by Skye Warren
The operation goes on for an hour, then two. Grayson is out cold from whatever Nate gave him. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open. At least he can’t feel pain.
Good job, Nate says now and then. Perfect. Right there…over…yeah, good. Suddenly Nate’s closing him up. Grayson’s signs are good, Nate tells me. His shoulder’s messy, that’s all. That’s how he says it—messy.
The operation is over. And with it, their incentive for keeping me alive.
“When will he wake up?”
“Not for a while, hopefully,” Nate says. “We want him to sleep.”
Relief is short-lived. I have to save myself. Desperate plans run through my mind. Like taking somebody hostage with a scalpel.
I sneak a peek at the watch Nate put on a nearby stool, and see that it’s three in the morning.
“Come on.” Nate has me help him with a final suture. Stone, who has been keeping watch from a nearby chair, stands by the table. Calder comes to join them. Nate is explaining next steps. They need to get him resting. Keep him on his back. Check his temperature at intervals.
They don’t notice when I back away. I turn and run for it, making for the stairs. Footsteps behind me. Huge hands grab me.
“Oh no you don’t.” Stone.
An arm comes around my neck, choking me, pulling me back around.
Nate walks up. “Lay the fuck off,” he says, peeling off bloody latex gloves. “I may still need her. He’s not out of the woods.”
“Stupid to keep her around,” Stone growls. “She’s seen us.”
“My priority is Grayson lasting the night,” Nate says. “I need her around if I need to go back in.”
The arm loosens and lets me go. I wobble for a second before I can stand. I can’t read Nate or even catch his gaze—I don’t know if he doesn’t want me killed, or if it really is just all about Grayson. Either way, I’ll take it.
The three of them slide Grayson onto some sort of wheeled table and bring him down a hallway and into a room that’s lit only by the moon coming in the high windows. One of the guys pulls down a thick blind, totally covering the window, and Calder switches on a lamp. It’s an old hotel room, by the looks of it, with a little bed and a desk. A small pile of books sits on the floor next to the bed. The sweet computer setup is a total anomaly. I’ve never seen anything like this place.
For these guys, it’s clearly home.
They ease Grayson onto the bed.
From the outside, the window coverings block out the light completely. You would never guess somebody lives here from the way it looks outside, the way it looked when I arrived. Stone, Calder, Nate, and a few other guys go in and out. There seem to be seven of them, all heavily armed, all with that same feral vibe, like a lost tribe. They all have that white scar tattoo and no regular tattoos, except for one guy, who is covered in them.
Now that Nate’s gone out of healing mode, it’s pretty clear he’s one of them. They seem so connected, and for the first time I wonder if every single one of these guys go back to that basement. The moment I think it, I know it’s true, deep in my gut. They’re not like other men. This is a different breed of guy, raised in a different way. A horrifying way.
Then I’m alone with Grayson, no guys with guns wandering in and out. I take his hand, willing him to wake up, but he looks so weak, lying there like a wounded animal, sheets wrapped around his legs and hips, muscular chest half rough skin and half bright white and red with bandages, short dark hair pasted to his skull with sweat.
“Baby,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “I need you to wake up. I need you to help me.” My voice cracks on the last word.
His lips move. I can’t tell if he’s trying to say something. His lips form the words Ms. Winslow, but it could be my imagination. Wishful thinking.
Nate comes up next to me. “Let him sleep.”
“His color’s better,” I say hopefully. “And his breathing…”
“He’ll be back to his surly self in no time,” Nate says, laying two fingers to the side of Grayson’s throat. “He’ll have a little trouble with his shoulder for a while, but he’ll live.”
Which means they won’t need me anymore. My gaze slides to the door. Is Stone on the other side, just waiting for me to run? Nate protected me against Stone, but I don’t know how far that protection will extend. Would he call them if I ran? Or would he chase me down himself?
He slides his brown eyes to meet my gaze, and I get the sense that he knows what I’m thinking. “You stay,” he says simply. I don’t know if it’s a threat or a promise.
These guys can’t stay awake forever. I still have money from the robbery. I can get away. I’ve survived too much already; I can survive this too.
But God, I’m so tired. I curl up next to Grayson and start to drift off. I feel a light blanket over me before I fall asleep.
Thirty
~Grayson~
I wake up with a head full of putty. I can barely move. It’s like a train ran over me and left part of a wheel sticking into my shoulder, which is heavily bandaged; even my left arm is immobilized in some sort of sling. But worse, I had this nightmare about the crew killing Abby, and I couldn’t get to her. I told Calder I’d kill them if they touched her, but I wasn’t sure if he heard me. Wasn’t sure if that was just a dream too.
Stone is in the chair next to me, sleeping. Nobody else is around, and I panic, wondering where Abby is, but then I spot her, curled up in the corner where somebody chained her to the radiator. She’s sleeping, but she looks uncomfortable. Heat rises to my face, and I suddenly want to fucking kill somebody.
Nobody touches Abby except me. Nobody else knows how to keep her from being scared, or what she likes, what she needs. I’m the one who was supposed to keep her safe, and one of these guys locked her up? She should have a mattress. Is she hungry? Thirsty?
But it’s the middle of the night. Telling time without seeing through a window is one of those handy skills you learn in prison.
I jab my fingers into Stone’s neck. He grumbles and opens his eyes. “Hey,” he whispers.
“Who the fuck locked her up?” I demand.
“Me.” Stone puts a hand to my head like he can tell my temperature. “How d’ya feel?”
I grunt. Of course he did.
He’s suited up in black, like he’s been outside—getting supplies, maybe. His nine is shoved into his shoulder holster.
“Nate says you’re out of the woods if you make it through the night and lay the fuck off the shoulder.”
Even my good arm feels like lead. I gesture toward where she sleeps. “You don’t fucking touch her, got it?”
His look is grim.
“Don’t touch her.”
He looks at me a long time; then he says, “You can’t have her.”
My whole body flares hot, like angry lightning. Every part of me answering no. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s seen us. She knows where we are. There’s nothing you can do about it. Nate needed her slim fingers, or I would’ve done her last night—”
I surge up at him without even thinking. He grabs my wrists before I can choke him.
“The fuck I can’t have her,” I growl. “She’s mine. Got it?”
“You’re supposed to kill the hostage, not drag her around by the hair,” Stone says, pinning me to the bed. Damn drugs have me weak as a kitten.
“No,” I say.
“It’s not up to you,” he says in a low voice. “I’m doing this for you, little brother.”
I try again to surge up, but he has me. I’m too weak. “Fucking kill you,” I say, but I can’t fight him with whatever Nate has me pumped full of.
I struggle some more but he’s heavy as a tank, and I’m injured, drugged.
He says, “You want to tear that shoulder and go back under the knife?”
“She won’t talk,” I growl. “And she’s mine.”
He looks me straight in the eyes. “I’ll wake her up so you can say goo
dbye.”
I give him a level look. I need him to see my face for what I’m going to say, what I’m going to promise.
Silence swells between us. He seems to know it’s coming.
I deliver: “Hurt her and you’re dead.”
He doesn’t say anything back; his expression doesn’t even change, but I know there’s an earthquake inside him. It was big, what I said. Stone’s always been in charge, and I’ve always been fine with that, but I need him to get how serious I am.
He lets off me and pulls out his piece, rubs a thumb along the grip.
“You understand me?” I ask after a too-long silence.
“You saying that is exactly why I should kill her.”
A feeling rises up in me, so old I almost don’t recognize it. Fear. I’m scared like I haven’t been for a long time. If I was in fighting shape, no one could touch her. No one ever would.
But I’m weak right now, and Stone knows me too well. A fight between us would be ugly, and I can’t be sure she’d end up safe. There was a time I’d never dream of raising a hand to Stone, to my friend and blood brother, but here I am.
I look over at her, so vulnerable, chained up, curled up. And it’s then I know that her vulnerability is the most powerful thing in my life—an absolute power, but not a danger. Then I realize something else. “It’s about you.”
“What?”
“She’s a fucking danger to you, not me.”
He draws his face close to mine, nostrils flaring. “No, this is about the good of you and of the gang.”
“You just don’t like that I took her,” I whisper. “That’s what you don’t like. You don’t like that I’ve taken her for mine.” I check over his shoulder to make sure she’s still sleeping, and I lower my voice. “Somebody I’d lay down my life for and who is mine. Not yours.”
He grabs my neck and leans in, close enough to kiss me. I can feel the gun at my jaw.
“You gonna kill me now?” I grate.
“We said no to this a long time ago,” he says. “We said we wouldn’t do it. No women, except to fuck. And definitely no taking them. And you bring a fucking captive in front of our noses? I’m going to kill her for you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
He keeps me close, hand gripping my neck. I watch his eyes. Chained up there, helpless, I see the threat of her now. She’s the slippery slope we’ve all been trying to stay off of.
“I’m keeping her. Long term.”
Shock plays in his eyes. It takes a lot to get Stone to look shocked, but that did it. He jerks my head hard. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You know what’s wrong with me. You know exactly what’s wrong with me. The only difference is I’m not pretending anymore.”
“We’re not them,” he says.
“This is different.”
He twists the gun at my jaw, warm and hard. It’s killing him, her being here. But I can’t let her go, not even for him. Not even for my brother in spirit.
I whisper, “You don’t know what it’s like when she’s yours, and you would do goddamn motherfucking anything for her.”
I know he’s imagined it. What it would be like. “That’s why I have to kill her,” he says, breath hot on my lips.
“All the girls I ever had, fucking one-night stands in some shit bathroom and wherever. It’s nothing compared to—” I gesture in her direction. “That’s black-and-white, and this shit is color. When you find somebody and you know.”
“Don’t.”
“When you know she’s yours, Stone…all yours.”
He’s gone still, cradling my neck, gun in hand. He doesn’t want to hear this, yet he really, really does. I know what I’m doing is unfair, like describing a shot of nice scotch to an alcoholic who’s denied himself for years, but he needs to know.
“Every time I thought of killing her or letting her go, I couldn’t because it feels so fucking right. And when the governor’s guy tried to take her down? I would’ve died to stop that. And when she’s hungry or cold—”
“Stop it,” Stone says. He’s the strong one. He always has been. Like his name.
Unbreakable.
“When she’s cold, I’m the one who warms her. And when she’s hungry? We were at Nate’s, and I had her blindfolded, and I was feeding her blueberries, picking out the best ones and…you don’t know what it’s like—”
“Yes, I do.”
“It’s not like with them. What we did—”
He gives me a dark look. That’s another thing we’re not supposed to do, talk about the bloody day we rose up against our captors. The savagery of that. “It’s just like them,” he says. “You think it’s different because you don’t keep her chained in a basement?”
“It’s different.”
“I’m killing her for you. It’s the most humane thing.”
“Remember when you did that carjack?” I ask. He’s done a million carjacks, but only one matters and he knows it. The one where the hot blonde didn’t get out fast enough for him, and he kept her captive long enough to drive her an hour out of town to meet Calder.
I knew what it was from the way he talked about it afterward. He didn’t touch her, but he wouldn’t let her go. He fed her, cared for her. “How did it feel?”
“Fuck you.”
I press. “How did it feel?”
He waits so long I think he won’t answer. And then he lowers the gun. “You know how it feels,” he whispers finally. Good, that’s how it feels.
“And that was just you taking her for a drive,” I say.
“Fuck. Grayson—”
“We’re not like them. She saved my life, right? It shows I’m not like them. I never would’ve saved any one of them.”
“Jesus. Fuck!” He lets go of my neck and scrubs a hand over his face. “She has to die. Wake her up and say goodbye.” He fingers his nine. I didn’t think this through, how much he’d need to kill her, like the alcoholic needing to pour the bottle down the sink. Needing to set it on fire and watch it burn. Still so fucked up over what those assholes did to us.
Whatever drugs Nate gave me are dragging me under and I don’t know if I can stay awake much longer. “Don’t do this, Stone. Don’t let them win.”
“Don’t let them win? Is that what you just said? Fuck you.” He presses the side of the gun to his forehead and closes his eyes. “I just need to kill her. Everything will go back to the way it was when she’s dead.”
I reach out and grab his arm. “Come here.”
He sucks in a breath, but he needs to see I’m not so far gone. He needs to see I’m still me even if I have her too.
“They’re not winning,” I say. “They’re motherfucking dead.” I move over and make room for him even though it hurts like hell. “Come here.”
He collapses next to me. He’s always been there when I’ve needed him. We’re always there for each other; it’s our code.
I snake a hand under his shirt and flatten my palm onto his chest, the way we used to do, feeling each other’s heartbeat, like this stupid shred of humanity we gave each other, there in the basement. We didn’t know how to act regular down there. Everything cramped and close and weirdly sexual even when it shouldn’t have been.
Holding on to him hurts like hell, but this is for Abby. “Tell me about the plans. I want to know what they are now. If you changed them.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Stone says. “Distracting me won’t work.”
But actually it will. Some kids got comfort food or a special toy when they were upset, or the loving arms of a parent. All we ever got was each other, and talking about what we’d do to the guy in charge if we ever got our hands on him. We knew early on that our captors were working for somebody. Lying together and talking about the ways we’d torture and kill him was like a teddy bear to normal kids. “Does Calder still get to scoop out his eyes?”
“No, he changed his mind while you were inside. He gets to gut him.”
“Who
does the governor’s eyes?”
“Nobody. We decided we want him to see all the way through, because we’re making him watch the films they made of us while we fuck him up. Also, Nate said that could kill him too fast if we scooped his eyes too enthusiastically.”
I nod, knowing that’s the word he would’ve used—enthusiastically. That’s a Nate word.
I ask, “You still get to cut out his balls?”
He softens finally. “And stuff them in his mouth.”
“That’s new,” I say. I can just see them discussing it for hours, maybe over pizza and Macallan twenty-one-year-old scotch. We found a case of it hidden in a compartment in a wall when we first broke into this place, and the seven of us got drunk on it. It tasted like freedom. It’s still all we’ll drink.
“But you still get to kill him,” Stone says. “That never changes. You earned that right.”
I feel his heart slow. He’s calming. Good. Stone’s always been one of those guys who needs to work himself up to kill—he can’t kill cold. Not like Calder.
“He’ll die a hero, of course,” Stone bites out.
“He’ll know, though.”
Our captors were portrayed in the media as innocent victims of random violence, and it always got us, that they got love and nice funerals and nobody ever knew what they’d done to us. Carnage in a peaceful community, one headline said. Like our captors were victims or something.
We were stupid—we assumed that when their bodies were found, it would be obvious what they were up to. But somebody got there first and cleaned out the place, taking all the footage, all the evidence we’d ever been there. Maybe the governor or his lackeys. He wasn’t governor then, though. Just some pervert businessman we knew only by sight. We’d never been able to find him after we escaped from that hellhole; then he appeared on TV, running for office. I nearly shit when I saw him on TV for the first time.
Stone scratches his nose with the tip of his gun. “The problem is the governor’s mansion. We knew you’d get free sooner or later, and in the meantime, we’ve been trying to strategize an entry. The place is a motherfucking fortress.”
“It’s just an old mansion,” I say.
