Chapter 35
35
RAINE
W aking up to pain is confusing. A chemical smell burns the inside of my nose, and I’m curled into a cramped position in a small, utterly dark place. The top of my dress is damp against my chest, and my body hurts from being contorted.
What is happening?
When I try to roll onto my back and can’t, fear knifes through me. Why can’t I move? Where am I?
As I struggle, I piece together the way I’m bound. My wrists are hooked to my ankles by metallic cuffs. When I move my bare feet upward, they pull on my arms and bump against a lid above me. The realization that I’m trapped in some kind of box causes a surge of terror so severe that, for a few moments, all I do is scream as I roll back and forth, banging into the sides in the hopes of smashing through a wall.
Unfortunately, the container doesn’t break open. Exhausted and terrified, I fall silent, my heavy breathing a hot echo in the cramped space .
I don’t know who took me, but my broken fingernails are jagged with crusty residue under them. I clawed him hard enough to draw blood.
There’s no time to relish that small victory because suddenly, the box drops, jarring me. New spasms of pain lace through my limbs as my prison is dragged over rough ground.
Whoever is moving the container didn’t silence me while I screamed. That fact brings with it the chilling realization that there must be no one nearby to hear me.
I don’t understand why I was taken. Is the man working for Killian’s bosses? Or was Alicia’s demands for money a ruse to distract me so an accomplice could grab me? And if so, to what end?
The dragging stops, and metal clinks for a moment before the top of the box is lifted. My eyes adjust slowly. There’s a small amount of light to the left, and he looms over me. Because he’s going bald, he’s all forehead. I don’t think he’s old, though. Thirty or forty? I’m bad with ages.
He leans forward, and I get a better look at his flushed face, which has my scratches on it. His lips are as thin as sheets of paper. I study him, grasping for any spark of recognition. But even with more time than I had between the buildings, I don’t recognize him. He’s a stranger.
His panting breaths might be from the exertion of dragging the box with me in it. Or he’s excited that he managed to kidnap me from the street without anyone realizing.
Hands reach in and sit me up. My curled back rests against the back of the box, as though it was a tub. A damp rag—the source of the chemical smell—tumbles down the front of my dress to where it bunches between my knees.
The suffocating fear eases slightly. He plans to talk to me. That seems like a good sign. A contract killer for the Mafia wouldn’t stop to do that, would he? Also, this man looks the opposite of the Callahans. If he’s in the Irish Mafia, I’m a duchess.
We’re outdoors near a rocky shoreline. Water laps against the rocks and smells of algae and fish. Normally, I wouldn’t enjoy the smell, but any fresh air is better than being forced to breathe stale air in a coffin-like box.
He makes a sucking sound with his teeth that’s like nails on a chalkboard. I cringe, and his eyes seem to light with excitement.
My chest cramps with fear. I’m bound, and there’s no one around. What does he have planned?
“Who are you?” There’s a rasp in my voice from my screams.
“Joshua. Alicia’s brother.”
My stomach plummets. So, this is part of their carefully planned revenge. I manage to mumble, “I didn’t know she had a brother.”
“I was in college when she started high school. I guess she didn’t mention me. Makes sense. I was never popular, so more liability than asset to Alicia who’s greatest goal in life at the time was to become Homecoming queen.” His smile is snide and satisfied. “Things are different now that she has no one but family. But we’re not here to talk about Alicia.”
“Why are we here?” My gaze darts around, trying to gauge what time it is.
There’s a bright half moon high in the sky, but that doesn’t tell me much. I’m trying to focus on every little detail so I won’t spiral into a panic. I’m not dead or gravely wounded. I can still survive this.
My mind races as I try to formulate a plan to get the upper hand so I can escape. But the way I’m bound… I don’t think escape is possible. Even if I could get him to come close enough, the restraint chains aren’t long enough to get one around his neck. And my movements are too hampered. What could I do? Head-butt him? I might end up as dazed or unconscious as he does.
“I want to know what happened to my dad,” he says, breaking my thoughts. “Alicia thinks you drove him to suicide.” His tone is snide again, dismissive of the sister he apparently resents. Can I somehow use that to my advantage?
He scrapes a fingernail over his arm, scratching his skin until it must be raw under his sleeve. “I don’t believe he killed himself. I read the autopsy report.” He spits out the facts like venom. “There were broken bones in his right hand, including a boxer’s fracture. The medical examiner couldn’t say for sure whether he’d gotten his injuries in a fall or an altercation or even post-mortem. But breaking the neck of the fifth metacarpal comes from punching something hard.” He shakes his head.
“Which Callahan did you tell?” When I don’t answer, he snaps his fingers impatiently. “At first, I assumed Aiden because he’s been getting into fights since we were kids, and now he’s a mob enforcer, right? But then, Alicia told me Killian was the one who questioned her. And about Killian’s infatuation with his little stepsister. I checked Killian out. It was him, wasn’t it?”
I stare at him, unspeaking.
He squats next to the box, inches away from me. His voice is sinister in its softness. “See, it’s the not knowing that drives people crazy. Families need to know what happened to the person they love.” He nods. “So, I’m going to let you choose what happens to your body.”
I shudder, glancing down at the rag and then at the handcuffs locking each of my wrists to an ankle. There is no way for me to break free to run. And if he tosses me in the water this way, I won’t be able to swim. I’ll drop to the bottom and drown.
My heart pounds so hard I feel every beat. My chest is like a cage for a wild animal.
Stay calm , I tell myself, though it’s impossible advice to take.
My gaze rises again to the moon. It’s night. By now, Marianne and Dad realize I’m missing. Will they have told Killian? Maybe not directly, but surely, he’ll have heard from someone. He may even have gone to Boston because I went so long without texting.
“I’m waiting,” Josh snaps, making me wince.
I don’t want to answer him. In a fair fight, I’m sure Killian would kill him, but it would not be a fair fight. Josh and Alicia planned this. And they know the Callahan brothers are dangerous.
As I look around, I try to figure out where we are. It doesn’t look like Boston. Or Foxgrove. It seems like we’re in the middle of nowhere. Woods. Private property maybe?
It doesn’t matter where , I tell myself, trying again to calm down. Killian will figure out where I am, and he’ll come.
“ If you tell me everything you know and which Callahan killed him, I’ll inject you with fentanyl. You’ll drift off to sleep and stop breathing. No pain. In fact, you’ll feel better than you have your whole life. And I’ll leave your body in the surf, so someone will eventually find you. Tell me what you know.”
My eyes widen with fear as I stare at his face. At moments, he looks utterly calm and almost harmless. But when he gets agitated, his face twists and he looks deranged.
“I want the truth. And I want it now.” He slaps me.
It’s shocking. And painful as the shock wears off. I can’t even rub my throbbing cheek.
If he kills me and escapes, I don’t want him to target Killian or anyone else next. So, there is no way I’m telling him what I know. There’s only one thing I can think of to say to have things end with me.
“I killed him.” My voice sounds surprisingly calm. Almost tranquil. “I killed your dad.”
“You?” he says with a laugh. “I don’t think so. I know Killian knew. Did you tell any of the other brothers? Or did he?”
My next words emerge slowly at first, then tumble out more quickly. “Your dad broke his hand punching the wall when he was trying to hit me.” The lie sounds almost convincing.
“Don’t lie! I will close the lid and bury you alive. You’ll have hours to suffer as you slowly suffocate. And your family will never have a body to bury. They’ll never know what happened to you. It’ll be misery for them for the rest of their lives.”
“It was me.” I’m nodding now in a frantic rhythm. “I used a stun gun. When he was on the ground, I hit him with a brick and then pushed him into the water. And it was his own fault. He took me out on the boat to kill me. But he underestimated me.”
Josh stands and paces back and forth. “There’s no way that’s what happened. He would never leave you able to run around the deck wielding a stun gun.”
If he asks me where I got the stunner I’ll have no idea what to say. I’ve only seen them in movies.
Fear and the biting cold brings on intense shivering.
“Dad had chloroform. Where do you think I got the bottle I used on you tonight? There was a very specific way he liked things. The girl was unconscious or comatose during the act. If he took you out to sea, it wouldn’t have been just to kill you. He wouldn’t have wasted the opportunity. You were the kind he liked.”
“The kind?”
“You looked even younger than you were. Alicia’s friends were getting too old. With their big tits squashed into bras that pushed them halfway to their chins. Not you, though. You could almost pass for preteen.”
My, God. He knew his father was drugging and raping children? Did Alicia know, too? Had she been faking her skepticism and outrage?
“How long did you know what he was doing?”
“A long time.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes. Like he’s back in the past. “I was the first one he trained to bring kids home for him.”
I suck in a gasp, my stomach queasy.
“When there’s a compulsion like that, it’s irresistible.” He coughs and runs a hand through his hair. “And those stupid little meat puppets deserved it. Whiny. Clueless. Weak.”
Outrage roars through me as his words sink in. The fucking monsters.
“I’m glad I killed him,” I whisper. The words are more fact than fiction now.
What I’m really thinking is I’m glad I reached Killian, not my dad or the police, that night. Killian is the only one who would’ve done what really needed to be done. He did it for me, but a lot of other girls are safe because of it. Mr. Zenker would’ve lied. His family would’ve covered for him. And other girls would’ve been raped.
I look up into Joshua’s face and can now see traces of his father in it. “Why would you help him?” My cold and brittle voice matches the rage filling my body. “You’re disgusting . I wish I’d known to kill you, too.”
“Shut up!” he screams. “You have one more chance to tell me the truth before I start pouring chemicals on you. Drain cleaner, lye, acid. I’ve got plenty of things in the trunk to speed up decomposition. There’s nothing to prevent me from pouring them on your face first and forcing you to swallow them. You’ll be in agony as you die. ”
That causes me to fall silent. I don’t want to be tortured with chemicals.
“Tell me the truth!” Spittle flies from Josh’s twisted mouth. “Was it Killian?”
“Yes,” a cold male voice says. “It was Killian.”