Almost makes them look alive.
I stare into my father’s face, and Keith Malone looks down at me without expression.
Nails scrape against the floor. Plastic sheeting now—no longer concrete.
The panting comes closer.
I try to move away, but Keith is holding me too tight.
“You should be dead,” he says. “I told them to kill you.”
Nick and Jess. Are they here? With Keith’s grip in my hair, I can’t turn around to look. I can’t even see how close the panting, crawling thing is that was following me in the dark.
“I will have to rectify that, child.”
Keith’s head snaps back. His mouth opens, but too wide.
Much too fucking wide.
A long, serpentine tongue uncoils and slaps onto my upturned face. I try to cringe away, but he’s keeping me rooted to the spot.
His tongue leaves a layer of slime on my skin as it slithers down my neck, like a slug working its way down my skin. With a tug, he pulls down the front of my dress. I try to collapse in on myself, to hide my nakedness, but I can’t. Not with my hands still bound.
His tongue creeps over my shoulder like a blind, wet snake. Searching. Hunting over my naked skin.
I try to scream, but I can’t draw enough breath. My lungs are too tight.
The panting thing reaches my feet. Ragged nails scrape over my skin as it claws its way up my body.
It’s smaller than me, but it’s angry.
So fucking angry.
It wants to hurt anything, anyone.
Its hands grab my skirt as it tries to lift itself. As it tries to climb higher. My dress slides down to my hips and threatens to go all the way down my legs.
All the while that tongue leaves sticky trails over my breast, a nipple, the hollow in my throat.
The panting thing catches hold of my wrist. Drags itself up. The exertion makes it breathe faster. Like a dog back from a run. Quick and hard.
The sound comes closer as it crawls up my back.
Hair snags in my fingers.
And then I know what it is.
Who it is.
It had been lying on the mattress in that pitch-black basement. Already dead. That’s what I’d been smelling. A girl with short hair, or a boy with long hair.
Dead.
Alone.
There in the dark.
Keith’s tongue finds what it was looking for.
The panting thing claws my face, tearing out my gag.
A slick tongue forces its way deep into the hole in my chest, going all the way through to my back.
The pain is excruciating.
A scream tears apart my throat.
Cold, dead little fingers creep over my face and try to seal my lips.
“Ssh, Trinity,” the child murmurs in my ear. “Don’t let the bad man hear you.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Trinity
My body jerks violently. I clap a hand over my chest, grimacing as I sit up in bed.
I dislodge two arms on the way. Apollo mumbles something under his breath as he turns and goes straight back to sleep.
Cass looks like he’s still sleeping.
I shimmy out of bed as carefully as I can, and hurry out of the room. I pad down the stairs, take a left, and sprint into the nearest bathroom.
If the basin had been another foot away, I’d have missed it. I retch violently, repetitively, my eyes streaming with pain.
I shudder as I rinse out the sink, then my mouth.
Again.
That’s the eighth night in a row.
I gargle half the bottle of mouth wash and stand at the foot of the stairs, staring into the dark.
But I don’t want to go back to sleep. Not if that fucking thing is waiting to pounce on me as soon as I close my eyes.
I head downstairs and let myself out onto the patio.
The ocean sounds calm tonight. The crash and sigh of the waves are barely audible from where I’m standing.
I flinch when hands wrap around my upper arms.
“Same one?” Cass asks.
I had woken him.
“Yeah.” I swipe my hair out of my face, put a hand over my chest. “It hurts more every time.”
“Psychic pain,” Cass says, coming to stand beside me and leaning his elbows on the railing. “Doctor said you’re hundreds. That shit’s healed.”
I rub my palm into the scar just below my collarbone. “He also told me it wouldn’t become infected, and it did. He also told me the scar would be barely noticeable.” I turn to Cass and point at the dark, puckered mark on my skin. “This thing is visible from the fucking moon.”
“Vain much, princess?” he says through a smirk, and reaches for me.
I step back. “I’m not kidding, Cass. It hurts. It feels…”
“Like it’s happening again?” he asks, cocking his head. “You read those articles I sent you, right?”
I roll my eyes and go back to staring at the ocean. They’ve all been trying to help me through this, but I guess no one comes back from a near-death experience without a little emotional baggage. Me? I never pack light.
A scar.
PTSD.
So many triggers they have to line up.
I smile to myself.
I’m one of them now. The Brotherhood. Just as broken and fucked up as they are. All it took was getting raped and shot.
Kismet.
Cass slings an arm over my shoulder and draws me against his chest. He’s wearing my pink robe, but didn’t bother closing it up—his skin is cool and smooth and oh so delicious to touch. I slide my fingertips over his pecs and down his ribs, then circle his waist and squeeze him as I lay my head against his chest.
His heart thumps away quietly in his ribcage.
If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive.
Any of them.
But especially Cass.
I don’t remember much of what happened in the blue room. My therapist said the memories might come back one day or never. I don’t know if I want to know everything—my men already told me everything I need to know.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Cass murmurs into my ear. “Something to get you out of that pretty head of yours.”
“We’re not going to raid the fridge,” I tell him, although secretly if he pushed me, I’d probably cave. I’ve already put on ten pounds—I’ll be rolling around like one of those kids in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory if my men keep stuffing me with food.
“Not what I had in mind.” Cass steps away from me and goes to the edge of the infinity pool.
He shrugs his shoulders. My pink satin robe slides down his back and pools by his feet.
Oh God, he was naked and I didn’t even notice.
How couldn’t I notice?
Because I was stuck in my head.
He takes his time getting in the pool, as if he knows how much it turns me on looking at his body. Every muscle is toned and lean, from his taut neck to his slim biceps, to his almost-eight-pack to his gorgeous ass.
“Is it cold?” I ask him, as he slips into the black pool.
“A little.” He twirls around, sending ripples to all four sides. “Promise I’ll keep you warm if you get in.”
I glance up at the main bedroom’s balcony. There are no lights on up there. Zach and Apollo must still be fast asleep.
“Five minutes,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be all groggy for the doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”