I almost forgot about that. Almost. But I can’t make any oversights, no matter how small, or I’ll lose this game. That’s for damn sure.
“You’re one smart cookie,” Chasm says grimly, watching as I slip back into my seat and hook my belt. I hope he’s right about that, about me being smart. I’m going to need every freaking neuron I have to find Parrish.
Speaking of, after we’ve plugged the address into Chasm’s GPS and turned right on the road leading toward the highway, I get the call that I’ve been waiting for. Finally. I’ve never hit answer so quickly in my entire life.
“Parrish.” The way I say his name gives Chasm pause, and he pulls over to the side of the road. He’s careful to keep out of view of the camera, but close enough to see his friend.
“Dakota,” Parrish replies, his skin pallid and sallow, his lips cracked and dry. I can see the marks on his chest, four marks with a slash through them, another two beside it. There’s so much blood, so much fucking blood. It’s glimmering on his belly, soaking into his pajama pants. He isn’t going to last very long like this. And yet, I’ve found nothing that will help us find him. Nothing. “I’m going to give you the address to deliver the box to.”
“How are you doing?” I whisper, fighting back tears, shaking with adrenaline as I touch my fingers to the screen and wish with all my heart that he was here with me. “Is he feeding you? Giving you water?”
“I really wish you’d stop this,” Parrish whispers, closing his eyes tight. “I wish you’d give up on me.”
“Don’t fucking say that!” Chasm snaps, and Parrish’s eyes fly open. I allow Chas to take the phone—Justin never told me I couldn’t. He did tell me to choose my ‘pawns’ carefully, didn’t he? Well, I have, and I’m putting all my faith in Kwang-seon McKenna. “You have to keep fighting. Dakota needs you back. You can’t just sleep with a girl and take off. That’s fucked.”
Parrish stares at his friend for a moment before managing the saddest, weakest smile I’ve ever seen on another person.
“If I don’t come back, Chas, take care of her for me.”
“Seriously?” Chasm chokes out, his own hand shaking as he holds the phone between us. “Shut the fuck up. That’s ridiculous. Of course you’re coming back. We’re going to find you.”
“Promise me, Chas,” Parrish pleads, closing his eyes again and leaning his head back against the chair. He says something else, but once again, it’s in Korean, and I don’t understand it.
“No!” Chas shouts, but then the video call ends, and he’s throwing the phone on the floor in a fit. He punches the steering wheel and then digs his fingers into his hair, leaning over and putting his forehead against the wheel. “No. No, I won’t accept that.”
“What did he say?” I beg, picking the phone back up and turning to face him. “Tell me. Please.”
Chasm turns his head slowly to look at me, but the devastation etched there is almost too much to handle.
“He said he doesn’t think he’ll last more than a few more days. He wants me to stop you from following Justin’s orders.”
We just look at each other for several minutes before I turn back toward the windshield and, without a single word passing between us, Chas starts the car and off we go.
Because we both know that we’re not going to give up.
We’re both willing to pay the price for Parrish’s safety, no matter the cost.
And Justin Prior—bless his heart—knows that.
The GPS takes us to the parking lot of an out-of-business diner in North Sultan, a small Washington town that’s about forty-five minutes from Medina. It’s technically a Seattle suburb now with disturbingly high housing prices, but the locals who live here don’t see it that way. It’s still got that small town feel, and with a population of less than two hundred and fifty people, we don’t have any company in the parking lot.
The box is sitting near the front door.
It looks sturdy as hell, with a hinged lid that’s currently shut, but unlocked.
Chasm and I stand there for a while just staring at it.
“I can smell it from here,” I breathe, choking on the sickly-sweet scent. It’s mixed with this awful tang, one that reminds me of the iron skeleton key that Tess gave me. On our way here, we stopped and grabbed some rubber gloves from a nearby convenience store.
I’m starting to think that was a good idea.
I’m the first to move forward, squatting down beside the box and running my hand across the smooth wood. It’s a beautiful piece, something that I’d put at the end of my bed to store extra blankets in. I give it a pat.
“Don’t do it,” Chasm warns, standing behind me with his hands laced together behind his head. His face is chalk white and he looks half-ready to keel over. But I can’t just drop this trunk onto someone’s porch without knowing what I’m delivering; I can’t. “Dakota.”
I ignore him, turning back to the trunk and wetting my lower lip. The latch flips up easily, unlocked as it is. Bracing my hands on either side of the wooden lid, I lift it up, listening to the creaking of the old hardware.
It’s the smell that hits me first, that awful copper tang that seems to sit so heavily on the back of the tongue. I gag before I even realize what it is that I’m staring at: a dead girl. A dead girl in a familiar maid uniform, one that’s now stained with crimson. It isn’t Delphine, but the original maid—what did she say her name was? JJ? the girl I met on my second day here.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Chasm murmurs, and then he’s stumbling away and vomiting into the bushes. Me, I’m just fucking frozen there, staring down at the girl’s disturbingly white face, her parted lips, her glassy eyes. “I told you not to open it!” he screams at me, and a second later, the lid slams shut. I just barely manage to pull my hands away before my fingers are crushed. “Are you goddamn insane?!”
I’m still just sitting there, kneeling in the gravel and struggling to find my breath. Each inhale tastes like copper. I’m slowly suffocating, but I can’t move. I can’t think. It’s a struggle to stay conscious, to be quite honest. Every molecule inside of me screams for me to call the police, to call Tess, to do something other than what it is that I’m doing right now.
The thing is: my bio dad has made it quite clear what his rules are.
If I mess this up, Parrish dies. There is no part of me that’s unsure that he’d actually go through with it. I already know he will. This right here is a warning to me, a reminder that this isn’t just murder theater. He will go through with it. In fact, he has, on plenty of occasions.
I’ve never hated myself more than I do in that moment.
Chasm is pacing and cursing in Korean, running his fingers through his hair with wild, frantic movements. He knows as well as I do what has to happen here.
“Help me move this,” I say, somehow managing to find my feet even though my brain has shut off and my body’s gone numb. Chasm looks at me like I’m a crazy person.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not fucking touching that thing.” He points to the chest with a gloved hand. His entire body is shaking, but he manages to put on a good show, looking more pissed off than anything else. “You really want to drop a dead body on someone’s doorstep? You think that’s a good idea?”