by Rina Kent
I sidle away, and reach behind me. My fingers touch the windowsill, and the relief that escape is so near almost drives me to manic laughter.
All those pieces I was trying to shove together? No wonder they didn’t fit. I was working a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. What I thought was a bit of sky turns out to be a lake. Clouds? A white dress floating on the surface of the water.
Natalie was Marcus’s mother? Our mother?
“That…that’s not possible,” I say.
Dad would have told me. He knew she was sleeping around — how could he not have known who with?
I don’t see it though — the resemblance between Natalie and Marcus. Yes, they both have black hair and dark eyes, but so does every other goddamn person in the world.
Brandon’s obviously close to a psychotic break or something. Perhaps he’s schizo. Would explain the alcohol abuse, the domestic violence, the paranoid delusions.
Marcus isn’t my brother. He can’t be. Because that means I share DNA with the sick fuck, and the thought alone makes me want to throw myself off the bridge at Angel Falls.
“You’re crazy,” I say, moving back until my thighs brush the window sill. “No fucking wonder Marcus turned out the way he did.”
In an instant, Brandon is in my face. His fist is a blur as it heads for my jaw. I half-fall, half-push myself out the window. I barely manage to grab the oak tree’s branch as I hurtle past, and I tear off the edge of a nail as I fight to cling to the rough bark.
Brandon sticks his head out Marcus’s window, laughing so hard that his spittle dots my face like drizzle. “Might as well let go, boy. No more use left in you, is there? We got what we wanted.” He laughs again, and disappears inside the house.
I consider letting go, but it’s two stories down with a stony-looking patch of ground to land on. Instead, I monkey climb down the branch and hop onto the grass, too flustered to bother making myself less visible.
Soon as I’m back in my car, I slam closed the door and lock it. I doubt Brandon will come after me, but I’m not taking any chances. He might claim that Marcus takes after his mother — my mother? — but that apple certainly didn’t fall far from the fruit tree, did it?
I slam my hands into the steering wheel, a well of red-hot fury burning its way through me. I have all of the answers, except the most important one.
Where in the fuck is Marcus Baker?
Indi
“Ready for your play date, Addy?” Marcus says.
I shift on my hard seat, turning to the sound of his voice. Addy lets out a muffled sound of protest before shuffling closer to me. Things crunch and crack under her feet as Marcus brings her closer, and then the heat of her body warms my legs.
“Sit up. There we go. Now put your head in her lap.”
A heavy weight rests on my thighs. Addy’s body trembles against me, and it’s mere seconds before there’s a damp spot on my jeans where her tears have wet the fabric.
She moans and shifts as Marcus does something behind her. I sit up straight, straining to see something through the sack over my head.
No, not a sack — it’s a pillowcase. If I look down, I can make out the seams. I turn, and glimpse the vaguest suggestion of a big shape to one side.
A wall. Possibly one of those that fell over when the church burned down. It looks monstrous from my seat on the pew, as if it’s about to tumble onto my head.
When I look forward, I can almost make out a shape in front of me too, but the light’s all wrong, the fabric too dense, my head too sore.
“Shh,” Marcus murmurs when Addy starts sobbing. Something drops to the floor nearby, and I flinch at the sound. Then another.
Shoes.
He’s taking off her shoes.
I shift a little and lean forward, resting my head on Addy’s — cheek to cheek. I don’t know what comfort it will bring her, but at least she’s not alone.
At least I won’t be alone either…except if he kills her first.
A sob wracks through me at the thought, and then there’s nothing I can do to stop the tears.
“Bunch of babies,” Marcus says with a laugh in his voice. “Don’t be sad. It’ll all be over real soon, okay?”
But that only makes me sob harder. Above all else, I know Marcus is a fucking liar.
Briar
As I turn the last corner toward my house, my foot slips off the gas. My Mustang grumbles sulkily at the loss of power, and threatens to cut out. I guide her onto the side of the road and shut off the ignition.
Five cop cars with flashing lights line the road outside my house.
Shit!
Even if my father doesn’t accuse me outright of stealing his shit, the cops will want to talk to me. And they’re not gonna figure out where Indi is any sooner than I can, that’s for sure. We’ll all just be wasting more time.
More time for Marcus to toy with Indi.
More time for him to kill her…if he hasn’t already.
And why are they even here? Just so my father can prove what a delinquent Marcus was? Shouldn’t they rather be calling all those clients of his, and letting them know there was a breach? That they should consider moving house.
Because if Marcus knows where they live, Brandon Baker knows where they live.
Christ, of course.
Another piece falls into place. That painting in my father’s study, the one with that creepy little goblin. Only now can I finally make sense of the name scrawled in the bottom corner.
Davis. Indi’s family home, her mother’s maiden surname.
Fuck knows what the initial was, but that scrawl couldn’t form any other word, now that the thought’s latched in place.
Marcus must have been accessing files on the regular for his dad. Every time my father had a new client and I mentioned something to Marcus, he must have had his father beat him up, knowing I would take him in. Getting me drunk so he could slip into my father’s study and get the new client’s information, knowing full well of the treasures they were keeping in their homes.
That’s why Indi’s necklace matched that bracelet so perfectly. It was part of the same set her father commissioned mine to make. The one he tried to pay off with his wife’s painting.
I almost drop my phone how my hands are shaking. I stab on my father’s name and pray to God that just this once he’ll answer.
“Please,” I murmur, my thumb in my mouth as I tear off a strip of nail.
“Where are you?” Edward answers, voice dangerously low.
“Doesn’t matter. Dad, please, just listen.”
And through some strange miracle or strange twist of fate, he does.
“I need the address for the client you made that blue bracelet for.”
“What?”
“The bracelet. The painting? The one in front of your safe. I need that address!”
Edward lets out a mirthless laugh. “Why the fuck are you asking me? You already—”
“I wasn’t involved, okay? It was all Marcus, Dad. I need that address, okay?”
“Sure son,” Dad says casually. “I’ll give you the address.”
My skin prickles in warning. “Okay,” I say through numb lips. “Thanks.”
“Soon as the police department’s IT guys are done trying to bring my computer back to life.”
My heart beats in my throat.
“What?”
“Bit difficult getting anything off the hard drive you two crashed, isn’t it?”
Chapter Forty-Three
Indi
I get myself under control about the same time Marcus is done stripping Addy, which I’m only assuming is the case, based on the sounds I hear and the way Addy’s head shifts on my lap. The rip of a knife slicing through fabric.
My wrists are aching from the pressure of the ropes bound so tightly against them, but it’s nothing compared with the fluttery uncertainty preying on my nerves.
Especially when I hear a zipper being drawn down.
Addy
moans around her gag, and presses against me as if she’s trying to get away. Suddenly, it’s not just her head on my lap but her entire upper body. I hurriedly straighten when I feel warm air on the back of my neck, and lean back to get away from what must be Marcus’s hot breath.
There’s a muffled gasp from Addy, a grunt from Marcus. Then the unmistakable sound of two people fucking.
You’d think it would be different. That it wouldn’t sound so downright pornographic. But it does. I guess it’s still just skin slapping against skin. Breath forced out by every thrust — consensual or not.
“For a whore, you still got a tight little cunt, Addy.”
I try to take my mind away, to leave this ungodly moment behind, but I can’t. Not with Addy’s head bumping into my belly. Not with Marcus’s groans filling my ears.
A hand grasps at my breast, and I jerk in surprise at the touch. I try to move away and almost succeed when fingers wrap around my throat and start to squeeze.
I struggle, fighting for breath. Sobs wrack Addy’s body as Marcus fucks her harder and harder against me.
My limbs go cold.
Tingles spread into my fingers and toes.
Suddenly, I don’t give a fuck about anything anymore. It’s black, and so quiet now. There’s pain in my chest, my lungs contracting as my body involuntarily heaves for air, but I still have zero fucks to give.
Because it’ll all be over real soon
I know he’s a liar, but I’m willing to believe him now. I want to believe him. I’m done with this fucking world and my pathetic excuse of a life.
“Ah, fuck, princess,” Marcus groans. His fingers tense even more, and a deeper darkness than the one cast by the pillowcase over my head swarms into me.
Through me.
Around me.
I black out a second after Marcus comes, the sickeningly guttural sound he makes echoing in my ears.
Briar
Grit crunches under my shoes as I head for my family home. A few cops turn to look my way, but none seem that interested in my presence. Why should they be? My dad’s been pissed off at me before. But he protected me before too.
It was probably the only time he ever flew back to Fool’s Gold County because I called. And then it wasn’t even technically me that made the phone call — it was my lawyer.
I’ll never forget the look on his face when he walked into that interrogation room at the local sheriff’s office. How his eyes scoured me and my clothing, as if he was utterly disappointed that I wasn’t wearing handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit.
Rape.
He hadn’t even flinched. But he’d always been good at schooling his emotions, my father.
Except now, looking back, he’d left a trail of clues a freeway wide — I’d just never bothered to question him.
Claim them as yours, son. Claim them and never let anyone else take them from you.
That has been his mantra since I could remember. It was his way of directing his anger at a cheating wife while warning me to make sure my future partner doesn’t fuck around.
A cop starts walking toward me — casual like, a spring in his step — when my cellphone vibrates with a new message.
I almost don’t look at it. It’s not like it could be good news. Either Dylan and Zak finally decided to speak to me again — although their intel would be fucking useless to me now — or someone’s just informed me that I qualify for a credit card.
But I have no idea what to say to the cop approaching me, so I buy myself some time by checking my phone.
The phone case creaks between my fingers when I see the name on the screen.
It had never even occurred to me to call Marcus. To just ask him where he was. I guess, deep down inside, I knew he’d never have told me.
How fucking wrong I am.
We’re having so much fun without you, but it would be better if you joined. Bring the money. Don’t tell the cops. I see anything I don’t like, I’ll kill them both.
The address below makes my heart skip a fucking beat.
12 Northenden Drive, Lakeview.
I pivot on my heel, ignoring the cop’s quizzical, “Hey, are you Prince?”
He could have drawn a gun and shot me right then and I wouldn’t have noticed until my head hit the fucking tarmac.
The instant I touch on the address, it opens the map application on my phone.
Five hours, thirty minutes.
I stop in my tracks, and then speed up again. The final yard to my car is a full out sprint.
Five fucking hours?
I’m gritting my teeth so hard, the enamel creaks inside my mouth.
Indi
A slap to my cheek hard enough to whip my head to the side rouses me. I cough, splutter, and fight my bonds to escape.
“Relax, princess.”
I freeze, my breath getting trapped somewhere deep in my throat. I lick my lips, and then do it again when I realize the gag isn’t in my mouth anymore.
But I still can’t see. And this time, it’s not because of a pillowcase. There’s something over my eyes, something bound tight around my head.
Why, it’s a satin blindfold, Indi. Now all you need are some rose petals and champagne.
I laugh before I can stop myself.
Fingers grip my jaw, shaking my head. “What’s so funny?”
Marcus almost sounds cheerful. I shift, and realize there’s no weight in my lap anymore.
“Where is she?” I croak, and then cough when the words scrape through a dry, rusted throat.
“Who, Addy?” Marcus says, and playfully taps my cheek with his fingertips. “Oh, she was being a drag.”
I swallow hard, desperately attempting not to let the full force of his statement sweep me away into madness. “Can I please have some water?”
Because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Remind your captor that you’re human, after all.
He already knows my name. He already knows I’ll be missed — even if it’s just by Briar and my gran.
“So polite,” he murmurs, running a knuckle down the center of my nose. “How could I possibly say no?”
He moves away, his shoes crunching over whatever debris is scattered on the ground.
I tip my head to the side and rub my shoulder against my blindfold. It shifts a quarter of an inch, then another, then—
Something strikes my belly hard enough to make me bend over and retch at the impact. While I’m still gasping, saliva threading the space between my mouth and my thighs, Marcus grabs my hair in a fist and wrenches back my head.
Water splashes over my face, and I splutter when a few stray drops go down my windpipe instead of my larynx.
“Had enough?” Marcus snarls. “Or would you like some more?”
Another deluge pours over my mouth. I open my lips and gather as much as I can before closing my mouth and swallowing. It burns, and I get some up and down my nose, but it’s worth it.
Marcus releases my hair. My head bobs forward before I can stiffen my neck. I cough as quietly as I can, shivering when a breeze cools my now soaked hoody.
Marcus laughs. “You caught me off guard, you know that?”
He pauses, like he’s waiting for something, so I shrug a little as I tamper down a last cough.
“First time I saw you,” he says. His voice pans left and right as if he’s pacing in front of me. I’m itching to see something — any-fucking-thing — but I don’t want to suffer another round of punishment for trying to look.
“Scared the living bejesus out of me, I’ll be honest.” Another laugh, this one a higher octave than the one before. Goosebumps break out on my skin at the manic tone in his voice when he continues.
Just keep him talking, Indi. The more distracted he is, the better chance you have at catching him unaware.
And do what, exactly?
Fuck it, one step at a time.
Step one? Getting loose.
“Why?” I ask, and I’m shocked at how steady my voice is.
Deep, rough, but steady.
Guess all that crying helped. I haven’t got a shred of terror left in me anymore. I cried it all out. All that’s driving me right now is primal instincts. Survival of the fittest style of thing.
Or, in this case, the sanest.
“Weird how that works, isn’t it?” Marcus says. “Kids looking like their parents?”
My skin starts to crawl, but I ignore the sensation in favor of focusing on something productive. Like trying to work out the fucking knots Marcus has used to tie me up. They feel complicated as fuck. Overly so.
Arrogant, psychotic prick. Couldn’t just have done rabbit ears, could you? Bet you were the despised know-it-all of your fucking Boy Scout club.
“Dad says I look like her. My mother,” he adds, as if I’m rocking a single-digit IQ. “But Briar doesn’t. Guess he takes after his father then.”
Oh my God. He’s gone off the edge, hasn’t he? How the hell am I supposed to outsmart a lunatic? It’s like trying to fit a square peg in a triangular hole. The math just doesn’t work out.
“I wouldn’t know, of course,” Marcus goes on, his voice panning to the left again. “Barely remember her. You know I was six when she fucked off? Back then, we were still living in downtown Lavish, close to the train tracks.” He laughs. “Not anymore! Got my dad to thank for that. Picked us up by our fucking bootstraps, he did, after she dumped us.”
Mommy issues? I’m not even remotely surprised. By the fact that he has them, and that she abandoned him and his father, especially if psychosis runs in the family. And I can’t even blame her — I’d also get the fuck out of Dodge.
I find a bit of give by my wrists, and wriggle for all I’m worth while Marcus goes on talking with his voice aimed away from me.
“But then I saw a photo in Briar’s house, and I kinda had to believe pa.”
I don’t even bother trying to understand. He’s still facing away from me, and I’ve managed to undo a loop in this intricate knot.
“I can really see myself in her,” Marcus goes on.