Chapter Forty-Eight
Forty-Eight
Josie
I’m on a private jet flying over the Atlantic, and even with all this ridiculous luxury, I can’t stop crying.
The leather seats are basically hugging me, the air feels like it’s been custom made for rich people, and the engine hum is almost like a lullaby.
I’ve never traveled anywhere before—let alone like this.
My dreams of seeing the world were always crushed by two things: my fear of getting sick and the fact that my credit cards are maxed out on insulin payments.
And now here I am in a space so fancy I didn’t even know it existed, and I feel like… I’m drowning.
I try to focus on my surroundings, but everything blurs at the edges.
Even the bubbles in the champagne glass feel too sharp, too bright.
Instead of wonder, a strange heaviness fills my limbs.
My thoughts are slipping, scattered like the stars outside the window.
I sink deeper into the seat, unable to fight this wave of dizziness that is crashing over me.
Across from me, Niles sits watching me with his usual creepy intensity. He keeps telling me that I’m safe now. His weird calm feels like the opposite of safe.
Time feels wavy; I was at the party, and then Niles said he’d protect me, and within the hour, we were in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, at a private airport, where Niles’s Bombardier Global 7500 was waiting.
Apparently, when you are as rich as Niles von Grafenhagen, you can whisk a woman out of the country without even showing a passport.
Or I suppose his contacts at the CIA would have helped him with that part.
He says where we’re going is isolated and secure, and there’s no way Axe could reach me there.
I was too overwhelmed and terrified to ask for details. More than that, I feel utterly heartbroken. My mouth has mostly stopped working, and despite the tears flooding my face, I’m almost catatonic. I must be in shock.
It’s like I can still hear the screams—the guy trapped in the lobotomy lab, begging for his life. His voice was shredded with fear. The smirk on Axe’s and Strike’s faces, like they were having…fun. It wasn’t some prank. The sound is stuck in my head, crawling around in my brain like a tarantula.
Why can’t I ever see what’s so obvious to everyone else?
My mind spirals, looping with the same questions, all snarled up in confusion and regret.
How did I not realize She’s the One was a front and not the groundbreaking AI innovation I so desperately wanted to believe in?
How did I not see Axe for who he really is?
I feel like I’m swimming through glue, barely keeping my head above the surface.
I fold over, pressing my forehead to my knees, trying to anchor myself in the midst of the overwhelming dizziness.
I love Axe—loved him, I keep telling myself—and really believed he was my future.
I thought he was different. Kind. That he actually saw me—the real me.
Not some weak, easy-to-manipulate Josie like everyone else saw.
He saw the version of me I wanted to be.
Strong. Brave. Someone who could hold her own.
But now, with tears blurring my vision and this heavy weight in my chest, I finally get it.
I had him all wrong. Just like Bryan. Just like my mom.
He didn’t see me. He saw a mark.
I fell for it. Hook, line, and fucking sinker.
“We’ll be there soon,” Niles says. “You’re safe now, Josie-Jo.”
Ugh. Josie-Jo? God, I feel like I might vomit. Niles taps my knee with his hand, and it lingers for a second too long. Did I imagine that, too? Why am I having such a hard time thinking straight?
I try to sort through the facts. Axe is a sex trafficker. Is Strike one, too? Where is Honor in all this? Niles is CIA? But he’s also a businessman? With a private jet? Does that make sense?
My head feels too heavy to move, but I catch the sound of a woman’s voice behind me—a slight Eastern European accent lacing her words.
“Just knock her out already. She’s getting on my nerves with all that crying and rambling about tarot cards and her nonna. What the hell even is a nonna?”
Am I rambling? I can’t even tell anymore. I can’t feel my lips.
“Leave her alone,” Niles says quietly, brushing a finger across my cheek.
Everything feels just out of my grasp. I lean back and close my eyes, because I don’t have the energy to keep them open anymore.
—
Then I’m in a car, the outside world zooming by in a blur.
The road is rough, jolting me with every bump.
I feel a hand on my thigh—small but firm.
My head feels like it weighs a ton, and my thoughts are all fuzzy, like static on a TV.
I try to speak, to ask what’s happening, but I’m so tired—too tired.
Before I can grab on to any clear thought, the darkness pulls me under.
—
When I wake up again, I find myself in a massive bed, the room around me drafty despite its grandeur.
Heavy velvet drapes hang closed, trapping the room in a haze of dust. For a moment, I’m taken in by the beauty of what I can glimpse through the dim light—the majestic canopy bed, the intricately carved wood furnishings adorned with Celtic patterns. But a sinking feeling grips my stomach.
Where the hell am I? Ravenswood? The thought crashes through me. No, I’m really far away from Shelton. I was on a plane. With Niles. Niles, who is creepy but safe, right? And a woman. My mother? No. Nonna? Nonna is dead. Oh, oh, oh, Nonna is dead. This memory is like pressing a bruise.
I float in and out of consciousness. The energy in the room suffocates me, thick and dark. I can almost hear Nonna’s voice, a warning from the grave. Rimettiti in sesto, Josie. Il pericolo è dietro l’angolo!—Pull yourself together, Josie! Danger is just around the corner! No kidding, Nonna.
I try to sit up, but my body won’t cooperate. My heart is pounding, my head spinning. Somewhere, faint and far away, I hear screams. Pleading. Desperate. Or maybe that’s just in my head? Maybe it’s me screaming?
I clutch the heavy blanket around my shoulders, unsure if I’m hearing ghosts of the past or if my own damn mind is unraveling.
Is this how my mother ended up at Ravenswood? One minute she felt rational and sane, and the next her mind felt like a dandelion blowing in the wind?
Nonna, what would you do? She’d certainly have sensed the traumatic, oppressive energy in the walls of this space.
I feel dark secrets here, wrongdoings steeped in the history of each brick.
I feel pain, anger, and helplessness. A memory slips in—Dr. Don, his eyes scanning the surgery recovery room with sadistic detachment.
I was so young then. So trusting. I can still hear his smooth, friendly voice, ordering those of us who were strong enough to get out of bed to stand and line up in a row.
Squats, he would demand, watching as we bent our trembling knees.
Then came the jumping jacks, Dr. Don’s hand clap keeping the beat as we all moved together.
The aerobic exercise was supposed to be good for our phlegm-filled lungs.
“Lovely Josie,” he always said to me, his voice treacly.
“Everything will be fine, my sweet. Drink and rest.”
But no—that’s not Dr. Don. My eyes snap open.
Niles is perched on the edge of my bed, his face unnervingly close, a mug cradled in his hands. He’s staring at me, too calm. As if he’s got everything under control.
I grew frightened of Dr. Don’s special drink. It always made me sleep heavily and left me with a metallic taste in my mouth. I test my tongue over my gums. Yes, same taste. Same heaviness in my limbs. I’ve been through this before.
I’ve been drugged.
The realization settles my brain into a surprising relief; it lets the scattered pieces slowly start to fall back into place.
“Here you go. Another sip,” says Niles, offering the mug. “You’ve had quite a shock. But you’re safe with me now.”
My heart is racing, pounding so hard I swear he can hear it.
I want to scream in Niles’s pasty face, tell him I know what’s happening.
I know I’ve been drugged, and I am not safe.
His CIA “credentials” are just as fake as the concern plastered across his starched face.
It’s all part of the same twisted pantomime.
Just like Dr. Don, he’s hiding behind a mask, spinning lies and false comforts for his own sociopathic pleasure.
I knew Axe, my Axe, wasn’t the enemy here. Again, the truth was right in front of me; I was just looking the wrong way.
There’s got to be an explanation for the shackled man. I just haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe I’ve been jumping to conclusions, or maybe there’s something bigger at play. Something I can’t see. But I’m not giving up. I refuse to believe that Axe would just suddenly turn into some kind of monster.
Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything he’s done for me.
When Niles gently presses the mug toward my lips, I pretend to sip, trying to keep my breathing steady despite my fear.
Because I need to play along.
If Dr. Don taught me anything, it was how to survive.
“After you’ve slept,” he says smoothly, “we’ll have a little bite together. I’ve whipped up some tatties and eggs for breakfast. You must have a lot of questions.”
“Sounds good,” I say meekly. Tatties? Is Niles Scottish, too? Also, it’s time for breakfast? Shit, I must have been out for hours. “No snail tartare,” I add with a weak little smile, keeping it all so sweet, my JosieFightsOn persona clicked into play.
“You minx.” Niles chuckles. I hold the smile on my face as I close my eyes, pretend to snuggle down in the bed until Niles rises, and suppress a horrible shiver as he runs his finger slowly down the side of my face.
When he leaves the room, the door locks gently behind him.
I know that sound, too. I am a prisoner here.
I’ve been a prisoner my whole damn life.
No doubt they’ve got cameras in this room.
But I’m used to being watched—years of doctors and caretakers taught me how to blend in under their unsmiling scrutiny.
I let my body go limp, keeping up the pretense of sleep.
My breathing slows, deepens, while my mind clears and becomes sharp. I can’t let on that I know I’m trapped.
Bit by bit, I let my limbs shift around.
I keep each move small, making sure I don’t give away what I’m really up to.
I play it off like I’m just a restless, drugged-out Josie, tossing and turning, trying to get comfy.
When, in fact, I’m scouring the room, my eyes sweeping every nook for where they might’ve hidden a camera.
And then I spot it. Right inside the eye socket of a carved bust perched on the heavy oak wardrobe.
Oh, you clever fuckers. I keep my face slack, pretending I haven’t noticed a damn thing.
Instead, I let out a big, exaggerated yawn and stretch as I slide out of bed, making my movements slow and groggy, like I’m still very much under the influence of whatever they dosed me with.
Who is they? Niles? Niles and Veronica? An entire security team?
Nothing to see here.
I sway toward the bathroom and absently grab my silk scarf, which is hanging over the chair with my dress, and in one sleepy motion, I toss it over my shoulder. It flutters just right, landing over the bust’s head and covering that creepy little camera eye. Perfect.
There might be other cameras in the room, but I can’t risk waiting any longer to look for my escape. I know I’ve only got a small window—maybe five minutes tops—before they grow suspicious that I’m doing anything other than using the bathroom.
I check the door. Locked. My bag is nowhere to be found. I scan for any other devices, but nothing. Then I tug at the curtains and am greeted with…an unending carpet of green against a gray sky.
Bright, glossy fields stretch out as far as I can see.
Great. Where the hell am I? I could be literally anywhere on the planet. I have no idea how long I was on that damn plane.
My mind racing, I go back to the bathroom and stare at the toilet. It’s old-fashioned, the kind with a wooden handle and a metal chain. The tile floor is cold, and the air smells musty. I’m not somewhere particularly warm or dry.
I’m just a girl, standing inside of the bathroom, asking for a way to get the fuck outta here.
Almost as an afterthought, I open the old medicine cabinet, and there it is. Tucked behind a few old bottles of aspirin are bandages, a bottle of bright red nail polish…and a bobby pin. Bingo.
I don’t think whoever is watching will be able to see through my scarf, but I’m not taking any chances. I drop to the floor and army crawl my way to the bedroom door. I slip the pin in the lock and fiddle for about twenty seconds.
Come on, come on, come on.
When I finally hear a click, I almost groan in relief.
Thank God. Looks like the locks are as ancient as the toilets.
Slowly, I push the door open, and the realization slams into me.
No one is coming to save me. Axe would assume I left the party because I was sad about Nonna.
And even if he gets suspicious, even if he worries, he’ll have no way of knowing where I’ve been taken.
It’s just me against whatever the hell is waiting outside.
I can do this.
I inch forward, craning my neck to get a look—then suck in a sharp gasp.
I don’t know what I expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
Where. The. Fuck. Am. I?