Chapter 77
seventy-seven
MAVERICK
Passing out is embarrassing on a normal day.
Doing it in front of a serial killer that may or may not think you’re a couple?
Would not recommend. Since the moment I woke up in the bed that is apparently “ours,” Patrick has been doting on me and forcing me to drink water and eat small snacks.
He seems to think I fainted because I was dehydrated or my blood sugar was low.
Not the fact that I walked in on the room I designed with my boyfriend when we were in college.
The one we planned on making ours. Couldn’t be that.
I must need more fluid and some gummy worms.
The best part? I’m still fucking chained like a dog.
Do you know how hard it is to take a piss when your hands are chained to your waist and you’re being watched?
Very. Very fucking hard. I’m going to need to shower at some point, and I dread to think how that’s going to go.
I really do not want this man seeing me naked.
“What do you want to do today, doll?” Patrick asks, his chin in his hands while he smiles at me like we’re having a lovely and totally normal breakfast together.
I swear every conversation I’ve had with Jo about all the cold cases she’s looked into fled my brain the moment my eyes opened in this house of horrors.
I’m pretty sure they all died the moment they fought back, though.
So I’ve been trying to go with the flow.
The flow being acting like none of this is freaking me out, and I’m not screaming on the inside.
I think it’s working because Patrick hasn’t said otherwise. Or murdered me.
“Um . . .” Leave and never come back is probably not the answer he wants. “Go for a walk outside?”
I watched anger flare in his eyes before he quickly stifles it. “No.”
“Okay. Right. Well, maybe we could let Jo and Ezra out of the basement—” It’s quick, both Patrick’s fist and the fall to the floor. The pain takes a little longer to bloom along my jaw and side. I meant to say that to myself, but I guess I spoke out loud.
“I’m sorry, doll,” Patrick says, lifting me back onto the chair and stroking my hair almost reverently. “I wish you didn’t make me do that. You know I hate to hurt you.”
I keep my mouth shut because the throbbing in my face and the throbbing I just saw in his pants would suggest otherwise. A normal person would stay quiet. Usually a good hit to the face will do that to even the most chatty of individuals. Unfortunately, I’ve been broken for a very long time.
“What is this?” I’m proud of how steady my voice is. “Why am I here? What’s with the chains?”
Instead of reacting with his fists again like I thought he would, he just tilts his head, making him look even more predatory. “This is where you were always meant to be.”
“What does that mean?” I shout. I don’t care.
He can hit me again. I can’t take this weirdness anymore.
He’s with me every second. There’s been no point since I’ve been here that I’ve been able to break away from him and check out the basement.
Not that I can get down there with the padlock on the door.
“You’re mine!” Patrick screams, throwing his coffee mug. I hear it shatter against the wall behind my head, but I don’t flinch or turn to look. The one thing I know from watching animal shows is you never take your eyes off the predator. “Eva promised you to me!”
“What? No, she didn’t,” I argue immediately before thinking.
Again. Luckily, he throws his plate this time instead of hitting me.
The thing about Eva is, even though I didn’t know who she really was, her motivations were always selfish and power-hungry.
Harrison dug up her financials from a secret account.
She paid Patrick. He wasn’t her friend or colleague.
To her, he would always be the help, and I was a valuable pawn.
There’s no way she would ever let him have me.
“Oh,” I say, realizing what was going on. “She lied to you, didn’t she?”
“Of course she lied to me!” I try not to flinch at the volume of his voice, but I’m unsuccessful.
“Karma got her in the end, though. And Karma’s name was Patrick.
” He’s grinning like the lunatic he is. And Karma’s name was Patrick.
What kind of douche says that? Oh, just the one I’m stuck with. Probably until he murders me.
Is this what a psychotic break feels like? I’ve spent most of my time here terrified, but I’m just numb right now. Numb and so tired of everything. Maybe him murdering me will be a blessing.
“I can’t believe she never figured it out.
It was all me. It just took longer than I thought for her to go down.
But go down she did, let me tell you. I watched it.
” Patrick whistles, and it’s at this point I realize two things.
One, he’s been talking this whole time. And two, I’m actually feeling drunk, not numb.
I look down at my blurry orange juice. This motherfucker drugged me again.
“I need Anderson’s guys to teach me their ways. ”
“What?”
Patrick grins again, except now there’s two of him and so many missing molar holes.
Why so many holes? Where did they go? Are they missing?
I want to cry for the poor missing teeth.
They must be so scared. I squint, trying to get his ugly mug into focus.
All that does is make me realize he has a really bumpy neck. Does he use cheap razors or something?
“It. Was. All. Me,” Patrick says slowly. “That night you and all your friends love to talk about? That was caused by me. The reason Ezra ran? Me. The reason Anderson killed your mom? Oh right. Me!”
“What?” I slur, again. What is he talking about? My head is slowly making its way to my unfinished plate of eggs, and I can’t stop it.
Patrick sighs. “I gave you too much. I’ll adjust and try again.”