“In the living room,” Ryker said, his voice far more gentle and caring than the one Rafael had used. Even in his amusement, there was something about him that just felt off, like there was nothing living within him, a true void where a soul should have been.
I stepped past the men, making my way to the doorway that separated the rooms. Megan stood from the sofa the moment I was clear of the barrier the guys presented, rushing over and pulling me into a tight hug.
“Oh my God I’ve missed you,” she said, swaying from side to side. When she pulled back, her face was red and blotchy and stained with tears despite the smile she forced to her lips.
“What’s wrong, Meg?” I asked, touching firm hands to her biceps and waiting for the response that I dreaded.
For the reason I’d needed to come to her in the night.
“I should have known it was too good to be true. Men like that aren’t interested in older women,” she said, her voice dropping too low to hear as she rambled on.
“What was too good to be true?” I asked, squeezing my fingers into her arms gently enough to get her attention back.
“A man hit on me in the bar tonight. He was so charming and smooth, and oh so handsome. I don’t usually have any interest in younger men, you know, but for him? I brought him back here, and I thought we were going to have a good night.”
“Did he hurt you?” I asked, glancing down her body to check for signs of an injury. She didn’t have any obvious bruises or broken bones, nothing to show that there’d been a struggle.
“No,” she said, swallowing as she stood and went to the console table in front of the windows that overlooked the street. She picked up a small wooden box, carrying it over and dropping it into my outstretched hands.
Scar was at my side in an instant, taking the box from my grip and taking it to the kitchen for the men to inspect.
“He said to give you that, and to tell you…” She paused, swallowing as her eyes filled with tears and she looked away from me.
“It’s okay. You can tell me,” I said, sounding far braver than I felt as I watched Scar’s jaw clench at whatever they saw when they opened the box. The urge to walk over to inspect the contents was almost overwhelming.
I didn’t want to think about what Darragh would send me, and there was no way the gift had come from anyone else.
“He misses his favorite pet,” she said suddenly, the words confirming what I already knew. The scar on my stomach seemed to throb with the words, remembering the pain of that being carved into my skin. “And he wants you to come find him with his little liar.”
I nodded, shoving down the swell of panic. I’d known he would never give up. His message was nothing new, but his willingness to involve my friends and the people I loved in his violent pursuit of me was just another reminder of what kind of man he was.
It was a reminder of the fact that, so long as I lived, nobody I loved was safe.
“Thank you for passing along the message,” I said. “I want you to call my father now, and tell him he is either going to pay for a bodyguard to watch out for you twenty-four hours a day or you’ll be going to stay at his manor indefinitely.”
She nodded, grabbing the phone off her console table and moving to do just that as I spun back to the guys in the kitchen. Scar closed the lid on the box, moving to stand between me and it.
“She needs to see,” Calix said, interjecting himself in the private stare down between Scar and me.
“Like fuck she does,” Scar said. “Do you think it will do her any good to know what he’s doing right now?”
“She might be able to tell us something we don’t already know. The greatest weapon we have is knowledge, and we don’t have shit about Darragh right now,” Rafael said. “She’s spent time with him.”
“I highly doubt they sat down for a chat over some fucking tea, Rafe,” Ryker said.
“No, we didn’t,” I said, answering the unspoken question that hadn’t even been meant for me. I might not be strong. I might not be brave. But I would be vocal if a bunch of men I barely knew stood there and discussed me like I wasn’t present. “Show me,” I said, snapping a glare over to Scar. He tightened his jaw, reaching out a hand like he meant to cup my cheek, but I was past the point of gentle. Past the point where love and affection could return me to the box I’d forced myself into all my life. The one where I had to be the good girl, and be fragile.
Vulnerable.
I wanted to light the world on fire and watch it burn.
Whatever Scar saw in my glare made him sigh, reaching back to open the lid of the box. The item on the top didn’t take a genius to figure out: a crystal studded collar shining in vivid pink with red stains covering the leather.
A collar for his favorite pet.
The chunk of hair with skin still attached at the roots beneath it made me tilt my head to the side. The dark brown color was just a bit too light, too tinted with red, to be mine. “What is that?” I asked, stepping forward to look deeper into the box.
Nausea swirled in my gut.
The skin had turned a mottled gray, blood crusted at the base where the finger had been severed from a hand. A faux diamond ring sat just below the knuckle, the fake gem sparkling rainbow colors in the dim lighting in a way that I knew it couldn’t be real.
I’d had too much experience with diamond jewelry my father gave me, having it appraised and selling it to use the money for something practical.
“Whose finger is that?” I asked Scar with a confused look.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “But whoever it is, she was alive when he cut her finger off. Odds are, she’s still alive now.”
“His message. Given the collar, I think we can understand the pet reference well enough,” Rafael said, his eyes heavy on the side of my face as I finally drew my gaze away from the severed finger with the perfectly manicured nail.
It was the same exact hue as the red polish I’d been wearing when I was taken.
“Her hair is close to mine in color. I was wearing that nail polish when he—” I cut off, unable to force myself to say the words.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Scar said, stepping in and wrapping his arms around me from behind. His heat suffused me, drawing me back from the cold place where all that existed was pain. From the memory of hands and blades tearing through flesh.
“He’s taking women who look like me, isn’t he?” I asked, turning to look at Scar over my shoulder.
“I don’t know yet. It’s possible, but—”
“What did he mean by ‘little liar’?” Rafael asked, pushing forward even though Scar had said we were done. I shook my head, shoving away the memories tormenting me.
Trying to find the liar of his words, a hint of what he could have meant.
To find him with his little liar.
There was only pain. Only violation. His words drifted in one ear and out the other as he used me.
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. I wanted to help, wanted to give some insight, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t relive it.
“You will,” Rafael ordered, pushing even when my nails dug into the skin of Scar’s forearms where they wrapped around my waist.