“Okay, are you guys ready for this?” my mother asks, drawing my attention back to her.
The door to the house is wide open, but the person who answered has stepped back so I can only make out their silhouette and what looks like a head of red hair. It seems so dark and smoky inside, as if there are no open windows or ventilation.
“Go on.” She has something in her hand and a nervous look on her face as she flicks her wrist and motions at the door. “Get in there.”
Sadie moves forward first, and I hear a cackle from inside. The sound triggers something deep inside me, a warning.
Something’s wrong.
Don’t go in. Don’t go in.
I run for her with my hand extended, reaching to grab her and pull her back, but the house starts to fade away—everything does—and bleeds red.
Bleeds red.
Don’t go in there.
Blood.
Don’t go.
Blood everywhere.
Close your mind. Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s about to happen . . .
My eyes shoot open as I gasp for air, but my lungs are constricting, and I can’t get any oxygen.
“Help,” I gasp, rolling to my side, clutching at my chest.
Dr. Gardingdale is above me, his eyes wide as he pats my back and tells me to, “Breathe. Just breathe. Air in. Air out. In. Out.”
He repeats the mantra until I calm down, and then he moves back and gives me room.
I sit in the chair with my feet planted on the floor and my head in my hands. “I was remembering the day my mother dropped us off at the house,” I finally say. “But the memory would only go up until the point where Sadie ran inside, and I went in after her. Then it shut down . . . All I could see was red.”
I hate that, no matter what, my mind refuses to let me see what happened in that house. All I know is a female there had bright red hair and disgustingly long nails. They also didn’t—don’t—like it when people leave their group, even those who didn’t enter of their own freewill.
He studies me closely as the music changes from the sound of ocean waves to the lull of a waterfall. “I think that’s going to be all for today.” He seems distracted as he stands up from his chair and walks over to his desk. “I’m starting to get concerned, though, that we might be putting too much pressure on your mind.” He collects a prescription pad and a pen from his drawer. “I’m going to write you a prescription just in case you have another panic attack like that.”
“I won’t take the pills.” My legs are wobbly, and my stomach is woozy as I push up from the chair and work to get my footing.
He leans over the desk, pressing the pen to the paper. “I’m not saying you have to take them, but you’ll have them on hand just in case.”
“She was buying drugs the day she dropped us off. She was high and needed her next fix, so she sold her kids out to a fucking bunch of evil people.” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “So, trust me when I say I won’t take the pills.”
He sighs but drops the pen and turns to face me. “Well, just know that the option is there and that there’s no shame if you decide to take them.”
“Okay.” I nod then start for the door.
He scoops up his office keys from the desk. “Let me walk you to your car.”
Ever since the incident in the parking lot where a chunk of my hair was stolen, he has been walking me to my car. He always locks his office up first, even though he goes back inside afterward.
After he locks up, we exit the building and cross the parking lot toward my car parked out near the back row, even though the entire area is vacant.
“It was more crowded when I came here,” I explain, glancing up at the sky now painted with stars.
“You’re usually my last client of the day,” he replies, reading a message on his phone.
When we near the car, I fish the keys from my pocket and push the key fob. The headlights flash across the dark parking lot as the doors unlock.
“I’ll see you next Tuesday,” I say, pulling the driver’s side door open.
He nods absentmindedly as he turns back toward the office building. “Take care, Ayden. And, if you need anything at all, call me.”
“I will.” I lower my head to climb in but pause when I spot a blank piece of paper on the dashboard. I pick it up and flip it over. Invisible fingers wrap around my neck, and suddenly, I can’t breathe again.
Those that step in, never get out. We’re going to torture you until you break. Just like we did to your sister.
I drop the note to the ground and scramble back, scanning the parking lot. Even though the note wasn’t signed, I know who left it. The Soulless Mileas, a group of people who held my siblings and me captive in that house I saw in the memory just minutes ago.
“Wait, something’s wrong,” I call out to Dr. Gardingdale. “There’s a note.”
He reels around, nearly dropping his phone. “Where?”
I point to the ground at the piece of paper, my eyes trained on the trees, the buildings, the bushes, every place someone could be hiding. “They must have put it in there while I was inside,” I say as he crouches down to examine it without picking it up. “I don’t know how, though. The car was locked.”
He straightens his legs and stands up then slowly circles the back end of the car. He walks around the front and down the side, inspecting every inch while dialing a number on his phone. He halts near the passenger side and moves closer, lifting his head to look on the roof. “Your sun roof’s open.” He glances at me from over the car. “Did you leave it open?”
“Maybe . . . I was honestly pretty distracted when I drove here.” Distracted by the heavy make out session I had with Lyric right before I drove here. My thoughts were lost in her and the way her lips felt against mine. How soft her skin was against my hands. The soft whimpers she kept making. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. None of what’s happening is your fault.” He puts the phone up to his ear and starts chatting with the police to report the incident.
It’s the second one he’s had to report in two months, and I’m starting to wonder exactly how many more incidents are in my future. If the note holds any truth to it, then probably a lot.
I’m never, never going to be free
Until I die,
Or they capture me.
I’m not sure what ending’s worse.
FOUR HOURS LATER, I’M IN the police station with Lila and Ethan, waiting for Detective Rannali—the person working my brother’s murder case and my sister’s kidnapping—to come speak with us about what happened tonight.
“I wish this could have just waited until morning.” Lila restlessly jiggles her foot up and down as she scans the busy room full of officers. She has flour on her jeans and shirt because she was cooking for a wedding she’s catering when she received the call to come here. “It’s too late for him to be out on a school night.”
“Honey, I think, considering what happened, it’s good that they want to tackle this tonight.” Ethan places his hand on her knee to settle her. “Be thankful they’re not shoving it aside.”
“I am.” She ceases bouncing her leg. “I’m just really tired of all of this and those damn people. Why can’t they just leave us alone?” Regret fills her eyes as she looks over at me. “Sorry, I know I’m making this worse.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” I slump back in the seat. “Besides, I’m the one making this worse. I brought this on everyone.”
“Don’t you dare say that,” she starts to protest, but stops talking when Detective Rannali strolls up.
His white, button-down shirt is wrinkled, his tie is crooked, and his hair is disheveled. “Sorry to make you wait. It’s been a long day.” He nods his head at his office door. “Come inside. There’s some stuff I’d like to talk to you about.”
The three of us simultaneously rise to our feet, file into his office, and take a seat in front of his desk. Once ev
eryone gets settled, he opens a folder that contains the note I found tonight.
“So, ever since this all started, we’ve been wondering why the Soulless Mileas are so fixated on you—leaving notes, stealing your knife, taking your hair—yet they never actually make any threatening moves. We’ve had some theories, but we weren’t positive.” He glances from the note to me. “This note is starting to confirm our suspicions.”
“And what are you suspicious of?” Lila asks, grasping onto Ethan’s hand for support.
She has been doing that a lot lately, revealing just how much stress this ordeal has been putting on her. It makes me feel so damn guilty all the time because it’s my fault. I brought these people into their lives. I brought this stress into their lives.
The detective closes the folder and overlaps his hands on top of it. “When I was first put on your sister’s case,” he speaks directly to me, “I remembered interviewing this woman in the neighborhood who believed the people who took Sadie stalked her first. She reported seeing people breaking into the house. I didn’t look into it too much, because the source had ended up being highly unreliable. But, over the last few weeks, I’ve been noticing a pattern.”
“They’re doing the same thing to me.” My fingers curl around the armrests of the chair, and my fingernails scrape at the wood. “And, eventually, they’re going to try and take me.”
Lila gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “That’s not what’s going on,” she says in denial.
“I never said that,” the detective says with caution. “I just said that there are some similarities between your case and your sister’s. And the note, well, it’s just more proof that you need to start being extremely careful.”
“How can I be more careful?” I ask, dumbfounded. “I already spend no time alone. There’s an alarm in the house. My therapist walks me to my car.”
“We’ll do more to keep him safe.” Lila places a hand on mine. “It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I stand up, ignoring their protests to come back as I exit the office.
I want to walk out the front door of the station and just start running until my legs give out. Run away until I feel safe. But nowhere is safe, and running away is only going to put me in harm’s way. So, instead, I wait for Lila and Ethan by the glass entrance doors. They don’t show up for another thirty minutes, and by then, Lila looks like she’s been crying.
“Is everything all right?” I ask her as she strides up to me.
“Everything’s great.” She folds her arms around me and yanks me close, despite my rigidness. “Everything will be okay.”
Lies. Lies.
Everyone lies.
Lies to save me.
Lies to break me.
Lies to make me ache.
How many more lies are in my future?
“What do we do now?” I ask Ethan from over Lila’s shoulder as she continues to hug me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“The only thing we can do,” he replies, wrapping an arm around his wife. “Go home and make a plan that will keep you safe.”
I nod in agreement for his benefit. But no matter how many plans they make, I’ll never truly be safe.
Those that step in, never get out.
Never, ever, ever.
THE MOST DEPRESSING SONG OF all time is playing in surround sound. Definitely not my choice of music, especially when so much dreariness haunts Ayden’s life already. Every day, he’s plagued by the fact that the same people who kidnapped him and his siblings over four years ago are holding his sister. The same people have also been tormenting him for the last several months by breaking into his house, stealing his hair, and as of three days ago, leaving him creepy notes in his car.
With my sketchpad propped open on my lap, I stare across the room at him, assessing the pain he tries to keep hidden while drawing the shadows of his smoldering dark eyes framed by the longest, darkest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.
Today, he’s dressed in all black and sporting the leather bracelets that match mine—Christmas presents we gave to each other a few months ago. Each stroke of my pencil captures the pain concealed below the surface of his strength.
As I’m shading his eyes, the iPod shifts to the next song, which turns out to be as equally energy draining as the first.
“Who picked out this playlist?” I climb off the sofa and pad over to the stereo that’s below the flat screen mounted on the wall.
Ayden peers up from the notebook he’s been scribbling in for over the last hour, sweeping wisps of his inky black hair out of his eyes. “I thought you did.”
“Yeah, right. These songs are too depressing for me to be listening to at the moment.” I frown at the stereo. “My mom must have turned it on before she took out the sugar junkie clan for dessert.”
The Gregory’s kids are staying over for the night while Ethan and Lila are away at their son, Everson’s, football game. At fourteen-years-old, Everson is living his dream already, playing quarterback for the middle school league. While the Gregorys wanted to take the whole clan with them, they thought it’d be best if they stayed behind, considering it’s a school night. Lila acted like a nervous wreck when they dropped everyone off and gave my mother an hour-long lecture about keeping Ayden in the house at all times with the alarm on and an adult always around.
After dinner, my mom suggested everyone go get ice cream, but Ayden and I stayed behind with my dad who retired to his office about thirty minutes ago to put together a band line-up for his club.
I tap the skip button, moving to the next song, “My Heroine” by Silverstein. “Much better.”
“Much better?” Ayden cocks his brow. “It’s as slow as the last one.”
I hold up a finger. “Give it a minute.” I sway my hips to the slow rhythm of the song while sweeping my hands through my hair. When the tempo quickly picks up, I grin cockily at Ayden. “See. Much better.”
He chuckles, a rare but breathtaking sound. Then he sets his pen and paper aside on the coffee table and stretches his arms above his head. “Do I lose points against me for not knowing that?”
“Hmmm . . .” I thrum my finger on my bottom lip as I amble across the living room toward him. “I might consider letting you keep all your points for a small fee, of course.”
“And what’s the fee?” he asks, mildly amused.
I straddle his lap and announce my fee with my actions. He briefly tenses from the contact then relaxes when I tangle my fingers through his hair.
“There. Much better,” I whisper. “I don’t like you being so far away.”
He offers me a small smile. “I wanted to sit by you, but I worried your dad would maybe get mad or something.”
“That we were sitting on the couch together?”
“I don’t know . . . yeah. I mean, I’m worried maybe they’ll figure out we have something going on.”
“Have something going on?” I playfully tease. “I’m not sure what you mean. What’s going on?”
He stares at me, unimpressed. “I mean our relationship that they don’t know about yet.”
“Oh, right. I completely forgot about that.” I smile innocently at him, and he pinches my side, causing me to yelp. “No fair.” I pinch him back, right on his chest.
Tension ripples through his body as he stiffens from my unexpected touch.
“Sorry.” I quickly apologize. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I-it’s okay,” he stammers through a loud exhale. Then he takes my hand and lines my palm right over his thundering heart. “You just surprised me. That’s all . . . You can . . . I’m fine with you touching me on the outside of my shirt. You know that, right?” His off-pitch tone reveals exactly how difficult it is for him to say that.
Touching Ayden is a gift.
One I’m grateful he gives me.
I just wish I could have it all the time.
Every day and night.
On and on and on.
Fore
ver.
I lean forward and place a kiss on his lips. His breathing accelerates as he grasps onto my hips, and I smile to myself, secretly loving that I can make him react like that.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters as I kiss him again. “Your dad’s in the next room, and your mom could walk in at any moment.”
“Don’t worry about them.” I rock my hips against his, eliciting a groan from him. “Only stop if you want to stop.”
Please, please, don’t stop.
Ever, ever, ever.
His protests shift into throaty moans as he deepens the kiss, entangling our tongues, tasting me deeply while his hands travel up and down my sides. His fingers trace each bump of my ribs before drifting down to the hem of my black and purple dress. His fingers tremble as he fiddles with the bottom, something he usually does.
Having more than likely suffered from sexual abuse while being kidnapped, intimacy is complicated with Ayden. Touching me is less of a problem than getting touched himself, but he’s always a bit unsettled.
“Do we need to slow down?” I ask, then steal another taste of his lips.
“I don’t know.” He puts a sliver of space between our mouths, breathing hotly against my lips. “It’s getting easier. Sort of. I mean, I don’t panic as much, and I feel like I want . . .” He trails off, his eyes glazed over and pupils dilated, as if he’s high from the kiss.
High on our kiss.
Dazed by our connection
And the overpowering heat
Of our bodies,
Our souls.
Intoxicated by love.
God, how I wish,
Wish that were the truth.
After searching my eyes, his lips return to mine, and his hand slides underneath my dress, silently answering my question. I fall into his touch, desperately tumbling into a place I once dreamed about but now know exists.
Love.
I’m pretty sure I’m in love with Ayden, but fear has stopped me from telling him, terrified that my declaration will freak him out.
He cups my ass, pushing me closer until our bodies conform. I slide my arms around him then trace my fingers up and down the nape of his neck, kissing him with everything I’m feeling, hoping it’ll be enough to get it out of my system.
Unraveling You Series: The Complete Set Page 30
