CHAPTER 26
Sparks
Astrid won’t speak to me the rest of the day.
At least, I think it was a day. Food was tossed through the slot in my door a few times – stale bread, meat, and spoiled fruit.
She tries to muffle her cries, but I still hear them.
Every sob feels like a knife to my heart. It’s as if I could feel her breaking.
I should have killed her. I thought about it. I had the power of the stun gun in my grasp, but I let it dissipate. It was cruel of me. She deserves a quick death, instead of whatever torture lies ahead.
I should have killed her.
But I didn’t.
I hear her cries, whether it’s from the pain of her body or mind, I can’t tell. There’s nothing I can do to help. I want to hold her in my arms, wipe her cheeks, leave sweet kisses on her forehead.
Instead, I tell her stories, trying to distract her from our terrible situation.
I ramble about my childhood, growing up along the East Coast, what she missed during our break-up.
I make up tall tales of dragons and princesses and dwarves.
They always end happily, with two women getting married and living together for the rest of their lives.
They dance through meadows and bottle the sunshine to release on rainy days.
Does Astrid listen? I can’t say. But when my rasping voice trails off, tired from talking for hours on end, I hear three knocks. She doesn’t have to say anything for me to know what it means. I return the sound – knock, knock, knock.
But the footsteps come back. I hear Astrid whimper, scurrying to the back of her crate. I stand, fists clenched at my side.
“What a lovely day to play with my two favorite girls,” Chadwick gloats. I can almost hear his smirk. I’m going to knock it off his face.
“Chadwick, it’s my turn to play,” I goad. If I had the choice, he’d take me instead of her every day. I can take it. I will take it. But it’s not my choice, so I hold my breath, praying he knocks on my door. “Come on, I want to have some fun.”
The lock on my door releases, and I exhale, thankful for this small blessing.
Astrid is safe, at least for now. Chadwick stands in the entrance to my cell, eyeing me eagerly.
Something in his gaze is unsettling, but I will not break.
I toss my hair over my shoulder and stride out.
Two men stand next to the exit. They grab at me, but I duck under their arms, darting toward Chadwick.
My fist connects with his face, and his nose makes a satisfying crunch.
I throw my head back laughing as his henchmen force me to my knees, handcuffing my wrists behind my back.
“Man, I love this game,” I taunt, shooting daggers toward Chadwick. Beautiful red liquid drips down his chin.
“Be careful,” he seethes. “Or you’ll get your girlfriend killed.”
“You see, I had a lot of time to think about that.” The men haul me to my feet, but I resist as they drag me toward the second room. “You’re full of shit.”
“Yeah?” Chadwick’s gaze darkens. “How so?”
“You can’t kill her, because if you do, you’ll have no leverage over me.” My words whip out threateningly. “And there will be nothing stopping me from killing you.”
“Interesting theory.” He muses, pacing as the door shuts behind him. “My question to you is, are you willing to be wrong?”
“I’m not wrong.” I try to steady my voice, but he’s called my bluff. My mask slips. Only for a millisecond, but enough for him to see what he needs. Chadwick stalks toward me, gripping my chin in his hands.
“How about this?” He chuckles, deviously. “If you can go the whole game without screaming, I won’t kill her.”
I clench my jaw, eyes staring a hole in his forehead where I wished a bullet would appear.
“I’m going to enjoy killing her in front of you,” he whispers, leaning in close. “Slowly and painfully. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, but rest assured, I’ll be the one holding the knife.”
Red clouds my vision. I rear back and heave my head into his. Chadwick falls to the ground as his nose breaks again. I blink rapidly as my head aches. Worth it.
“Chadwick, stand down.” I know that voice. I whirl around to face him. My ballcap covers his face. My stalker. I suppose I always knew he was connected to this organization, but it’s unsettling to have it confirmed.
“This bitch needs to learn her place,” he bites. “And I’m all too happy to teach her. Take off her shirt.”
The third goon rips off my tank top, leaving me kneeling in my bra.
I squirm in their clutches as Chadwick plucks a whip off the wall and walks behind me.
I hear the crack as it flies through the air before it tears at the skin of my back.
I bite my lip, holding back my scream. I breathe deeply and close my eyes.
You can take this. You’ve been through worse.
Crack! I stifle a groan. Blood drips down my back from the lacerations.
“Chadwick, stop!” My stalker stands, the chair he was sitting on skids on the ground. “Chadwick!”
Crack! I can take this. I can take this.
Crack! I’ve been through worse. I’ve been through―
Bang!
Blood splatters on the ground. Astrid screams in the other room. Chadwick crumples to the ground, a hole directly in the center of his forehead. The other three men turn to the stalker horrified, his gun outstretched.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Their bodies fall to the floor behind me, their blood soaking into the wooden planks. My stalker watches me as I shakily rise to my feet.
“Time to head out.” He reholsters his gun. “Reinforcements will be here shortly. No way they didn’t hear the gunshots.”
“We need to get Astrid.” I fumble with the doorknob behind my back. “Fuck, I can’t get it. Help me!”
“Come here, Charlotte.” He extends a hand patiently. “I have someplace where you’ll be safe.”
“Not without Astrid!” I slam my shoulder into the door. I can’t get in. Astrid is wailing in the other room. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know I’m okay. “Astrid! Astrid, I’m―”
“It’s okay, Charlotte,” he shushes me, as a cloth muffles my cries. “I’ll take care of you.”
No! Astrid! I struggle in his arms, but he’s stronger than me and my hands are of no use behind my back.
The cloth smells funny, like almonds. My eyelids feel heavy.
My stalker carries me through the exit, stopping in front of an old pickup.
He gently lays me into the passenger seat and buckles me in.
My head hangs limply, and he leans it back against the headrest, leaving a kiss on my forehead.
He brushes my hair from my face and our eyes meet.
His eyes.
I know those eyes. I’ve seen them before, twice. Once at the gala, as we danced to upbeat jazz music. Again, when my bike got a flat out of nowhere. The one man I picked out of the crowd was my stalker.