by S. Massery
“You were the one I tried to take,” he admits. “I would’ve recognized you if you hadn’t dyed your fucking hair gray. Or put this stupid thing in your nose—” He grabs my septum piercing and yanks.
It gives way with a pop that seems to echo inside my head. Hot liquid gushes down, into my mouth and over his hands. Pain follows a second later. Tears flood my eyes, spilling down my cheeks.
Fuck, that hurts.
His words hit a second later: he mistook Jasmine for me. Then Amber and Natalie. Each girl brought him closer to me. And finally, my roommate.
Until he found me with Liam in the diner, he probably assumed I looked the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes, Ashburn student.
“You changed yourself so much,” he growls. “I had a plan. You had your trust fund. Your parents would’ve given it to me, easy, but no.”
“That was your mistake,” I wheeze. The blood on my lips tastes sharp. Of death.
He grimaces. “I could end your life right now.”
“Me dead doesn’t get you anything,” I say.
His grip slackens, and I grin at him. I’m sure my teeth are red. I probably seem crazy. I feel crazy. The pain in my nose is bright, pulsing, and I lift my sleeve to staunch it. He stares at the piece of jewelry in his hand and then throws it.
“And Jasmine?” I ask. “You would’ve known I hadn’t even moved to Boston for the school year at that point.”
He grins. “Ah, Jasmine. Her parents actually paid, do you know that? Being international, it was a bit of a tricky situation. But they weren’t there to collect their daughter… and I needed the practice.”
A chill goes through me.
“You killed her to practice?”
He pulls my hands together, tightening zip ties around my wrists.
“The money wasn’t bad, either. But you… you have a trust. How did that escape intact? Your parents were so desperate for money after paying your kidnapper, it brought them to divorce.”
I bare my teeth. “They told me it was something my grandmother set up for me before she died. They couldn’t have touched it if they wanted.”
He appraises me for a moment.
“A picture, then,” he grunts.
He pulls out his phone and turns it on. Whitney is on the chair, her eyes barely slits. She meets my gaze and nods once in the slightest way. If I wasn’t staring holes in her head, I would’ve missed it.
Masters’s phone chimes as it powers back on. He fiddles with it for a second. “Eyes on the camera,” he orders Whitney. “This is going to your parents.”
Her eyes roll back, and she falls off the chair. It tips over, crashing to the floor. The detective—I need to stop thinking of him as that—sets his phone down and kneels beside her, slapping her cheek.
This is my moment, and I’m stuck to the floor.
I can hear her, though, screaming into my head.
Run and don’t look back.
I edge past Masters, snatching his phone off the table. I make it to the door when Whitney suddenly screams.
Don’t look back.
I grasp the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge.
“Going so soon?” Masters says.
I spin and glance around the small office. Something wild overtakes me. The need to escape—to survive. I see the lamp by the floor, then my attention jumps.
To the window.
We’re only a story up.
Whitney jumps on Masters from behind, pulling him down backward on top of her. She screams like a banshee, and the sound seems to reverberate. “Go, Skylar,” she yells.
Fuck. I’m doing this.
I snatch the lamp from the floor and chuck it at the window. It smashes then dangles from its cord. I yank on it, sweeping it side to side for clear place to put my hand.
“No!” Masters roars.
I hoist myself up and over.
For a moment, I’m weightless. It’s only a split second, really, and then my feet hit the cement floor. I tuck and roll, forcing aside the pain radiating up my legs.
Footsteps clang on the metal stairs above me. I stand and bolt down the hallway, toward the glowing exit sign.
“Stop, Skylar,” Masters yells. “If you go out there, I will find you and kill you. You hear me?”
Don’t stop.
I slam into the door and slide the deadbolt back. It slips open easily, and then I’m free.
I shoot outside and hesitate. We’re in the middle of small clearing. Forest surrounds the building, the ground sloped down. The snow is falling thick and fast, and I glance around. It’s familiar and not. A distant memory yawns open.
My captor pushing me forward, whispering in my ear to run.
“Skylar!” Masters screams. Any second he’s going to crash through the door and catch me. And then he’ll kill me.
I burst into a sprint, following tire tracks down the hill. Away from the building. The snow penetrates my socks, but I ignore the cold. I shove everything away and focus on my escape—and the phone in my hand.
I dial 9-1-1 and tuck the phone into my bra. I choke out my name, that I’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know where I am, but I’m running through the woods.
“Stay on the line,” comes the tinny voice. “Help is coming.”
In the distance, a car engine turns over.
Masters, maybe, coming for me.
Around me, the forest looms. It presses close in on the path, and my options become clear. I can stay here, and he’ll find me in minutes. I’d be a deer in the headlights. And my other choice…
It’s my only shot, really.
I take a deep breath and slide off the road, and the woods swallow me whole.
42
Liam
There’s no rationality to my movements, but here I stand.
At the edge of the reservoir where Sky and Taryn found Natalie’s body.
It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong, exactly. The whole place is shrouded in a blue glow. It’s a full moon tonight, and it’s out in full force. Trees sway, casting their moon shadows on the fresh snow.
I step onto the trail and follow it toward the water.
There are chunks of ice floating close to the edges, but the center is still liquid. And the reservoir trail is completely silent.
With a sigh, I dial McAdams.
“Anything?” I ask after she answers. My frantic energy has faded, leaving me restless and exhausted. Eli helped for a while, haunting my every move, but I finally had to send him off to search another corner of Boston.
Instead, Caleb is with me.
He doesn’t say shit, though, and he knows better than to hover. I’ve already threatened to deck all of them—that was after Theo’s emergency was dropped and they met back at my apartment. I would’ve killed all of them just for looking at me wrong, but Caleb put an end to that.
And I have a nice new bruise on my cheek to thank for the lesson.
McAdams sighs. “No. We’ve had noth…”
“Detective?” I ask.
“Hang on.” Muffled, she says, “Patch that through right now.”
I wait, turning toward Caleb. He raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t suggest we leave. We drove almost thirty minutes out here on a fucking whim, and it was only because…. Well, I don’t know. The fact that Natalie was discovered too soon.
Amber had been planted on a street corner, made to seem like her boyfriend killed her. It was staged by someone with an intimate knowledge of crime scenes.
Jasmine still hasn’t been found.
Natalie’s didn’t make sense. Half buried in a shallow grave?
It was like Masters got interrupted… by Sky and Taryn.
And if he hadn’t already been set on Sky, this was just another piece to stack him against her.
“You still with me, Liam?”
I straighten. “Yes. What happened?”
“A 9-1-1 call from Skylar. Masters took her. We’ve traced her location. She’s near the Cambridge Reservoir.
She said she had escaped….”
“Holy shit. Detective—I’m here. There. At the reservoir.”
She inhales. “We’re sending patrols. I’m on my way. I’m supposed to tell you to wait for us.”
“What was that, Detective? You’re breaking up.”
“Bad connection?”
“I think I’m losing you.” I hang up and shove my phone back in my pocket. “She’s here. Somewhere.”
“Fuck,” Caleb swears. “No offense, man, but this place is massive.”
He shows me a map of the reservoir and surrounding forest. It’s framed in by three roads. There’s the lake, and then a small building at the top of the hill. There’s a road that leads directly to it that connects…. Not twenty yards from where we stand.
“We need to block that road,” I say.
He nods once, getting in the car.
I tilt my head back and catch sight of a few stars. For a moment, all I do is breathe and listen. And then I say to the sky, “I’m coming for you.”
We pick up the hiking trail to the water tower. It runs parallel to the road, and a bit lower. I strain to move faster, but my muscles scream at me. Caleb falls behind, but I don’t care. Worry is infused in every beat of my heart.
In the distance, the sound of a car’s engine rumbles toward us. If she’s not in it, she’s running from it.
“Skylar!” I scream.
Nothing. Not even the wind anymore.
Caleb catches up to me and I nod at him, then continue on. We stop intermittently and yell her name.
The trail we’re on climbs rapidly, and soon both Caleb and I are out of breath.
“Sky,” I yell again. It seems pointless to scream through the trees, but she’s here. I know she is.
And then, finally, a reply. “Here!”
I jump off the path and skid down the slope, shocked at how high we’ve come. She must’ve done the same—just dove off it in an attempt to become inaccessible. I get to the bottom and swing around, trying to pick her out from the shadows.
“Liam?”
I whirl around. “Oh my god.”
Sky comes out of the shadows like a ghost. Her arms are bare, and she has a long scratch down one arm. There’s blood… Oh god, there’s blood all over her face.
I shrug out of my coat and wrap it around her shoulders. “We need to get out of here.”
“M-Masters.” She grips the front of my shirt with both hands. Her eyes are wild. “He’s here. He’s going to kill us. He killed—I think he killed Whitney.”
She trembles under my touch.
“Let me get you out of here,” I beg. “I’ll go back for Whitney. For Masters.”
“No need,” the ex-detective calls through the trees. He clicks on his flashlight. It’s industrial-grade, or something close to it.
I raise my hand, squinting against the bright light.
“Recognize this place?” he asks, taking the light off us and casting it around.
“N-Natalie,” Sky murmurs.
“Your sad attempt at burying a girl,” I say.
He chuckles.
Anger surges in me. “How could you go from protecting girls like Sky to hurting them?”
His laughter cuts off abruptly. “Ask that to the chief who said I wasn’t worthy of the badge anymore,” he yells. “I was backed into a corner. And no one noticed. No one said a fucking thing—”
“Their parents noticed,” I snap. “You’re a killer.”
Masters sighs and clicks off the flashlight. He saunters closer. “Liam, Liam, Liam. Haven’t you learned by now that this girl attracts trouble? Why bother?”
I grip her arms. “Why? Are you fucking kidding me?”
He shakes his head. “I was so close to discovering who her original abductor was. I would’ve liked to shake his hand for how he played it out. He got his money, tormented the girl enough to make her lose her mind, and he’s probably still walking around with Buckley money in his pockets.”
Disgusting.
“I’m taking her,” I tell him. “You’ve lost.”
He shrugs. “I’ve still got one.”
Sky’s fists twist in my shirt. “Stop him.” Louder, she yells, “Where did you stash Jasmine, Detective?”
His face contorts. “Don’t fucking call me that!”
She doesn’t so much as flinch. “Where is she? One body, two, three—it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“She’s still in the treatment plant,” he says. “I don’t know why you even care, Skylar. You’re surrounded by so much destruction. Why would you want to make it worse?”
I tighten my grip on her.
“Liam!” Caleb shouts, sliding down the slope.
“Ah, Mr. Asher,” Masters drawls. “Was wondering when you’d make your presence known.”
“Fuck you, old man,” Caleb spits. He skirts him and comes to us, helping take some of Sky’s weight. “You don’t have shoes on?”
She shakes her head. Even with my coat on, she’s like an ice cube.
Without a word, Caleb lifts her into his arms.
And me? Well, I’ve been itching for a fight.
I walk toward Masters slowly. He grins at me, suddenly wild, and sheds his coat.
“Is this what you want, boy? A cage match? Just you and me.”
I scoff. “Caleb doesn’t need to fight my battles for me.”
The detective nods. “Fine.”
He lunges first, testing my reflexes.
I hop away and bounce on my heels. I could burst in, try to get inside his guard and overpower him, but something tells me he’s smarter than that. He’s been a cop—a detective, really—for at least ten years. If he said he hadn’t seen his fair share of fights, I’d call him a liar.
He makes no such promises, though—but he is aggressive. He comes at me hard, throwing punches. I return them wildly, stupidly.
He gets under my guard and hammers my kidneys.
I let out a harsh grunt and back away, circling him.
He grins at me. “This is a fight I’ve been wanting to have for a while,” he says. “Do you know she cried your name while she was unconscious?”
I almost, almost let the fury overtake me.
We intercept each other again, trading blows. I land an uppercut, and his head snaps backward. For a moment, I think he might fall.
But then suddenly there’s a gleaming knife in his hand, and I barely jump out of the way.
Someone screams.
Sky, I think.
And my next thought: I’m going to die.
Some fights can’t be won. Not flesh against a weapon.
I strike out, catching his throat. It’s a lucky hit. But he has a lucky hit of his own: his knife blade sinks into my arm.
“Liam!” Sky screams.
In slow motion, the blade is tugged from my skin. It rips, really. Blood spurts from my arm, spraying up, and I stagger away from Masters. The man falls to his knees, clutching his throat. It might’ve been a hard enough hit to crush his windpipe, or maybe I’ve just surprised him.
Sky is suddenly on me, her hands clamping over my arm. “Artery,” she breathes.
Masters makes a choked noise behind us, and then a noise I’ll never forget: the click of a firearm’s safety.
We both turn and stare at Masters, who holds a hand to his throat and the other aiming a gun at us.
I bow my head, touching my forehead to Sky’s.
“I love you,” she whispers.
A loud siren shatters the night.
In an instant, we’re surrounded by flashing blue and white lights.
I drag Sky flat down, into the snow, as dozens of police officers shout orders at Masters. He glances around and grins.
“Tell your dad I say hello,” he calls to me.
And then he puts the barrel of his gun to his forehead and pulls the trigger.
43
Sky
Tell your dad I say hello. Masters directed that at Liam.
Those words, this night, was a pressure valve unlocking. Like my mind said, you survived this. I think you can survive that, too.
I was thirteen and walking home. Both parents were working late, and I had missed the bus. Liam’s dad pulled up beside me in his nice new work truck and offered to give me a ride home. Said I could call him Alan, then said we needed to make a quick stop.
He helped me out of the truck and held my hand. We went into a storage facility, down a long row of garage doors, to one all the way in the back. The front of it seemed normal, but there was a door to another room.
A bed, a toilet.
He guided me in and then left me there.
No drugs. No sedative.
That, it turned out, was a figment of my wild imagination.
Every day he brought me food, listened to my pleas to be released. He didn’t force himself on me like I once feared my captor might’ve. I was desperate to be freed, almost out of my mind with the thought of it.
I did try to escape, and my small space got smaller. A rope around my wrist, tying me to the wall. It almost rubbed my skin off. I scratched at the walls, broke all my fingernails in another attempt to leave.
It was then that he broke my will. A man I had trusted. He lost his temper and beat me. Cracked three ribs, broke my nose. He yelled that he had dug too deep of a hole to climb out of, that I might be better off dead.
Something changed his mind, though.
After his rampage, he quietly set my nose back into place. Gave me ice for my injuries.
He didn’t apologize. He was a man on a mission, and I was just a bargaining chip. As soon as they give me the money, you can go. I remember those words clear as a bell. The agony that losing his job drove him to this.
I stopped being able to look at him after a while.
And finally, a payment. I can recall now the gleam in his eyes. Greed. Anger that it took so long. The idea that he should’ve asked for more.
I told Detective McAdams everything from a hospital bed, with her captain hovering behind her. I had no lawyer, no parents, no Liam.
Alone, I grappled with the idea that someone else had thought to take me for money and failed. Or rather—I survived it.