Two men burst into the clearing, and Adam stands. They look at the unmoving body beside me, bloodied and broken. Is he dead? Or just injured?
Adam gives a one-shoulder Gallic shrug. “Peter? He got in my way.”
CHAPTER TEN
North
There’s a game you learn to play when your parent’s an abusive fuck.
It’s called, it could have been worse.
Every night if I wasn’t dead or dying, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. At least my brothers were with me. They sneaked food home when they could. We had a roof over our heads, however decrepit and dirty. At least I’m not sunk to the bottom of the lake like our mother. It’s how you convince yourself that everything is fine. It’s how you live to see another day.
That’s the game I’ve been playing in this cell. I’m slowly bleeding out, probably infected and diseased from this hellhole. Dehydrated and dying, but it could have been worse. I could be taking someone with me. At least I’m alone.
And then this woman shows up. Holly.
It’s not her fault, not her choice, but that doesn’t stop me from resenting her. They’re going to hurt her, and it’s going to break me. It would be bad enough if she were a stranger, but now I know who she is. Now she’s someone to me.
So when they drag her downstairs and lock her up, I don’t say a word.
She curls up against the wall, a small, round shadow. It reminds me of those little roly-polies. I would pick them up from the dirt, and they would curl into a ball in my palm.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a message to your brother.”
The brittle shell around me cracks. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You should try to rest.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
She sounds like an adorable child. “It’s night already. You’ve had a busy day.”
“He said you killed your father.”
Christ. “Adam is a bastard. Don’t believe a word he says.”
“And why should I believe anything you say?”
“You shouldn’t.” I’m the worst kind of bastard, and the only regret I have is telling Adam one night. Fresh from the theft, drunk off my ass, pulsing with recklessness. Even that shouldn’t have been reason enough. Maybe because we’re trapped in this godforsaken church. Who uses an old French church as their hideout? Adam Bisset, naturally.
“Did you do it? Kill him?”
I thought of the coldest, meanest, slowest way I could kill someone. Torture would have been nice. His hands strapped to a chair. My fist swinging again and again. I could have kept him in a basement over days, over weeks. I didn’t have the stomach for that. My hands around his neck. A quick struggle. His eyes in shock while I told him the reason.
“Did he deserve it?”
He deserved it for beating my brothers. Liam. Josh. He deserved it for beating me. There are no words to describe what he deserved for killing my mother. For digging a hole somewhere on that godforsaken property and burying her in the lake. “Yes.”
Her shadow moves until she’s lying on the floor. “Are we going to die here?”
Hell. I don’t know how to answer that. I could scale a fifty-foot wall or defuse an IED. But I can’t tell this woman that she’s going to be tortured. Can’t explain that I’m supposed to watch. That I’m supposed to withhold information while she screams. “Maybe.”
“This man attacked me in the woods. Adam saved me.”
Christ. She sounds almost grateful. “Did he tell you what he does for a living?”
There’s a pause that makes me wonder if he did. “No.”
“He deals in blood diamonds. The kind that are sold in the mall that are certified conflict-free? That’s not the kind he sells.”
“Then why are you working with him?” she asks, almost defiant.
“I told you I’m not a good person. And I’ve made mistakes. Trusting Adam is one of them. Don’t make the same mistake, sweetheart.”
“It doesn’t matter whether I trust him or not. I’m still trapped here.”
It does matter because there are worse things than hurting a body. There’s harming her spirit. I don’t know how the bastard managed to kidnap her and earn her trust in a short goddamn time frame, but it feels like he’s done it. “Does your stomach hurt?”
“A little.”
“Brave girl. I’m sure it hurts like a motherfucker.”
She lets out a surprised huff of laughter. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”
“How does the story end? The one about the tooth fairy?”
A long pause. “The only way it can.”
“The boy dies.”
“Yes.”
Yes, she says, her voice trembling. She could lie about her stomach hurting, but she’s about to cry about the death of a fictional character. She’s so soft, this woman. So gentle. And the world is so goddamn sharp. She’ll be ripped to shreds, and there’s nothing I can do about it. “The story wasn’t really about him, though. What happens to the girl?”
“She doesn’t die, if that’s what you’re asking. She destroys her room in her grief. Teeth rain down on the city below. It risks the exposure of her world. This, the elders tell her, this is why they don’t get close to the humans. They’re so fragile. Only their teeth are strong.”
“And this is a children’s book?”
“I told you. It’s mostly teenagers.”
“Even so, it feels kind of depressing.” Does she know that she’s the human boy in the story? She’s not the tooth fairy who lives with a rage so deep it feels like a physical wound. Or maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe she’s full of a beautiful, feminine rage.
“Life is depressing. One day you’re writing and drinking tea. The next day you’re trapped in a dark cell with a strange man, wondering if you’ll live till morning.”
My throat tightens. Yes, there’s rage there. Maybe even enough to keep her alive. God, I want her to stay alive. I should be willing to let her die for the mission, but more and more I’m not sure if I can. Seconds tick by while I struggle with the remnants of my morality. That tooth fairy in the story of hers wouldn’t hesitate. If she could have saved the boy’s life, she would have. Even if it meant exposing her world. And so I make the promise, based on the lessons in a children’s book. “If there’s any way for me to protect you,” I say, “to save you, I will.”
A soft snore is the only reply.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Holly
A monster with sharp teeth gnashes at my side. He’s eating me, and I’m sobbing, begging for someone to help me. A man stands to the side, holding the leash of the monster. He shakes his head, looking almost sad. “Who let you go off on this vacation without a guide?” he asks.
I wake up from the dream sweaty and panting. My side throbs from where the iron cut into me. There’s a tension in the dark room that tells me it’s morning.
“North,” I whisper, somehow needing his presence.
“I’m here.” His voice is alert. And wary. Something is happening. “When they come in, don’t argue with them. Don’t fight. Understand? That will only make it worse.”