Chapter 8 Skylar
SKYLAR
Usually, reading soothes me.
Whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, when I get sucked into a book, it’s like taking a much-needed break from the outside world.
That was what I banked on when I cracked open the murder mystery novel I packed for this trip.
The book’s premise was great. The two chapters I read at home were captivating.
But when I was reading it in the Colberts’ guest room, my heart wasn’t in it.
The words blurred on the pages as doubts and desires spiraled out of control. As I considered this place and this family repeatedly.
My gift, I thought about it more than anything else.
These thoughts haven’t left me the entire time I’ve been waiting for everyone to fall asleep. They’re constantly playing over in my head, bothering me. Consuming me.
Ever since I stepped into this town, I haven’t been able to make sense of anything.
Curiosity has transformed into doubt. Heat tangles with unease.
My skin hasn’t stopped prickling even once. Lead lines my stomach, but there are butterflies fluttering in there too.
And this room, it’s not what you’d call small, but I can’t help feeling like it’s slowly closing in on me.
It’s like the walls are whispering.
Like I’m being watched. Again.
Which is silly. Walls can’t talk. They don’t move.
They simply…are.
Plus, I looked right through the window. There was no one out there.
No sound has come from outside my room either.
I’m alone.
I think.
Just in case, I bend over and look under the bed anyway.
Empty.
Of course it is.
Of course I’m being ridiculous.
I plant my sneakers on the floor, eager to get out there, to look for him.
It’s crazy how, even after an hour alone in this room, the pull hasn’t eased. It pounds through me, and it won’t be silenced.
Heat creeps up my cheeks as I press my fingers to my bra, over the charm he tossed at me. Warm against my skin, it feels alive. Whispering. Calling.
The strangeness of this town fades the more I focus on the man I’m going to see.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I set my book aside. I never snuck out as a teenager. Never rebelled against anything or anyone.
First time for everything.
The nervous energy inside me is explosive as I spray on deodorant, pocket my scalpel, and tread carefully toward the door.
As I tiptoe around the creaking floorboards, I consider my scalpel. I’m not even sure why I’m carrying it. These people aren’t murderers.
The worst Ma could do is scold me again for being nosy. Papa and Jett, as big as they are, seem harmless.
Then there’s him. He hid from me. From Ma.
But he isn’t a monster, I’ve already established that.
He’s a man.
A man I’m attracted to.
My hand hovers over the door handle when I hear sounds coming from the hallway.
Scraping, and then—
“Mmm! Mmm!”
The butterflies in my stomach drop dead in an instant. They weigh heavily on me, causing my whole body to freeze in place as all the air whooshes from my lungs.
“Mmm!” Bronwyn, I can tell it’s her.
Her mouth must be clamped shut.
Someone’s kidnapping her.
My teeth chatter without permission, and I grind them together to quiet the tremors.
Thankfully, danger floods me with adrenaline, burning through the fear.
My senses heighten. My mind clears as I blink the world into focus. I assess our situation as if I were looking at it through a cold, clinical lens rather than a muddy one.
My hand snatches the scalpel from my pocket.
Though I’m physically smaller than the Colberts, I have the element of surprise on my side. My anatomy education and my scalpel could cause some serious damage.
I know exactly where to stab someone so that they bleed out in minutes.
But there’s more than one person out there. If there were just one, Easton would’ve been able to fight them off. I sure can’t take out two of them.
Meaning one thing—I’m screwed.
We all are.
A sob catches in my throat.
The sounds of “Mmm!” get closer, louder.
They’re near my room.
Don’t let fear win!
I shove the image of my sister being taken out of my mind before I really lose it.
I’m close enough as it is, because it’s then that I come to one terrible conclusion—it’s not two Colberts out there.
It’s three.
One of them is coming for me too.
Maybe even him. Maybe he’s one of them. A kidnapper.
My stomach plummets under the weight of his betrayal.
Wait, what?
Betrayal? That’s insane. He doesn’t owe me a damn thing.
He’s on their side, not mine. Distracting me must’ve been his role all along.
I’m all alone. Outnumbered. Cornered.
My grip on my scalpel falters. My chest caves in.
My best chance is to wait for the Colberts to go downstairs and hope they draw Easton and Bronwyn outside, where I won’t be cornered easily.
Where I have a fighting chance.
That way, I can kill them if I play my cards right.
Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down my back.
My insides twist violently. Killing people goes against everything I believe in. My entire life, I’ve been brought up to be a healer.
And now you get to be your sister’s savior, a voice that sounds like my mom’s whispers.
I swallow around the knot in my throat, forcing myself to focus on that. On saving Bronwyn from these people who aren’t really people.
They’re violent parasites I have to remove surgically from her. From Easton.
When I press my ear to the door, what I hear chills me to the marrow.
Fingernails claw at the wall. Scratching.
More muffled groans.
Get it together, Skylar.
My mouth goes dry. My hand, which holds the scalpel, is trembling. Sweating. The damn thing nearly slips before I tighten my hold around it.
Focus. Mom’s voice is louder in my ear. She urges me to be critical of the situation.
To be logical in the face of so many emotions, the most dominant of them being bone-shaking fear.
The sharp command reminds me how cool and collected my parents are.
Right before they leave for the hospital, they have this aura about them. Ice in their eyes. Confidence in their posture.
Pretending I’m them, that I’m a certified surgeon, gets me what I’ve been desperate for.
A cold fucking heart.
I let out a long breath. Lock my teeth. Squeeze my scalpel.
I listen.
This time, not out of fear.
This time, I’m the predator.
Thunk.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The sound is far enough away that I know exactly where it’s coming from. What it is.
Bronwyn and Easton are being dragged down the stairs.
That’s my cue to get out of this room. No more stalling, no more waiting for them to carry out these games outside. They might kill my people while I’m up here, waiting for the right moment to strike.
As I crack open the door, I blow out a relieved breath when the hinges don’t squeak.
Then I peek my head out.
The empty hallway smells of fresh urine, and it tears me apart. My face crumples. Poor Bronwyn. She must’ve been so scared that she wet herself.
That’s the last push I need.
I open the door wider. Step out into the hallway.
My scalpel leads the way, stretched out in front of me. My steps are slow, careful.
A dark, foreboding weight heats my back. That feeling of being watched returns with such intensity that it steals my breath.
Ridiculous.
The guest room they put me in is empty. I know because I’ve just been there. No Colberts hiding, no one under the bed.
I’m alone here. Must be.
“Bronwyn, I’m coming,” I whisper.
That’s the last thing I get to say.
A rough, calloused hand slams over my mouth. Another wrenches the scalpel from my grip. I scream “no!” into his palm when the blade clatters to the floor, my only chance of survival.
A muscular, veined arm hooks tight around my middle, yanking me into a chest as hard as stone. Against a cock just as hard.
And I smell bleach.
It’s him.
His fingers dig deep, bruising, claiming me. My body shivers, caged in by walls of muscle I can’t fight. Tears roll down my cheeks, soaking his palm.
Every hopeful thought, every fantasy that this could end well, snuffs out in an instant.
I can’t cry out. Can’t breathe. My eyes bulge, my pulse pounding at my ribs.
But it’s when something rough presses against my cheek that I really lose it.
He’s wearing a mask. The surface is a little stiff, probably made of old latex. It can’t be good. I just know it can’t. When the Colberts offered their help, they showed their faces. Now this person has a mask on. Why? Why?
“Mine,” he growls, danger oozing from his voice.
I thrash anyway, jerking left, right, desperate.
His grip doesn’t loosen.
“No, Skylar. Be good.” His voice is low in my ear. “Running will only get you killed, and you don’t want that, do you?”