I baulked. “What? I don’t want to go.”
Grasshopper gave up the pretense of waiting for me to hand myself over to his control, and grabbed my elbow instead. Dragging me to my feet, he noticed the eraser in my clenched fingers. “Shit, where did you get that from?”
I cradled it to my chest. “I gave it to him. A long time ago.”
The jovial, almost curious interaction faded from his eyes. “Ah, I get it now.” His face hardened; his persona went cold. “You’re playing with him. Sorry, but I don’t have time for bitches trying to fuck up one of my brothers—especially my Prez.”
Snatching my wrist, he forced my fingers to unclamp and tossed the eraser on the bed. The same bed where Arthur had fucked me; the same bed where I’d seen the level of his grief. “Come on. You’re not going to hurt him anymore. You’re done.” He strode toward the door, dragging me easily.
I jammed my heels into the carpet, scratching at his hand. “No—wait. I can’t go. I have to stay.”
He didn’t say anything, carting me out of the room and down the corridor.
“You don’t understand. I know him. I might be—”
He jerked to a stop. “Did he fuck you?”
I blinked. “That’s none of your bus—”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Answer me three questions—if you answer them right, then I’ll leave you here and tell Kill to be a man and sort it out with you face-to-face. But if you’re wrong—you’re coming with me. You’re never seeing him again. And you better hope to God the man who has bought you has a better tolerance for liars.”
Bought? I was already sold?
The world fell away. The corridor spun sickeningly. Kill told the truth when he left.
I never want to see you again. We’re through.
Shit! I’d been prepared to leave because of Kill’s horrible silent treatment, but that was before I’d seen the truth glowing in his eyes. He was just so used to being hurt, so used to nursing his grief and living with a broken heart. He hated me because I represented hope. That would scare anyone who loved someone as much as he did.
“I’ll answer your questions, only if you answer one for me.” Please, know the answer. Please, be close enough to Kill that he told you. “What was his dead girlfriend’s name?”
Grasshopper froze, and his fingers bit into my flesh. “How do you know about her? Damn, you’re good. No wonder he’s been so fucking screwed up the past few days. If it were me, I would’ve killed you for bringing all that back.”
“Bringing what back? Please—I need to know!”
He threw me away, running both hands through his hair, messing up the perfection of his mohawk. “Fine! You want to know? Kill was sentenced to life imprison—”
Life?
“I know—he told me he was in jail when she died.”
He shook his head, smiling cruelly. “Not when she died. He was in jail because she died.” He crowded me against the wall. “Don’t you get it? He was done for murder! He killed her.”
My heart didn’t know if it should give up or explode. “That can’t be true! He told me she died in surgery—”
“Injuries that he gave her.”
My mind turned into a vortex, swirling faster and faster with horror.
Flames.
The smoke disorientated me, skipping my mind back to my birthday two weeks ago.
I’d turned fourteen. My parents hosted a barbeque for the entire Chapter. Men in leather jackets, women wearing their lover’s patches, and children all raised in the lifestyle came to celebrate my day.
We’d been a family. A happy, tight-knit family.
But now I crawled along the carpet that was drenched in blood. I scurried from flames hotter than any barbeque and the right side of my body became as char-grilled as any hamburger.
The pain.
It was excruciating, but then… it disappeared.
Shock, gave me energy to keep crawling and choking and reliving the horror of seeing who’d poured gasoline through my family’s home.
I saw who struck the match.
I knew.
I had no choice but to survive so they would pay.
“Anyone in there?” The voice crackled with flames.
My throat was parched, my eyes blind from fumes. I couldn’t answer.
I crawled…
I dragged my burning body…
I… crawled…
I went blank.
Grasshopper shook me. My neck bounced on my spine like a rag doll as I blinked the horrible flashback away.
“He set fire to my house?” I whispered, terror squeezing my lungs.
My soul fractured into a billion pieces. The boy with the green eyes tried to murder me?
I scrambled at Grasshopper’s jacket, hating the skull and raining coins embroidered into the thick leather. Something about it looked wrong… terribly, terribly wrong.
“Why?” I begged. “Why did he try to kill me? We loved each other!”
Grasshopper stepped back, trying to push me off him. “Get a fucking grip, bitch. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do! Tell me. You have to tell me.”
Every muscle in my body trembled, my stomach hurled, and the corridor walls closed in—faster and faster, crushing me like a tin can until the pressure in my head grew too much. Way, way too much.
I screamed, tugging on my hair, willing the memories to unlock and grant me relief. But the pressure just kept increasing, building, building until every hair follicle hurt my skull, until my eyes felt too big, until my tongue felt too swollen.
I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. Only the chugging crazed beat of my freaking-out heart echoed in my ears.
“Plea—” I slurred.
The crash of everything from my past consumed me and I couldn’t bear it any longer.
I let go of sanity.
I succumbed to the silently screeching dark.
Fuzz and cotton wool and clouds were my welcome-back-to-life party.
I smacked my lips, grimacing at the horrible taste in my mouth. My nose was blocked and my head bellowed with pain.
I moaned as feeling came back to my body; I winced as I touched my ribs.
He kicked me.
Hot tears came to my eyes as I recalled what had happened. He’d been nasty since I’d arrived, but that kick… It spoke volumes.
I doubted he knew how much he’d shown me in that brief moment. His anger had been uncurbed, unrestrained. He’d kicked me. Not the bed or the chair. Me.
Because I was the one hurting him. I was the one forcing him to face things I could only guess at. He carried so much inside he looked like he was drowning every second.
The kick shocked me, not because it’d been a horrible betrayal of violence, but because it was a cry for help.
My vision flickered as my thoughts turned to the rest of the afternoon.
I recoiled, not ready to pass out again from overload of stress and secrets.
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. My heart fell to my toes.
I was in a cell. A cube with a sink, kitchenette, toilet, and bed. There were no windows, pictures, or carpet, and only had one way in and out which was undoubtedly locked.
The bright lightbulb above me was harsh and piercing and there lurked a rank scent of fear and vomit.
Where am I?
Standing unsteadily, I made my way to the heavy door and knocked. “Hello?”
I waited for a response.
I continued to wait.
I was more patient that I’d ever been.
Nothing.
Ignoring the splintering headache, I turned to investigate every inch of the small box. I looked under the bed, between the springs and the mattress, even tried the faucets to see if there was anything I could unscrew and use as a weapon.
Just like my knock.
There was nothing.
Then the lights went out, drenching me in darkness.
I stood in the middle of my prison and began to cry.
Morning.
Grasshopper woke me with the scrape of a key and the blissful opening of the door. He carried in a steaming Pop-Tart and some water.
I hadn’t slept at all. My mind didn’t want to fall back into the abys of unconsciousness. Instead, I repeated everything I’d remembered so far.
Corrine.
Buttercup.
Barbeque.
Flames.
I tried to piece them together like a glow in the dark puzzle—only the pieces refused to merge and there was nothing luminescent about them.
I still wore the pink skirt that Kill had pushed up my hips to take me, and the cute grey sweater that hadn’t kept me warm throughout the night. The blankets on the bed smelled of perfume, and I’d thrown up at the thought of the other women spending the night here—waiting for their new fate.
Grasshopper placed the Pop-Tart and glass on the rickety table beside the bed. “You okay?”
I snorted, rubbing my forearms and not making eye contact. “What do you think?”
He growled under his breath. “If you’re hurting a smidgen of what he is, then I’d say you’re hunky-fucking-dory.”
I gritted my teeth and didn’t say a word.
Uncomfortable silence reigned; I made no move to break it. Grasshopper bounced on the ball of his shoes. “Brought you breakfast.”
“Don’t want it.”
“You have to eat.”
“No, I don’t.”
He bent over and captured my chin, making me look at him. His blue eyes were strained, tiny lines feathering around them. “Stop it. Be good and you can come hang with us in the den. You’ve got another night with us before the handover.”