13. Cam
Talia’s going to think the worst.
She’ll assume Manticore got to me too.
I need a plan—a way out—but this girl’s a riddle I can’t crack. One minute she’s wielding utensils like weapons, the next she’s dabbing at my wounds like some conflicted Florence Nightingale. She doesn’t seem sure whether she’s a captor or a caregiver, and frankly, neither am I.
She doesn’t seem to know what she wants. Hell, I’m not sure she even knows who she is in this.
Maybe charm could buy me a chance. Ease her guard. Turn the tide.
Not that I remember how to flirt, much less charm someone under duress. That skill rusted away years ago.
She’s been gone a while. I haven’t seen her since she patched me up—just the occasional clatter and the steady rhythm of a knife against the chopping board drifting in from the kitchen. My stomach grumbles, shameless in its betrayal. She must be planning something, but I’ll be damned if I can tell what.
Talia’s never going to believe this mess. She’ll think I’ve lost it—rambling about mystery girls and makeshift prison cells, babbling about kitchen tape and rolling pins like some trauma-addled lunatic. And just as I’m sinking deeper into that thought, the doorbell rings.
She reappears in a rush, clutching a roll of black duct tape like she’s done this before. There’s no warning—just a swift movement as she tears a strip and slaps it across my mouth, firm, almost apologetic. But her focus isn’t on me. Her gaze is fixed on the front door, muscles taut, breath shallow. Something has her spooked.
She raises a finger to her lips, commanding silence without a word. Then, as if this is all part of some deeply deranged routine, she scoops up the cat, nudges it into the room with me, and shuts the door behind her, locking us both in that strange, charged quiet.
I strain to listen. It’s a man—his voice clipped and commanding, each word sharp enough to cut.
“Where the fuck did you put it?”
“No, he’s not here, I sent him to my friend’s,”
she says, but her voice splinters, brittle with fear.
Then the chaos starts; the crash of pans, a sickening thud of flesh against countertop. My blood ices. They’re fighting. Or rather, he’s attacking her.
Whoever he is, he’s violent. And the unpredictability of what’s happening the other side of that door churns my stomach.
I lurch forward, straining against the restraints, desperate for a glimpse. If I could just see his face, lock it into memory, I’d carry it with me—use it if I get out of here.
Regardless of whatever she’s done to me, however wrong or deranged this situation is, nothing justifies that kind of brutality. You don’t raise a hand to a woman in violence. Ever.
“I’m taking what’s mine, Nell—whether you like it or not. Next time I show up, you’d better have exactly what I want, or you’ll get worse than this warning. Got it?”
He spits the words like poison, then the door slams—hard enough to rattle the walls.
But she doesn’t come back. Not a word, not a sound. Just the brittle sweep of glass, methodical and slow. She’s restoring order, or trying to at least. And I think I’ve just had the first glimpse into her life.
Nell.
At least I have a name to put to the face now.
I wrestle with the restraints, straining to free even one limb—but it’s pointless. She’s good with knots, I’ll give her that. They’re tight and methodical, and completely damning. They possess the kind of skill that suggests she’s done this before.
And still, even now, I’ve got no clue what I’ll do once I’m free. She won’t go quietly—that much is obvious. And Manticore? They don’t leave loose ends. She’s practically made of them.
Somewhere nearby, she’s crying. Not quietly either—raw, hiccupping sobs that echo through the walls. She’s kidding herself if she thinks I can’t hear.
Why the hell do I feel sorry for her? She kidnapped me. Tied me up. Cracked my skull. And yet here I am, already calculating how I’d make that man pay for laying a hand on her.
Madness.
But maybe not entirely. She thought I was here to take her friend—thought I was the enemy. In her mind, she struck first.
I can’t deny the chaos she’s dragged me into—the setbacks, the sheer amount of work she’s created—not to mention robbing me of my best shot at taking them down. But no matter how much she’s messed things up, I can’t let her become their next victim.
As tempting as it is to just walk away, I know I won’t. I’ll protect her now.
And maybe, just maybe, she can repay the favour—if she’s willing to turn that reckless streak against Manticore instead of me.
My head throbs, the pounding intensifying with every breath, but at least the sun’s no longer assaulting the room. The glare is gone. My mouth also aches, but the tape is no longer silencing me, whenever it was, she’s removed it.
Did I pass out? Or is the concussion just rewiring time again? Everything feels off. Skewed. But it’s dark now—nighttime surely.
I shift sluggishly in the seat, and crane my neck in search of something useful. That’s when I see her.
She’s curled in the moonlight, its silver glow carving shadows across her face. There’s a deep, purpling bruise high on her cheekbone, swollen and stark. He really did a number on her.
But she’s still, caught in a restless sleep. Her brows twitch, tension drawn tight even in unconsciousness—haunted by whatever dream she’s trapped in.
I test the chair, inching it across the vinyl floor deliberately slow to try and avoid any unnecessary giveaway. The soft underlay muffles the noise, thank God. No creaks. No giveaways. Just the faint scrape of wood on cushioned laminate. Encouraged, I keep going, shuffling in painstaking increments toward the door.
The kitchen’s my target—if I can reach it, maybe I’ll find a knife, scissors, something sharp enough to sever the ropes. Or failing that, something to burn through them. Not ideal, but desperation doesn’t care about comfort.
Still, the thought of open flames near my skin makes my gut clench. Plan B is a last resort.
This damn cat. His eyes snap open, pupils slitted and glowing with that eerie, misty green. Before I can react, he’s at my feet, coiling around my ankles like smoke, yowling—not a meow, but a full-throated shriek that echoes far louder than it should.
“Shut up,”
I hiss, as if the little traitor understands me. Of all things to blow my cover—a yowling, leg-hugging cat. My luck’s officially in freefall.
“What are you doing?”
Nell’s voice wavers behind me, thick with sniffles. So much for stealth. I’ve been caught mid-escape by someone who sounds like she’s barely holding herself together.
Good luck dragging me back to that bedroom now. She’s built like a gust of wind, and it still defies physics how she got me in there the first time. There’s no way—short of divine intervention or forklift assistance—she’s moving me again.
“You need to let me go Nell—”
“Wait, how do you know my…”
She trails off, recollecting the earlier encounter with whoever that mans was, and the realisation seeps in, quick and cold by the looks of it.
“Look, Manticore are probably hunting you down right now, and the longer you keep me here, the less time I have to try and fix this. You need to untie me.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
she snaps, defiance blazing back to life. The bruises, the blood—none of it’s dulled the fire in her eyes.
“You really think I’m just going to let you walk out of here? You haven’t told me a damn thing, and now you know my name. That’s all you’d need to find me, to come back and kill me in my sleep.”
She’s spiralling, fuelled by fear and fury—and serious trust issues. One look at her face tells me they’ve been earned.
“You’ve got this so twisted,”
I bite back.
“Your friend is gone. I don’t care if you want to pretend otherwise, but she’s not coming back. And unless you want to wind up the next commodity on Manticore’s butcher block, you need to let me go. What’s even your plan here?”
I lift a brow, watching the faint flush crawl up her cheeks. She doesn’t like pressure—doesn’t like being seen.
“What, you gonna keep me here indefinitely? Just tie me up and hope the answers come to you in a dream? What’s next, Nell? You gonna kill me? Really ask yourself if you’ve got that in you.”
She’s trapped between the truth and me, and we both know she hasn’t got it in her to kill me.