Noble, you’re guilty of harboring a murderer.
You desecrated your father’s victims when you buried the last girl, keeping the remains secret.
For that alone, you deserve to suffer the same fate as your father’s victims.”
“You bastard.” She yanks out of my hold. “You’re a deluded hypocrite. You killed people and buried them just like he did.”
“Those weren’t people. Those were monsters,” I tell her. “The girls your father stole were innocents. They hadn’t lived long enough to wrong anyone, and you’ve kept them a dirty secret. You deserve the same punishment. Buried and forgotten, just like they were.”
I capture her around the waist, throwing her over my shoulder. Her fists beat against my back as I jump down into the hole. Her petite body is easy enough to force inside the crate, and I slam the lid closed.
“Fuck you—” she shouts. “Damn you, Grayson. You lied to me—let me out. God, don’t do this.”
My hands tremble as I drive the first nail home, sealing her inside. “I’m not a liar. I told you who I was from day one.” I pound another nail. “But it’s time for you to meet your true self, the liar you’ve always been.”
Her fight becomes muffled thumps as I shovel dirt onto the crate. When the hole is filled enough to bury her cries, sealing her beneath the heavy weight of earth, I toss the shovel aside and lie down over the grave.
And wait.