Chapter 27
I wriggled out of Ray's tentacle-like grip, my vibrating phone clutched in my hand.
I don't know where Beck disappeared to, but Jonah rolled into the space I left.
Their rough edges were so damn beautiful pressed together.
Beautiful pillars that kept me stable. Yesterday had been a fever dream of pleasure.
It almost made me laugh, to think of how they'd been enemies and now they were… brother-boyfriends?
We had to workshop the name.
I tossed Jonah's shirt over my head and slipped on my panties before I answered the unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Lyra." A distorted voice came through the speaker, and I almost dropped my phone.
Lyra? Who would be stupid enough to use my real name, let alone over a phone call that could be traced and recorded? A shard of ice wrapped around my spine.
"What the fuck?" The door closed like a whisper behind me.
"It's me. We need to talk."
I raced down the stairs, wanting to be as far away from Ray and Jonah as possible.
"Who? You're using a voice disguise, dickhead."
The caller let out a puff. "Sorry, force of habit." This time the caller's voice was normal, and I tensed as I recognized it.
"Connall?"
I shook off the feeling of unease that tightened my muscles. Shadows swathed the Donato mansion, but I had a feeling it always looked like this. Every surface was free of dust, but it echoed like a tomb. A pervasive lemon-chemical scent burned my nostrils.
Someone was up early and cleaning after the bizarre funeral yesterday.
"What do you want?"
"We need to talk. About our little friend."
The back of my neck prickled, and I turned on my heel, covering my surprise to see Thompson, Mrs. Donato's butler. He really had moved in, hadn't he? He was arguing with someone who had pushed their way into the foyer. A petite brunette with a backpack at her feet.
"Have you forgotten protocol?" I whispered as I tiptoed away.
"Where are you?" Connall asked.
There was something in his voice, a thread that looped around my neck and pulled tight. Maybe it was the ache in my muscles that made my throat dry. Last night had been a dream, and I wanted to get back to it. To make sure it was a bubble that hadn't burst.
"None of your business. Tell me what you want, or I'm ending this call."
"You know I respect you, right? I-I considered us friends?" The thread in Connall's voice pulled tight, connected to my intestines, which knotted.
"Considered? You're a traitor."
Thompson and his unwelcome guest were shouting now, and I froze. There was something familiar about her voice.
"Tessa, she's everything to me, and I…" Connall's voice narrowed, and I interrupted him.
I couldn't have this conversation, not when I returned to the foyer and realized my suspicions were right. Jenny was standing next to Thompson, her cheeks red, and her hands wringing together.
"I gotta go. Call you later." I tucked my phone into my pocket and rushed forward. "Jenny, what are you doing here?"
Jenny let out a sob, her bravado fading when she saw a familiar face. I slid my arms around her as she blubbered into my neck.
"Do you know this person?" Thompson sniffed down his sharp nose.
"She's Ray's—" sister. The word wilted on my tongue. "Friend."
Thompson pursed his lips. "Well, she accosted a security guard and insisted Mr. Donato would want to speak to her."
I waved my arms around the tomblike house. I had so many questions, but first I needed to get something to help Jenny. She trembled in my arms, her sobs muffled against my neck.
"He will, trust me," I said.
"I suppose I have no choice." Thompson sighed, and I was about to snap that it wasn't his house. "What about a honey and lemon tea? I apologize if my manners were brusque, Miss…?"
"F-fisherman," Jenny hiccuped. "Jenny Fisherman."
Thompson guided us through the corridors until we reached a spacious kitchen. He pottered around once he saw us seated on stools, finding a teapot and cups with ease. He'd made himself at home remarkably quickly. But I suppose that was his job.
Jenny sniffled, and I patted her knee. "What are you doing here, lovely?" I asked.
"Ray never got back to me about using my bus card, and I thought, why not just come on my own? School has been miserable, and I-I just wanted to see Ray-Ray."
My chest cracked open. She rubbed her eyes with her fists, looking younger than her age. She'd probably never taken the bus anywhere on her own. I covered her hands as Thompson slid over two mugs.
"Ray-Ray?" His lip quirked.
"It's his nickname," Jenny said, lifting the mug to her lips and blowing on it.
"Oh Jen, Ray will be happy you're here, and you're safe. He's just asleep at the moment. Please tell me you told your parents, though?"
She avoided my gaze, sipping her tea. It traveled over Jonah's shirt and my bare legs with a spark of effervescent curiosity I remembered her having.
"Is that Ray's shirt?"
Now it was my turn to avoid her question. I gulped the tea instead. Sweet and bitter on my tongue, exactly how I felt about last night. There was no excuse for the declaration that almost slipped off the tip of my tongue last night.
Seven letters that would cause nothing but trouble. But they knitted underneath my ribs and made my heart crash hard.
Thompson lingered, staring at me with unabashed scrutiny. Yes, I was wearing Jonah's shirt and not much else, but I'm sure he'd seen Mrs. Donato in much more debaucherous situations. My heart rate was quicker than I'd like, and I didn't let the panic show.
Another hefty swig of the tea. It churned down my throat, which should have made me feel more awake, but I blinked, dizzy.
"I don't feel very good." Jenny grimaced, and her hand caught her mug.
It careened onto the ground and shattered. I pushed mine to the side as a wave of nausea rolled over me. My fingers wavered in my vision. Jenny slumped forward.
"Jenny, don't—" My words slurred.
Adrenaline flooded my veins, too late. I knew this feeling. I'd faced moments like this before. Where I skated a knife's edge and the sharp point stole my breath. My phone vibrated in my pocket. My tongue was thick in my mouth.
Heat brushed the back of my neck. Thompson was right behind me. How had he snuck up on me again? My vision shook like a mirage, and my head rolled back. The lights swirled and glowed until my vision became pinpricks.
"Got you."
***
My head pounded as if split with an axe. But it didn't stop me from rolling up from the tiled floor. Thompson drugged me. Disjointed thoughts fluttered like butterflies, but I gripped onto them with militant training.
Fuck.
Thompson drugged me.
The bright fluorescent light did nothing to lessen my throbbing forehead. Awareness brought swathes of pain, and I let it roll through me. Pain meant I was cognizant, and my stupid brain needed every ounce of power right now to get working.
The grimy tiles chilled my ass, and I grimaced when I almost face-planted on them.
My hands were cinched behind me. I rolled my shoulders to see how tight a bind I was in.
My wrists protested and my fingers burned as I wriggled life back into them.
The bathroom had a shower with a yellow plastic curtain and a toilet with a cracked seat.
How long had I been out?
There was a sticky line of drool down my face and neck. The tiles were clammy from the rumbling air conditioner, and it carried a faint waft of damp and chemical bright air freshener.
I kicked myself for being so distracted by Jenny and everything that happened last night and for taking something from someone without thinking. But what reason would Thompson have to drug me? Misplaced duty from his employer?
Connall's phone call niggled at me, the awkward timing and tone of his voice. This had everything to do with Ellington Vizor.
There was a crack in the door, and I shoved my toe in the space to widen it. I rolled out and smothered a curse. On the faded pink bedspread was the slumped body of Jenny. Her hands were bound in front, unlike mine. But she also had a gag, blindfold, and headphones tucked over her ears.
A shiver of fear propelled me toward the small kitchenette, and I folded my lips over the thin metal handle.
My teeth tingled with a metallic aftertaste as I dragged the drawer open.
Even a butter knife would be better than nothing.
It could weaken the binds around my wrists, and I could approach my captor on equal ground. But it was empty.
"First thing I did, Lyra. Or do you prefer Little Liar? I must admit, I would enjoy calling you that."
Thompson nudged the door open with his shoulder. In one hand, he clutched a white key card and in the other a silver bucket with sparkling wine. He wandered over, and I pressed myself against the wall, ignoring the spurt of painful protest from my wrists.
Thompson's face fell. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not until we've celebrated, at least."
The ice shivered as he pulled out the bottle with a flourish, and a cold droplet splattered onto my face.
"Forgive me if I'm not inclined to believe you."
"Well," Thompson sighed as he ripped the foil off the bottleneck to reveal the cork. "I suppose I did drug you. How's the nausea?"
My stomach roiled, alarming me as I fought not to lose the minuscule contents inside it.
Wine from the bizarre funeral and tainted tea.
I hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch. Maybe Thompson knew that because he pulled out a packet of plain crackers and perched on the bed, shaking them at me like a treat to a dog.
The champagne sweated on the linoleum counter. Jenny let out a muffled groan.
"Your concern is touching."
"I take good care of those who work for me." Thompson held out a cracker with an arched eyebrow.
I shook my head, and he sighed, popping it in his mouth instead. As if I would trust anything from his hand again. Jonah's shirt rode up, and I pressed my thighs together. A futile attempt at modesty. He'd probably seen everything already, but there was no ache or pain between my legs.