Grace
I drop my beer bottle when the pretty news anchor on TV breaks the news that Ortíz’s son has been kidnapped.
Something must’ve happened to him after he left me, because he’s wearing the same cream-colored shirt he had on this morning. The only difference is that now it’s spattered with blood. And his index and middle fingers are wrapped in bandages.
How can I tell Chase that what he saw this morning wasn’t what he thought it was? I must go to the station and talk to the Chief of Police.
A crazy, dark thought is twirling through my head as I pick up the sharp shards.
If Chase wants me, why hasn’t he kidnapped me again?
He could do it any moment—instead, he’s turning the town into a deadly playground.
Because of me. But this is no game. A little boy’s life is at stake.
And I can barely stomach it. What if they don’t find him in time?
Would Chase really let the kid drown? No matter how cruel he can be, how much physical and emotional damage he’s done to me, I can’t believe that.
Chase wouldn’t hurt innocents. At least, he hasn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it—yet.
Then I remember Poppy. Poppy did nothing wrong. He used her as a tool to hurt me. And now he’s doing the same thing, using Jason to hurt his father.
“Grace!” Cameron shouts, making me jump and slice my thumb. He holds his phone up, inviting me into the storeroom with his eyes.
I cross the bar with my eyes down, because I can feel the withering looks burning into my back. My body tenses. I bite my lower lip. Pain shudders through me—at least it’s a distraction.
Cameron looks me up and down, then notices blood dripping from my thumb onto the gray tiles. I slip past him and rummage through my bag.
“What’s this ugly thing?” he asks in disgust. The teddy bear has fallen on his foot.
“A memory,” I babble, snatching it up. My fingertips throb with the urge to wipe the dirt off, but I resist. It wouldn’t make it look any better anyway. I cram it back into the bag and bandage my bleeding finger.
“Cyrus wants to talk to you.” He hands me his phone. “He says he can’t get ahold of you.”
“I left my phone in my bag…” I open it and dump its contents onto the table, but my phone is nowhere in there. There is a note, though. I carefully unfold it so Cameron can’t read it.
This is not your business. Don’t get involved!
The man towering three heads over me watches me suspiciously.
There’s no pity in his dark irises—only accusation.
Cameron is Cherokee. He’s strong and imposing, with hard features and stern eyes.
He’s strong and athletic. He wears his long black hair in a braid that falls down his back.
His bronze skin is covered in tribal tattoos.
I often hear him talk about his ancestors to guests—people who’ve never seen a Native American in the flesh, only in movies and history books, and think of them as mythical creatures.
I hurriedly cram my things into my bag and hand the phone back to Cameron. “I have to go.”
His unfriendly eyes and cold expression tell me he finds my behavior very unusual.
I storm out of the storeroom.
“Should I walk you out?”
“No,” I reply, too loud—too sharp. All eyes are on me. My throat is dry. Cameron blinks. The bar goes quiet.
“I’m going to Cyrus,” I tell him in a low, near-whisper.
He grabs my arm and stops me. Why is everyone doing this to me today?
“I don’t think you should go near him. You put him in too much danger. First, his mother, now this boy…”
“Do you know something I don’t? You’re the second person today telling me this. And if you don’t want to end up on that ghost list, you’d better take your hands off me,” I hiss.
I’ve had enough of people treating me like Pandora, as if I’m always one breath away from opening my box and unleashing horrors on the world.
He lifts his chin gravely, and lets me go. Threatening him wasn’t fair—his stories aren’t made of pretty memories. His tales draw people into an idyllic age, and then darkness descends, and destruction—filthy violence and screams—replaces the idyll. And a disgusting massacre.
My heart breaks when he talks about how many women and girls were raped and never saw justice, how those greedy monsters got away with it. They stole their land, wiped out their tribes. Some took their own lives. Others swallowed their dignity and bowed to tyranny.
The blood of his ancestors painted this land red.
“That’s what I thought, and now if you’ll excuse me…” I run across the bar, shaking off the nasty whispers and the burning, acidic looks that follow me.
Before big storms, there’s always a moment when the wind stops and everything goes quiet.
This is that moment. It’s 2 p.m., and the town is swallowed by darkness.
Clouds blot out the sun, and it feels like evening.
Then the lull breaks. The wind surges and changes everything.
It drives the fresh scent of rain into my nose.
It rattles the leaves in the trees, and the darkness over the sky presses down harder and harder.
The streets are empty—everyone has fled indoors.
The storm rips at signs, knocks over trash bins, makes trees lean sideways, tears off dry branches and leaves.
I hide my face in my arm and stumble across the parking lot.
The asphalt is slick with the huge raindrops suddenly pouring from the sky.
As I fight the wind and try to get my car door open, my foot slips and I land hard on my ass.
I punch my bag in anger and swallow a curse.
I haul myself into the driver’s seat, soaked and filthy.
I jam the key into the ignition with shaking fingers, turn it, but the engine coughs and dies almost instantly.
“Fuck!” I slam my hands on the steering wheel and jump when someone knocks on the window. I wipe the thin film of fog from the glass, and I’m not surprised to find Chase’s dark eyes staring back at me. Fat raindrops slide down his forehead and catch on his thick eyelashes. I roll the window down.
“Leave me alone, Chase. I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing with me, but these gifts cross every line.
“What gifts?” He furrows his brow in confusion.
“Don’t play dumb!” I blurt, climbing out of the car and shouting over the storm. “The teddy bear, the flowers, the kitten… And now there’s another death on your hands because our neighbor’s dog tore it to pieces this morning.”
Chase glances around, confused, then shoves me back into the car.
“What are you doing?”
“Slide over.”
“Why?”
“I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
“You’ve lost your mind! You’re the one putting me in danger—you’re trying to drive me crazy!”
“It wasn’t me.” He looks straight into my eyes.
“Then who?” I cross my arms, furious, and brace my foot against the door so he can’t get in. “Who else could know what gifts you gave me?”
“A lot of people.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist. Chase grips my thigh and applies a little pressure. I loosen my stance so he can shove me over to the passenger seat.
“What do you mean, a lot of people? Who did you tell?”
“No one.”
“Then how would they know? If this is a trap…” I lift my index finger in warning.
“It’s not a trap. I didn’t tell anyone what happened, because… I didn’t have to.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because they saw everything.”
“What do you mean they saw? Who saw?”
“I could only keep you if I followed the instructions. Everything went on the dark web.”
“The dark web?” I’m appalled. “What do you mean, everything?”
“Us having sex. The abuse…”
“And who told you to do this?”
“My brother.” His fingers clench around the steering wheel.
“Jesus.” I rake my fingers through my hair and sink into the seat.
“They didn’t see our faces. I didn’t let them see you.”
“Only my body?” I snap.
“I couldn’t do anything else. He would’ve taken you from me, and…” He licks his lip, smiling. “He did.”
“How?”
Chase doesn’t answer. He turns the key, but this junker only listens to Cyrus’s magic hands.
“Get out,” he orders, but I can’t move.
He yanks open the passenger-side door and hauls me out as if I weighed nothing.
He grabs my hand and drags me after him.
I can barely keep up. We splash through cold puddles.
My canvas sneakers are soaked, and my hair is plastered to my face by the wind and the rain hurls at me. I can’t see a thing.
“Chase!” I shout. “The message on the fridge—was it your brother who left it there? Was he in the apartment?”
“I’m not sure it was him. He doesn’t go into places that low. Maybe it was one of his men.”
“If you did what he told you to do, why did he take me from you?” I ask, bitter as poison.
“Do you remember when I told you I couldn’t do it anymore?” he asks.
I nod.
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I wanted him to leave us alone, but…”
“Why did you have to hurt me?”
“Because there are people who love watching stuff like this. Who get hard-ons from violence—the more blood and tears, the more fucked-up and sick the video, the more money they’ll pay for it.”
My stomach turns. His words make me feel dirty and naked. Bitter bile rises in my throat, threatening to make me vomit. For now, I take this information and shove it deep down somewhere.
“How did you get out of jail?”
“I was never a lowlife, Grace. I just chose this life. That’s why you saw me the way you did.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a hacker. I’m pretty good at it. Too good—which makes me too valuable to Lucas. That’s why he got me out after two years. He needs my expertise.”
“The videos… will they be there forever?”
He nods.
“How did they find me if they couldn’t see my face?”
“It seems I’m not the only person who can break into systems without leaving a trace.
And… you put me in jail, Grace. Do you know how big that was?
Newspapers, TV—the whole press. It was everywhere.
Our story. It was probably easy for the guy to put the pieces together, because images are stored by name. ”
“This is pretty amateurish.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.