“Nonononononononononono,” escapes my lips as I desperately try to stop what’s happening from the outside. To break out and stop them from throwing dirt on me. Because if there’s one thing I hate more than heights, it’s the thought of being trapped in confined spaces. Of being buried alive.
Exhaustion soon takes over, laced with the feeling of my blood flow slowing down, frighteningly so. All I can think of as my hands start to lower is, “You’re not leaving this cemetery tonight, Sayer.”
Panic keeps me awake, but I might as well be asleep. No matter how much my head screams to move, I’m frozen in place, weighed down.
It’s more than hot under here, wondering how much oxygen I can really get with every breath. It’s like being a kid again when Harlow would throw a blanket over me.
Suffocating.
I’m suffocating.
How long has it been since I’ve been in here? Too long it feels and not long at all.
How much time do I have left? Mere minutes or is it seconds until I can’t breathe any longer? When all the oxygen is gone.
Nothing is visible, not even the limp hand I raise before my face.
Utter darkness is my only companion.
My eyes feel heavy, weighted sandbags that push and push farther down until I can’t fight to keep my lids open any longer.
Slowly they close—
Close
Close
Until I’m sinking farther down a spiral that has no exit.
The scenes from the art gallery play out with each step I take. The lights going off, the panic, bodies bumping into one and other.
Sayer’s hand slipping from mine…
When the lights flickered back on, restoring a calm tranquility to the crowd—like it never happened.
Except that it did, and with the lights back on I noticed Sayer wasn’t by my side…
My boots crunch on the brittle grass, running to the cemetery gates and the three huddled figures waiting for me outside it. The weather tonight is brutal, wind dipped in icicles try to pierce past my coat, but the chill in the air can’t make me feel any stiffer, any more numb, than I already do.
This shouldn’t have happened.
We shouldn’t be here right now.
Sayer and I should be back at my home, me peeling off her underwear with my teeth, our naked bodies sweaty and tangled in her sheets.
Instead I’m running toward a goddamn cemetery.
A single stream of thought goes through my head the closer I get to the gates.
A face and a name. Gray eyes and blonde hair. Sayer. Sayer. Sayer.
Her smiling, her laughing, her scolding and yelling at me.
I can’t stop the moments, of all the hours we spent together and how—
Not going there. I refuse to go there.
It’s quiet out. Not even a bird flutters in the sky. No owls hoot. The sound of branches rattle in the wind, it’s gone. I see them moving, but I hear no sound.
My ears ring of static. Static and the gentle, muffled sound of my hurried, angry steps.
I’m not running fast enough. We’re going to run out of time.
In the home of death is a life. A life I’m going to do any-fucking-thing to save.
I close in on my friends, hearing them gossip in leisure. My veins simmer in fury.
Why are they fucking standing here? We’re not on a picnic. We’re on a rescue mission. I’m about to shout for them to get their lazy asses in gear when I hear Reeve’s smug voice.
“What if she’s dead?” Facing my direction, catching my approaching form, he smiles.
Bastard.
My fists clench. Not close enough to do what I want to with them.
“Don’t smile about that.” Thea smacks his stomach, not hard enough for my liking. He’s not on the ground whimpering in agonizing pain.
“It’s totally possible,” he continues. “You said you tracked her in the ground. That means no air. Which means—”
I come to a stop in front of him. So close I step on his toes, the steel in my boots crunching on his bones. His knees buckle but other than that, he doesn’t show any reaction. Reeve could be bleeding, on the horizon of death and still be laughing.
I level him with a glare. “She’s not dead.” It’s a vow. A resolution. I don’t believe in much I can’t control, but I have to believe this.
Reeve doesn’t cower. He doesn’t show remorse as his lips stretch farther apart. Enjoying the situation while I struggle to keep reign on my composure.
“We don’t have time for this.” Shouldering past their huddle, I march to the gates, kicking them open. Somewhere. Sayer’s somewhere in here.
“I’m just saying.” Reeve follows behind, still running his mouth. “How convenient would that be? She’s already in a grave. Funerals are expensive and it would draw out Harlow, no doubt. It’s a win-fucking-win if you ask—”
“Hey, Reeve?” I growl. “Shut the fuck up.” Before I shove your face into the decaying ground.
He raises his hands, palms up. “Touchy, touchy.”
I’m not touchy, I’m a bomb about to go off. I can feel it. The suppressed wrath being held down by only my worry for Sayer.
It’s strange.
This feeling of caring. Deeper than what I possess for the three people in front of me. Richer and more poignant than how I care for even myself. It’s been so long since another person’s wellbeing has affected my own, it goes past someone taking her. The thirst for revenge doesn’t touch the need to protect her. As if I didn’t already know she had a firm grip on my balls.
I’m scouring what’s in front of me, looking for clues.
“Ah, cemeteries, don’t you just love them?” Reeve slides his hands into his jacket pockets.
“No,” we all answer in unison, Reeve looks disappointed.
“We split up,” I tell them, voice controlled while I feel anything but inside.
Both Gabe and Thea stare back, grave-faced, nodding. Reeve nods as well, but that smug smile is going to get punched off his face if he doesn’t stop.
I’ve been good. Controlled since I couldn’t find Sayer after the lights came back on at the art gallery.
Thea, who was checking on security at the same time the power went out, found me immediately. All she said was, “She’s gone.”
Two words. Two minuscule words that seized me by the throat, constricted my lungs. An unfamiliar feeling of helplessness settled over me with realization, I let her go.
In the chaos, she slipped through my fingers.
Reliving it now, I bark at them to get moving and the four of us break off into a separate section of the huge cemetery. But even doing this, I fear it’s not enough.
I’m not one to feel fear. Or guilt.
But I feel them now.
Fear over Sayer’s wellbeing, her safety. Over her.
Guilt for letting this happen. I should’ve held onto her for dear life the second the lights went out.
Both emotions taste bitter, stinging with the knowledge of failure.
I’ve spent my life, prided myself, on not letting anyone in. Not letting them get past the shields I’ve long since put up, but I wasn’t counting on Sayer Brooks to be as formidable as she is.
A siren I can’t ignore the call of. And I’ve tried.
Tried to put some boundaries between us, like not sleeping in my room. Physical shields to back my internal ones.
She looks at me like I’m made of steel, but if she’d ask I’d bend like aluminum.
She draws me in, captivating not only my time and attention but all my thoughts, even when they shouldn’t.
What started out as an attempt to satisfy a craving, a way to pass the time on my path of revenge, has turned into something I couldn’t anticipate.
Evolved into something that makes me uncomfortable.
Sayer Brooks has become important to me.
Ground crunches beneath my shoes as I walk between the headstones, observing, looking for sig
ns. The sound fragile, disrupting the serenity only found in a graveyard.
This is Sayer’s nightmare—as well as mine.
Her being in a cramped, dark space. Dying.
Me not being able to keep her safe.
She’s not dying, I growl at myself. I’m getting her back.
When I asked Thea who took Sayer, she said she didn’t know, they wore a hood over a mask. Mask or not, they’re only safe for as long as it takes me to find them.
Because I will.
And when I do, I’m going to rip their limbs apart.
But my need to find Sayer outweighs my hunger for vengeance. At least, until she’s safe in my arms.
Not that she’s even safe there, evidently.
My fists tighten at my sides.
Little reactions. That’s all I’ve been giving to the tornado wreaking havoc inside me.
Emotions cloud judgment and right now, I need as clear as head as possible.
There’s no time for mistakes.
The unseen clock is already ticking down.
Around me, nothing looks suspicious or out of place. Just old and worn and weathered with time. Nothing like a freshly dug grave.
“Anything?” I snap into the coms unit in my ear, it’s been silent for too long. My tone is the only sign to my slipping composure.
“Nothing on the west side,” Gabe says through his.
“Nothing on the south side.” Thea on hers.
Damn it.
That only leaves the one person who joked about her being dead went, his line remains quiet.
“Reeve. Sound off.” Restless, my hands flex.
It’s quiet, save for a crackle. I’ve already started heading in Reeve’s direction. “You guys need to get over here. Now.” A pause. “We have a problem.”
My feet start running before he’s finished, weaving between the headstones. In my ear, Gabe asks what’s wrong.
I pump my arms harder, propelling me faster.
By the time I reach Reeve, he’s standing on a freshly covered grave, leaning against a shovel that’s sticking out of the ground. A joint sits between his lips. “Took you long enough.”
Ignoring him, I elbow him away from the shovel. He laughs as I pick it up, starting to dig. And dig. Until the metal clangs. Hitting a casket.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Reeve perks up at the sound when Gabe and Thea show up. Gabe, who is struggling to catch his breath while Thea nibbles anxiously on her thumb.
“Out of shape?” Reeve teases him, but I tune out Gabe’s response.
My digging becoming more erratic. Desperate as I’m trying to get it free enough to open the lid.
Finally, with sweat building inside my coat, I do just that.
Reeve and Gabe step forward to help open it.
And as they do, I feel Thea close behind me.
“She has to be okay, right?” Thea whispers and in this moment, I’m reminded how big of a heart this woman has. She’s as conniving as the rest of us, but she truly doesn’t like to see horrible things happen to good people. Only the deserving.
And out of all of us, Sayer is the purest.
I squeeze Thea’s shoulder as Gabe and Reeve work on unlatching the coffin.
It takes longer than I like, but we finally get the coffin open and in it, with her eyes closed, is Sayer.
She looks calm, peaceful as her pale skin looks even more bleached, stealing my breath and robbing my heart of beats.
She’s still. She’s too fucking still.
I don’t take another step closer. Can’t. Seeing here in the coffin brings up shit I’ve long since pushed away, never to resurface. My friends know it as well.
My parents. My mentor. The people I let in, the people I love, always end up in caskets.
Gabe is the one to move, jumping down to scoop her up. Carefully, he passes her to me and I cradle Sayer in my arms. She feels so small and fragile—like hand-blown glass.
Her chest is barely moving.
Thea hovers close by, taking off her coat and passing it to me.
“You wore two coats?” I ask.
“I thought she might need one.”
I stare at Thea when a small moan hits my ears. Looking down at Sayer, bundled in my arms, her lashes flutter against her cheekbones, trying to open.
I move us away from the group, only for Thea to follow. Reeve and Gabe stay behind, Gabe reprimanding Reeve about his insensitivity.
“Sayer.” My voice is low, but tone is harsh. It’s always harsh. Any softness I had had been pounded out of me years ago. I wish I could make it gentler. “Open your eyes.”
Her eyes flicker and my breath fogs between us, waiting.
I feel Thea peek around me before she begins pacing.
“Thea,” I snap, and she freezes. “Go back to the others.”
“But—”
“GO.”
I wait until Thea’s back with guys before I sweep some hair out of Sayer’s face, my hand resting against her throat. With my thumb tracing her jaw, I wait for the beat of her pulse to meet my palm.
“Open your eyes, Sayer.”
Nothing.
“C’mon, Sayer. Come back to me. I need you to come back to me.”
Thump.
It’s faint—but it’s there.
Thump. Thump thump.
With every beat, it grows stronger against my palm.
And it’s as I’m celebrating that little victory, those hypnotic gray eyes open and meet mine.
She blinks once, twice, two more times. Like she doesn’t trust that it’s me. “Noah?”
“Sayer.”
“Noah!” she cries, throwing her arms around my neck. Her cold lips brush against my skin as she buries in close.
My hand cradles the back of her head and for a moment we just stand like that, locked in this embrace, before I feel something cold and damp hit my skin.
Tears.
She’s crying.
Big, thick droplets roll down my skin, soaking into my clothes as she trembles. My arms constrict tighter, as if trying to reassure her she’s safe. Safe with me.
Having Sayer cry into me stirs an uncomfortable lump in my chest.
I don’t like this.
I didn’t ask to feel these things.
They need to stop.
But instead of untangling her limbs from my neck, I weave my fingers into her hair, keeping her close.
And she cries, each tear heavier than the last…until they’re not. They drop lighter and lighter before they stop falling altogether.
When they stop, she pulls away, no longer needing me. A pillar strong enough to stand on her own.
But I’m not strong enough to be without the feel of her, which is why my hand reaches for her waist as she stumbles with unsure footing, to keep her steady.
“What happened?” I ask, quietly. Hopefully gently.
She blinks, eyes puffy and face red, cheeks stained with tear tracks.
“I don’t know,” she whispers and my ears strain to hear, she’s talking so soft. “Someone grabbed me when the lights went out and stabbed my neck with something.”
Her hand goes to her neck as she talks, but I push her hand away, feeling the little knot left behind. It’s small and almost circular, tense under her skin.
I breathe through my nose, careful to not hurt her as I cradle her neck.
“I don’t remember anything after until I woke up here,” she continues, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what was happening at first, but then…then I saw these people. They were wearing masks and hoods and they were fast. So fast. They chased me.” Her eyes are wild. “They chased me, Noah, and I fell. Fell into that grave and—” She sways, and I stumble to bear her weight. I’m about to tell her she can lean on me when I notice her eyes are closing and her breathing is evening out.
I’ve never seen her so defeated, not even when Harlow would tear into her as a fragile teenager. So exhausted.
“It’s okay. You can sle
ep.” My voice is the gentlest I’ve ever heard it. I kiss the top of her head. “I got you. I got you. You’re safe.”
She nods into my chest. And I bend down to cradle her to it. Making sure the coat is covering her.
“Noah,” Reeve calls, drawing my gaze away from Sayer’s sleeping face. “Look.”
Following where he’s pointing, he directs me to a headstone. Above the grave we just got Sayer out from is a message in dripping red paint.
Here lies Darling Sayer.
Darling Sayer.
Her letter was addressed the same way.
Son of a bitch.
“What do you want us to do?” Gabe asks, seeing the fury on my face.
My grip tightens around Sayer. “Find them.”
It’s time their fun ends.
My eyes open to the sound of yelling. Fighting.
It’s loud, words traded like weapons dipped in malice. My sleep-addled brain is struggling to keep up.
The arguing doesn’t even matter.
Not to me. Not when cool, crisp air is going into my lungs, each breath tasting of winter and salvation.
No longer am I shrouded in darkness but bathed in artificial light that has me squinting. Arms are coiled tightly around me, keeping my body tethered to a warm chest.
A chest vibrating with anger.
“Noah,” I croak, the words hoarse as they slide past my throat.
The fighting stops as the arms tighten around me, almost to the point of pain. “I got you,” he whispers for only me to hear.
“Leave,” he orders the person who is not me, the one he was arguing with.
In a herculean effort, I lift my head from Noah’s chest to see Gabe cast me a grim face look before he walks out of the room.
A room I don’t recognize.
Noah’s fingers run through my hair as I take my fill of the space. Of the dark walls and red curtains that greet me across the room. Of the vintage brass gothic-style chandelier set to dim hanging above us.
Dark and dangerous and mysterious.
Just like the man tangling his fingers in my hair.
My body stills, knowledge soaking into my skin.
We’re in Noah’s bedroom.
We’re in Noah’s bedroom.
A forbidden escape I never imagined I’d get access to.
Under the Lies Page 25