53. Cassidy
I cough myself awake, wincing as a sharp ache spears through my head. My vision is blurry, and the lighting is so dim that I struggled to make out anything at first.
I’m seated in a hard chair—wood or plastic maybe. My ankles are tied to the chair legs, but not in a sexy way. They’re so tight, they’ve cut off circulation. My arms are tied to the armrests, and there’s another rope around my waist, keeping my body flush with the seat.
Where the hell am I?
When I try to wriggle my bare feet to get some feeling back in them, I feel grit under my toes. The air is cold and clammy. It smells like damp cardboard, old books, and moldy carpets.
Light comes from a few sconces against the rough, gray brick wall. Dark shapes lurk in the shadows between those soft, orange pools of light.
I blink, trying to focus my eyes, and my gaze reluctantly sharpens. There’s another painful ache in my temples, but I ignore it.
The shapes appear to be boxes. Maybe even furniture draped with dust covers.
If I hadn’t already been to Ethan’s basement at Glenmont Manor, I might have thought that’s where I am. But that vast room was neatly organized and well lit. This looks like a hoarder’s secret lair.
There’s a scrape behind me, and I stiffen in panic. Footsteps crunch over the ground, coming closer. My hands tighten into fists, but even if I wanted to, there’s no way I can defend myself tied up like this.
Something brushes against my hair, then down my neck, making me shudder with revulsion as memories flood my mind.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I yell hoarsely, pulling away. I yank at my bonds, gritting my teeth with frustration as they refuse to give.
“I can do whatever the hell I want to you,” Angelo says as he steps into view. He’s still wearing the same clothes, as am I.
Thank God.
Then I see that he’s wearing blue latex gloves and holding a knife. Something big, slightly curved, serrated.
A hunting knife?
Oh dear God.
I try not to let my sudden terror show, but I can’t seem to stop shaking, and it has nothing to do with the clammy air.
“Where am I?” I blurt out.
Angelo smiles ruefully. “Somewhere no one will think to look, until it’s too late.”
“I told Ethan I was meeting with you,” I lie. “He’ll be looking for me.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Angelo crouches in front of me, hands on my thighs, the point of the knife snagging against my dress. I hold still, trying not to breathe in case that forces the tip of the blade through my belly. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing—he’s staring up at me with some strange, feverish light in his eyes.
“Ethan doesn’t scare me, sweetheart.”
“He’ll get Myles involved,” I say, desperately wishing my voice wasn’t trembling so much. “If he doesn’t scare you, then you’re a fucking moron.”
Angelo backhands me so hard I see stars. Pain flashes through my jaw and cheek, and I taste copper in my mouth.
Fuck!
I keep my head turned away, blinking back tears of pain and fright. But Angelo stands, grabs my hair, and forces me to look at him as he towers over me. My fingers and toes start prickling with the worst pins-and-needles I’ve ever felt.
That can’t be good.
“They’ll have to hurry,” Angelo says through a creepy as fuck smile. “I’ve already called the cops.”
I’m so fixated on Angelo’s psychotic eyes that I forget about the knife.
Until it sinks into my thigh.
“Fuck!”
The pain is excruciating.
I scream, sob, almost puke. My leg trembles, the knife quivering until Angelo yanks it out. It hurts almost as much going out as it did going in.
I’m a blubbering, pathetic mess, my head swimming as I watch blood ooze out of the deep gash and spill over my thigh onto the chair seat below.
Angelo’s laughing. He brings the knife close, and I almost pass out at the thought that he’s going to stab me again. But he just cleans the blade on the bodice of my dress, leaving a dark, wet smudge over the burgundy fabric.
“There’s something I need you to do.”
Like die?
A harsh ache thumps through my leg. It radiates up and down the entire right side of my body, perfectly timed with the terrified pounding of my heart.
Fuck, it hurts. But I’m more worried about the fact that my heart is beating so fast, like I’m about to have a heart attack.
Angelo walks away, and my head bobs down as I huff out a sigh of relief. I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing myself not to pass out. It’s just a nick. I still have a lot of blood left in my body…right?
I listen to his footsteps as he walks away, but my hearing is pulsating with my heartbeat.
Am this what dying feels like?
Oh God, now I’ll never know what happened to Mom.
And I’ll never get the chance to tell Ethan I’m sorry.
That he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
That…that I love him.
Something thumps into my lap, shocking me out of my miserable thoughts. My silent tears splash down on the thing for a few seconds before I realize what I’m looking at.
There’s a legal pad on my lap.
I flinch, whimpering when Angelo’s knife appears in my field of view. But instead of stabbing me, he uses it to slice through the ropes around my right-hand wrist.
He slips a pen between my fingers, forcing me to hold it despite how I tremble. Then he uses the knife to tap on the yellow paper.
“Dear Ethan.”
When I do nothing, he presses the tip of the knife into the paper, forcing the cardboard backing against my wound. I whimper from the pain, and hurriedly rest my hand on the paper, writing out a shaky Dear Ethan near the top.
“There we go,” he says happily. “Next line.”
My hand slowly drags down the paper. I’m trembling so much I doubt anything I write is even going to be legible, but it’s not like I can argue.
Ethan,
I’m done playing pretend.
I was only after your money, but it seems you’re too selfish to share.
There’s someone else I’d rather be with, anyway. A much better man than you’ll ever be.
Don’t come looking for me.
Cassidy.
Angelo snatches the legal pad off my lap, leaving behind a smear of blood on my legs, reads my note, and makes a cheerful sound before walking away again.
My head falls back, then rolls to the side.
Maybe I’ve lost more blood than I thought. I could escape, but I can’t even lift my hand to untie the knot on my other wrist. My eyes close, and I don’t know how much time has passed before they snap open again.
Did I just pass out?
My shivers are sporadic now. My teeth clattering, then clenching, then clattering. I can’t feel my toes anymore.
Did Angelo just leave me here to bleed out?
Where am I?
I stare around again, hoping to spot something.
Anything.
That’s when I see something hauntingly familiar in the shadows. One of the boxes has a sheet thrown over it, but it’s slipped off, only one corner still shrouded.
From where I’m lashed to the chair, it’s easy enough to make out what’s scrawled on the side.
What the hell? Now I’m hallucinating?
But as hard as I blink, the writing doesn’t change.
BECKS