Chapter 6 #3
I wouldn’t feel bad about this kiss even if someone threw the facts in my face. Because… I need this. I need him. Which is horrible, yet beautiful in the way a cold, barren landscape can be.
Both my body and my mind react to his kiss, to the soft, sensual dance of our lips and tongues. His fingers get lost in my long brown hair, and he kisses me with so much passion and love it burns through my body. In my belly, rotten black butterflies flutter their torn wings.
“I missed you, Grace.”
I look at him with eyes drunk on our kiss.
“Please, let me go,” I whisper, dazed.
His lips curl into a dark, frightening smile. I shudder.
“Were you really calling me? Did you really want me to save you?”
“Yes. But that was a long time ago.”
“This time, you asked me to help you too. I heard your voice.”
“No… I didn’t know it was you. You…” My throat is dry. “You won’t kidnap me this time, will you?” I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in my lower lip.
“No,” he says firmly. My eyes fly open. His statement doesn’t bring relief—all I feel is terror buried deep in my bones.
My sense of time had become hazy even before I met Bo’s gang. I have no idea how long we’ve been standing here in the chilly darkness. My clothes are wet from the drizzling rain, they cling to my shivering skin. The wave of fear subsides, replaced by an appalling sensation.
Chase is reserved. He doesn’t want to force himself on me.
He isn’t hurting me—he’s only watching, making mental notes as his gaze travels up and down, taking in the faint contours of my shaking body and my face.
Admiration and craving—this dual sensation swirls in his dull, dark eyes.
His breathing is slow, even. I notice how often his chest brushes my breasts.
This moment pulls me back, makes me remember the night he walked me home.
And now Chase is doing the same thing to me at this moment—I have no idea what it is, but he’s very good at it.
“You’re going too far again,” I whisper.
His lips, dotted with tiny drops of rain, pull into a lopsided smile.
“You. Are. Letting. Me. Get. Too. Close.”
He moves closer with every word. His body presses against mine even more.
“Because I have no choice,” I reply angrily, pounding my fist against the brick wall.
“You’re wrong. You do have a choice,” he whispers in his deep, resonant voice.
My eyelids grow heavy and close. His cold face presses against mine.
“You chose Billy Ray over me.” He kisses my closed lips gently.
“Then you chose freedom over me.” His lips brush my closed lips again.
“You never chose me, Grace. Even though we both know that—”
“No,” I protest, shaking my head.
“Honey,” he growls. A desperate sound escapes my lips.
When red and blue lights tear through the silent darkness of the night, I turn my head. The wild, eerie sound of the sirens becomes menacing alarm bells in my throbbing skull.
Killer! Killer! my soul screams. He deserves jail!
But—
A memory surfaces.
“To protect me from monsters? Chase, you are a monster!”
A dark smile played on his lips.
“Yeah. But I’m the better kind.”
I scan the dead bodies. I don’t have to guess what they would’ve done to me if he hadn’t “saved” me.
Chase glances at the approaching police cars and lets me go, lightning-fast. He picks up the knife and steps into the darkness. Where he belongs.
It was only a matter of time for him to come for me. I knew it, felt it. I was waiting for him.
All of this makes me want to vomit. And I probably will later.
Blinded by the alternating colors, I yank my arm in front of my face. The voices of the cops are barely audible over the hum of the car engines. My heart skips a beat when I see a huge, dark figure in the flood of light. I run into his arms without thinking.
“He’s here, he’s here! He’s escaped!” I babble, gesticulating wildly, as if I were possessed.
“Calm down, Grace. Grace. Calm down!” Cyrus says, shaking me gently.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Chase. He’s escaped!”
“That’s impossible, Grace. We both know that—”
“I don’t get it either, but he’s here, Cyrus. I’m not lying to you!”
“Okay, okay… I have to take care of this. Sit in the car until we’re done. We’re going to talk about everything at home.”
“No.” I shake my head crying. He softens and draws me in an embrace.
I love his huge body. His arms cover half my torso.
The warmth and protection radiating from him engulf my whole being.
I inhale his characteristic cedarwood scent deeply.
His chin rests on top of my head. I relax.
This embrace is like opium—it sedates me and starts pulling me toward a deep, painless sleep.
His dark eyes are always alight with warmth and love.
My pink lips curl into a silly, childish smile because his hot skin is balm against mine.
I feel as if I were dying, and someone had fulfilled my last wish before pain swallowed me.
“Grace McCarty. Why am I not surprised?” Chief of Police Ortíz grumbles, raising his thick ginger eyebrows. My stomach twists into a knot. Cyrus’s body tightens beneath my touch, and he looks at his superior with narrowing eyes.
“Are you hurt, madam?” A young officer steps to us. Cyrus starts to swear in a low voice, drawing a weak smile from me.
“Fuck. I haven’t even asked if you were hurt.”
“I basically jumped on you,” I remind him. “It’s not your fault. Only my palm is injured, and it’s nothing serious.”
“Can someone tell me what the actual fuck happened here?” Ortíz yells, throwing both hands in the air.
“It might have been murder,” a cop answers dryly, making the others—including Cyrus—snort into their hands.
“Go, get it checked out. It can’t hurt to disinfect and bandage it. Perry’s going to stay with you until I’m done.”
“Okay.”
He strokes my back and kisses my brow.
“Can you tell me what’s so funny about this, Nesh? And why is it that wherever this girl appears, something grisly happens?”
The sweet, easy feeling I had is gone, sliced away as if by a sharp knife.
All eyes are on me, making me uncomfortable in my own skin.
The bitterness in my soul tastes like sour lemon.
I’m stuck between the present and the past—one foot here, the other there.
Their eyes brand the horrors I went through into my skin.
Ortíz shakes his head and kneels beside Bo’s corpse. He pulls a cloth handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat and grips Bo’s slack jaw.
“Someone got him good. Who’s this guy?”
“Bobby Delgado. A real son of a bitch.”
“Bobby Delgado… Sounds familiar.” Ortíz looks at me with narrowed eyes. I meet his gaze.
“Someone got to him before us.” He stands up with difficulty, wipes his fingers and hands the bloody handkerchief to an officer nearby. He plants his hands on his hips and motions Cyrus over with a tilt of his head.
Irritated, Cyrus rakes his fingers through his hair, wet and bushy from the rain, his dark locks falling on his shoulders in disarray.
The cops cast a glance at me, then move a little farther away.
Ortíz points at the bodies. The fresh wrinkles on his pale face deepen even more.
He fiddles with his walrus mustache, streaked with gray among the ginger.
On the outside, he looks like Cyrus: tall and imposing, his medium-length ginger hair pulled into a tight ponytail, sagging skin inked with tattoos. The only difference is how they dress—Ortíz is old-school. He’s wearing a pinstriped shirt and thin beige pants that are easy to move in.
I watch their conversation eagerly, so absorbed in their intense yet quiet disagreement that I barely notice Perry disinfecting my hand and putting a plaster on it.
Ortíz pats Cyrus on the back, then reaches into his pocket, where I can see his phone flashing through the thin fabric. He starts walking toward his service car at an unhurried pace.
“I’ll leave writing the report to you. I want it on my desk by noon tomorrow.” He points at Cyrus. “Ortíz,” he adds, lifting the phone.
Cyrus walks over to me with sagging shoulders and an expressionless face.
“We’ll go home as soon as they’ve cleaned up.”
“But… my statement!” I jump on my feet. “I just witnessed a murder!”
I lower my voice and cross my arms protectively over my chest. “I’m not lying, Cyrus.
I didn’t imagine it. These guys—they almost did it again…
” I take a slow, deep breath as a hot tear streaks down my face.
“But Chase saved me. I know this sounds impossible—and it is… Because he’s not a hero.
But still, this is what happened. You must believe me! ”
I bite the inside of my mouth.
“Grace…” Cyrus looks deep into my eyes, then brushes the tear from my face with his thumb. “We’re going home.”
I stare at the man standing before me, my mouth slightly open. This is not the answer I expected.
I believe you. That’s what I wanted to hear. Instead, I see pity burning in his dark irises.
I am exhausted and terrified to death, but I am telling the truth. I am not crazy.
I have seen that look of pity before—back when… when Jamie’s body was never found.
For two days, I slept in the hospital. When I woke up, I told Cyrus everything in detail. He and a few officers drove to the farmhouse later that day to see if my story checked out, but they didn’t find Jamie behind the house where I had dragged him.
They found no sign of wild animals feeding on him—no torn flesh, no gnawed bones… nothing at all. Not even a single drop of blood.
Jamie, Nikky, Bo, and his gang had seemingly disappeared into thin air that evening.