Clay looked at me quizzically, one eyebrow cocked. “Okay?”
“Tell Isaac I’ll do it.”
A grin spread across Clay’s face and he looked up to Kingsley, who gave a slow nod. The man wasn’t demonstrative in emotion, but I could tell he was pleased. That I’d done something to make them happy caused a warm glow of approval to spread through me. I tried to shake the feeling off. I knew that was a dangerous road to go down. They were the enemies.
Weren’t they?
Clay reached across me and picked up my empty tray. I started to get to my feet, too, but he frowned at me. “What are you doing?”
“Coming with you. I’m helping you now. I’m on your side. Surely that means I don’t have to be locked down here anymore.”
Clay’s mouth twisted and he shook his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. No can do. Maybe if you hadn’t run yesterday, and cut up Isaac, I could have convinced him, but right now he still thinks you’re going to run at the first opportunity.”
“And he’s probably right,” Kingsley called down from the top of the stairs.
I lifted both hands in exasperation. “Aww, come on!”
“Sorry, sugar,” said Clay. “But play your cards right, and who knows what will happen.” He held my gaze, teasing laughter dancing behind his eyes. Was he flirting with me? How could he be flirting when I was essentially their prisoner? I forced myself to hold his gaze, trying to be challenging rather than flirty, though I felt my cheeks heat. In the end, Clay gave me a wink then turned away, still holding the tray, to join Kingsley at the top of the stairs.
“I’ll tell Isaac,” Kingsley called back down to me. “I doubt he’ll want to wait long to get started. Prepare yourself.”
I opened my mouth to ask him what I was supposed to do to prepare myself, but the door shut and the lock clicked back into place before I got the chance. I felt better, physically, since getting something to eat and drink. I felt stronger mentally, too. Even though I’d been effectively blackmailed into cooperating, I was doing something to take control of my situation. I was a part of this now—though I still wasn’t completely sure of what was going on.
I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash a little water on my face. In front of the mirror, I raked my hands through my hair, still knotted from where it had dried without me combing it the previous day. There were tiny nicks on my forehead where splinters of glass must have caught my face when I’d charged through the broken window. I pressed my lips together to hold back a manic laugh. No wonder the men didn’t trust what I was going to do. I looked like a crazy woman.
The thought of delving into the day of my father’s death caused nerves to tumble around my guts like laundry inside a dryer. I knew I’d blocked a lot of it out. Maybe it had been from shock, or simply because it had happened years ago, my memories of that day were blurred. Only when I dreamed about them did they become clear, but they faded again as soon as I woke. The idea of facing it all head on, of experiencing it all over again, made me feel sick. But I wasn’t a coward, and I truly believed my father would have wanted me to remember. He had told me for a reason. He’d told me because he’d thought that with my number synesthesia I would remember what he’d said. Perhaps he’d even thought I would have been able to visualize it. I’d already let him down by forgetting.
I wished Isaac would tell me exactly what was on the flash drive, though. I debated holding back until he told me, but he already had my freedom and my life hanging over me. If I told him I wouldn’t do it until he gave me that information, we’d be at a stalemate, and I’d be left down here to rot. No, I had to cooperate. Perhaps if the men all thought I was on their side they’d trust in me more. They might let me out of the cellar, and, in time, might even tell me what was so important about that drive. I just hoped giving them the information wasn’t me signing someone else’s death warrant.
Chapter Sixteen
I’d barely had time to get myself together when the door opened again. I hadn’t been expecting all of the men to come down, but it appeared that was what was happening. Isaac led the way, with Kingsley close behind. Next was Alex, and then Clay. Lorcan came last, and he locked the door, as though I stood any chance of getting past all five of them. Locking the door again showed me that they didn’t quite trust me yet. They weren’t stupid, and they knew I could have said I’d help simply to get them on my side.
Isaac spoke first. “Kingsley told me the good news. I’m pleased to hear you’re willing to cooperate.”
“I don’t think you’ve given me much choice,” I replied.
He ducked his head slightly in a nod of acknowledgment. “Maybe not, but I hope you’ll come to see it’s the right thing to do.”
“So do I.”
I looked around at the others. Lorcan stared at me, his dark eyes slightly narrowed, as though he didn’t trust me. Alex was watching me, too, and I gave him a small smile, hoping he was on my side.
“How are the cuts?” he asked.
I looked down at my arms and thumbed one of the Band-Aids. They didn’t hurt too much at all now. “Better, thanks.”
Clay took a seat on the stairs, his arms slung casually around his knees, as though he was only here for the entertainment.
Something occurred to me, and I cast my gaze down to the men’s pockets. Did one of them have a cell phone? There was a good chance. If I could get close enough to steal a phone, I could call for help when they’d all gone back upstairs. I wished I knew how to pickpocket. I imagined I’d have to get one of them close then distract them somehow, while slipping my hand inside their pocket and hoping they didn’t notice me taking the phone. I had an idea of what I might need to do to distract them, and how close that would mean I’d have to get to one of them. The thought made me shiver. I didn’t want to do that, but I would, if that was what it took to save my life. Of course, I didn’t have an address or anything I could tell the cops, even if I was able to make a call, but I was sure they were able to track cell phones these days.
“Right,” said Isaac, distracting me from my plotting. “Shall we get started?”
Kingsley moved forward. “Where do you feel the most comfortable to sit?” he asked me.
I glanced at the others. “Are we going to do this with everyone watching?”
“We need to be here,” said Alex. “We need to hear what you have to say. One of us might miss something important.”
“But does it need all five of you?”
“We work as a team,” said Isaac. “Each one of us is as important as the other. I won’t exclude them from this.”
“I ... just ...”
His eyebrows lifted expectantly. “We could film it instead, to watch later, if that would make you more comfortable.”
“No, it wouldn’t!” I didn’t want to be filmed. What if I did or said something embarrassing, only for it to be immortalized on film? They’d be able to do anything with it. Post it on social media for it to go viral. I could end up as a YouTube star or something equally as hideous.
I sighed, giving in, then gestured to my little cubby under the stairs. “I guess this is where I feel most comfortable.”
Kingsley nodded, but fine lines appeared between his brows as he frowned. “It’ll be a squash, but I guess we can work with that.”
Oh, damn. It hadn’t occurred to me that Kingsley would be coming into the cubby with me. With his massive frame, we’d certainly be getting cozy. Not that I minded being too close to Kingsley. I still remembered the feel of his strong fingers massaging cream into my back. Now there might be a chance he was actually one of the good guys, I couldn’t stop my mind from straying, wondering if there might be any chance of a repeat performance.
Feeling self-conscious, I ducked down and crawled into my cubby, wedging myself in the corner closest to the stairs, so I could give Kingsley the side with the most space. He climbed in after me and sat down, twisting to face me. His pants legs stretched across his massive thighs, and I did my best not to check out the lin
es of muscles beneath, or anything else the material might be stretched across in that particular area.
I heard a scrape and glanced over to see Isaac dragging the chair so he could take a seat in front of us. He twisted the chair around so the back faced the stairs then swung his leg over to sit on it back to front. I also didn’t miss how this position stretch the material of the expensive suit pants he wore. Dammit. What was wrong with my mind today? Was I trying to distract myself from the inevitable, or was the possibility that these guys weren’t all bad making me see them in a different light?
Having Isaac sitting there was intimidating, though.
“Do you have to do that?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.
His lips pursed slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Do what?”
“Sit like you’re about to bring out the popcorn.”
“Sorry, love.” He didn’t sound in the slightest bit sorry, and I didn’t miss the smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. He lifted the chair and dragged it back a couple of feet. “This any better?”
“S’pose,” I grumbled.
Kingsley reached out and touched my leg, making me jump. “Focus on me,” he said. “Ignore the others in the room. Within a few minutes, you’ll have forgotten they’re even here.”
Somehow, I highly doubted that.
Even so, I turned to Kingsley so we both sat cross-legged, facing each other. He was surprisingly supple for such a big man. He looked into my face, focusing all his attention on me. He had the aura of being someone you could trust, and together with that deep, melodic voice, I could see why he chose the career route he did.
Nerves jangled inside me like a cymbal crashing. There was so much about this situation I felt uncomfortable with, I barely knew how to process it.
Was I really about to allow Kingsley into my head? What if he used the hypnosis to make me do things I wouldn’t normally do? What if he put the thought into my head that I didn’t want to leave this place? He could make me compliant just by suggesting it.
I put out my hand to stop him. “Hang on a minute.”
He mirrored my movement, so our fingers were almost touching. “I’m not going to make you walk around quacking like a duck, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I hated that he could read me so well. I guessed it came with the job.
My mind spun, trying to think of all the things that made me so paranoid about doing this. “What about false memory? What if you plant something in there that isn’t real and it changes my whole perception on life?”
My tone had been growing higher as my outburst mounted, and Kingsley frowned at me with a quizzical look that contained humor. “You’ve either been watching too many television shows, or else reading the wrong books.”
“Okay, then,” I tried again. “What if you make me remember, and I tell you the code, and then you make me completely forget it again? So you’ll know it, and I won’t.”
“Again, fiction. You remembering will take time. It won’t be done in one session. I need to take you back to that night, and it’s going to be done through several different ways. We’ll walk through the events, step by step. We’ll use sound and smells to try to form a link between your long term and short term memory. It’s not like I’m going to put you under and ‘bam’ there is the code. Plus, you’ll remember everything we say and do. You won’t be unconscious, but more in a dream-like state, or super relaxed.”
“Like I just smoked a joint?” I suggested, doubtfully, trying to figure out what it would feel like.
He laughed. “Kinda.”
“Okay.”
“First of all,” he said, “I want you to regulate your breathing. Breathe slowly in through your nose and out through your mouth. Think about how your lungs expand as you take that breath, and how you relax again as you breathe it out.”
I did as he’d asked, inhaling slowly and back out again. I kept my eyes locked on his, trying to forget the four other men in the room.
“Good,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”
I allowed my eyelids to slip shut, plunging me into darkness, but Kingsley’s voice kept me present, giving me something to concentrate on.
“Continue to breathe. With each exhalation your body will find a deeper relaxation all of its own.”
He was right. I was relaxed, more than I had since being taken, perhaps even long before then. My shoulders had been hunched up to my ears, but as I continued to breathe, they eased down.
“Imagine you can see a screen on the backs of your eyelids,” Kingsley said, “like a big movie screen that’s taking up the whole of your vision.”
To my surprise, that was exactly what I could see. A big cinema screen right in front of me.
“What can you see on the screen?” he asked.
“Nothing.” I spoke, but my voice sounded distant. “It’s white with static.”
“Okay. Good. Now, I want you to think about the day your father died. Can you do that?”
I nodded.
“Imagine you’re watching the events happening on the screen in front of you. What’s the first thing you remember about that night?”
“My dad and I were fighting. I wanted to go to a party, and he wouldn’t let me go because I’d stayed out past my curfew a few nights earlier.”
“Good. Can you see that on the screen?”
The screen flickered, and, as though I was watching a television show of my own life, I saw myself appear. I was facing away, so I could only see my back, but I was able to see my father. My heart lurched with a combination of love, pain, regret, and grief, strong enough to snatch my breath.
In the outside world, Kingsley must have noticed. “Keep breathing, Darcy. Nice and slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
I tried to remember to breathe, while keeping my eyes glued on my father on the screen.
I didn’t keep photos of him around the house for this exact reason. It hurt me to think of him, and I preferred to tough things out rather than be caught out at unsuspecting moments by walking past a framed photograph of him I’d forgotten about. On the movie screen, his face was contorted with anger and he was pointing a finger in my direction. He still wore his work suit, and the glass patio doors were directly behind him, darkness lying beyond.
I desperately wanted to interact, to stand up and shout at my dad to be careful, and get away from the doors. But I was quite literally an observer in all of this, and there was nothing more I could do but watch events unfold.
“Tell me what’s happening,” Kingsley said, his voice only just coming through to me. I opened my mouth to speak, feeling as though I was drunk and not completely in control of my body.
“We’re fighting,” I said. “I’m shouting at him, telling him I hate him and that he’s ruining my life because he won’t let me go out.”
“Good. Keep watching.”
My voice came out as a whisper. “I don’t want to.”
“You have to, Darcy. We need to know.”
A flash of movement came from behind my father, a glimpse through the glass frames of the door. I hadn’t noticed it on the night he’d died, or at least I thought I hadn’t, but if I was able to see it now, I must have spotted the movement on a subconscious level. I’d just been too caught up in my own selfish problems that I hadn’t registered it properly and been able to warn him.
I wanted to tell my father to run. I wanted to reach out and grab him, pull him out of harm’s way, but I wasn’t there.
The floor beneath my feet started to move, slipping beneath me so the distance between myself and the screen decreased. No, that was wrong. The ground wasn’t moving, it was me who was moving. Some unseen force dragged me toward the screen.
I hadn’t realized before that I’d been seated. As though I was sitting in my own personal movie theatre. My hands gripped the armrests of the chair, my knuckles white. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.
“No!” I cried. “Help!”
Kingsley’s voice, so distant I could barely hear him. “Darcy, what’s wrong?”
I was dragged closer and closer, and nothing I did could change anything. The screen was sucking me in. And I could hear Kingsley’s voice, concerned now, but I couldn’t connect to it.
An audible pop sounded in my ears, and I found myself no longer watching the memory from a distance. I was in it. I was the Darcy I’d been watching on screen, and my father was standing in front of me.
I opened my mouth to scream at him to watch out, but the thwack thwack of two silenced gunshots made me jerk back. My dad staggered forward, and automatically, I held out my arms for him to fall into.
“Nooooo!”
A scream of anguish pealed from my throat. The cry was for two reasons—that my father had been shot, and that I’d known it was going to happen and had been powerless to stop it.
Chapter Seventeen
I staggered to the floor with my father’s weight, so he lay, bleeding out in my lap, looking up at me with wide, frightened eyes. It was happening again. My dad was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Panic squeezed my chest, causing my lungs to constrict, my heart beating so fast and hard, I was sure it would explode. Blood. Blood everywhere. All over my hands, under my nails. Seeping into my clothes. How was it possible for one person to contain so much blood? I felt like I was drowning in it and I would never escape.
In the back of my mind, I knew none of this was real, yet it felt real in that moment. I was aware of Kingsley calling my name, but he sounded miles away. I couldn’t break out of the events of my past. I knew I was supposed to be listening to what my father was saying to me, but red painted my vision. Dying, dying, dying, dying ...
My thoughts jumbled, trying to piece together my experiences.
It is his blood, isn’t it? Not mine? Or is it mine? Has something happened to me, too? My mind blurred, trying to distinguish what was real and what was part of my vision. I’m in trouble. Men have taken me, I’m sure of it. There has been shooting. Had I been shot as well? My mind turned over fragments of thought, but I was caught in a blind rush of panic and terror, not wanting to believe what was happening, while unable to deny it.
Hacking Darkness Page 11