My body turns limp, nausea surging forward as my thoughts dissolve into a dizzy haze of fear and disorientation. Somewherefar away, I feel myself whimper, the sound a small and broken vibration in my throat, as the night swallows me whole.
Darkness presses in at the edges of my vision, but not all at once. It pulses in and out like a bad signal, my consciousness stuttering as the car surges forward. Slowly coming back to myself, the first thing I register is motion. We’re going far too fast, my body slipping against leather from the vibrations. I feel the growl of the engine and the wheels screaming as Arthur takes corners like he’s trying to shake something loose.
My mouth tastes like copper and panic, my tongue thick and jaw aching from where it slammed into metal. I try to swallow and nearly choke, a weak sound escaping me as I curl inward instinctively, bracing against the door while the world keeps lurching.
Blinking hard, I try to fight through the dizziness, although my skull throbs in time with the pounding of my heart. Streetlights smear into glowing lines through the windshield, each one flashing past too quickly. Arthur is rigid in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearstick as if he didn’t just crack my head against the door hard enough to make my thoughts scatter.
Rage simmers beneath the fear now, hot and useless, because even half-conscious, I know better than to provoke him again. My body remembers the violence even if my head still swims. My scalp throbs where he fisted my hair. My neck screams every time the car swerves.
I force myself to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Slow it down. Don’t pass out. Don’t give him that. Yet when I rouse again, the town is gone.
Streetlamps have given way to long, dark stretches of road where trees lean inward. I suck in a breath, pushing myself upright. The darkness presses in from both sides, branches arching overhead like ribs, the headlights carving a narrowtunnel through the night. Isolation hits me harder than anything else. There are no pedestrians, no buildings, no help. Just the road, the forest and the man beside me who has undoubtedly decided I’ve outlived my usefulness.
Suddenly, the car jerks to the side, so violently that my shoulder slams into the door again. I hiss, clutching at myself as Arthur pulls off the road entirely, wheels crunching over gravel and dirt. He drives blind for a few seconds, the headlights bouncing wildly as we snake down what feels like a hidden track. Finally, he brakes hard, and the car lurches to a stop. As the engine idles, as my breath locks in my chest, he kills the lights.
For a split second, there’s nothing but the all-encompassing darkness. Just the sound of my own pulse in my ears, each beat sending another wave of pain through my skull. Arthur doesn’t move, his attention trained through the windscreen, his body coiled with anticipation. Then I see it.
Headlights. White and blinding, cresting the road we just left. An unmarked van speeds past the mouth of the track, disappearing as fast as it materialized. In those few foggy seconds, something in my brain clicks into place. Something about the shape, the size and the antenna barely visible on the roof. A memory calls of an undercover van housing four bulky police officers in tactical gear. The hope that flares and then dies is akin to being stabbed, a gutting agony I can’t help but react to.
They were so close. Now the track has disappeared into the night once again, and I’m left stranded. My chest caves in as the truth settles, heavy and suffocating. I don’t know what I could have done, but whatever chance I had has gone now, swallowed up by trees and dirt and Arthur’s careful planning. To my surprise, Arthur doesn’t restart the car. He moves.
Opening his door, he slides out with the finesse of a large cat and slams it closed. Running with the theme of the evening, Idon’t think as I instinctively reach for the only lifeline I have left, and stuff my hand down my cleavage.
My phone is warm against my palm, the light offensive as I swipe the screen upwards with a trembling thumb. Revealing rows of apps that remain blurry to me, I go directly to the location icon. If I can send my location to Clay or Rhys, or anyone really, this nightmare will be over, but it can’t be that easy. The screen swims as my thumb misses the icon. Cursing beneath my breath, I try to slow, to steady my breath and try again, but I’m out of time.
The passenger door is yanked open, the interior light flares on, exposing me completely. I recoil, clutching the phone to my chest, but it’s useless. Arthur’s hand shoots out, fingers made of iron as they wrap around my wrist. Pain flares as he twists, forcing my grip to loosen and the phone is ripped from my hand effortlessly.
“No,” I gasp, my voice raw. “Please?—”
Grabbing a fistful of my dress, Arthur’s shadow hauls me out of the seat, my body screaming in protest as my injured head lolls. I claw at him, nails scraping uselessly over his jacket as my heels skid against the dirt outside. The night air is freezing now, biting into my exposed skin as he drags me fully out of the car. Dully, I spot the glowing light of my phone being tossed into the seat I recently occupied, just before the door is slammed closed between us.
“What are you doing, you raving, fucking lunatic?!” I scream into the night, hoping more than just the birds scattering from the branches overhead can hear me. Dragged sideways by Arthur’s strong hands, I stumble, losing my footing. Gravel digs into my knees, my palms scraping painfully as I fail to keep my balance.
Without bothering to pick me up, Arthur tugs me through the dirt, his fingers latching onto my hair for the final pull that seesme screaming and lifting myself into the open trunk. I collapse inside just for the relief of his brutal grip, the lack of resistance around my movements hinting at the fact my dress has been torn in multiple places.
“Arthur, wait! We can talk about this,” I plead just before the trunk slams closed. If he answered, I wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway.
I scream then. I don’t hold it back. I don’t ration it. I scream until my throat burns and my lungs ache, fists pounding uselessly against the metal above me. It doesn’t matter. The sound is swallowed whole, trapped with me in the dark. The air feels thin already, each breath shallow and panicked. I curl in on myself instinctively, trying to make space where there is none, my head spinning violently as the world tilts again.
The roar in my head is so loud, I swear I can almost hear the rumble of the engine. Beneath me, a vibration shudders to life. It’s steady at first, until the car manoeuvres through the gravel and hits the smoother road. Then, skidding forward, I jerk and slam into the hard metal. Pain blooms across my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs in a sharp, humiliating wheeze. My head pounds so hard it feels like it might split, nausea rolling through me in sickening waves. All I can think about is the darkness closing in around me, the smell of oil and metal, the suffocating lack of space, and against my better judgment, I give in.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I hate my deafness. For the first time since the accident, I understand my limits. I thought I could beat them through pure stubborn will. I thought, if I loved myself enough, if I knew my worth, that life would come easier. Now, in the isolation of the trunk and the abyss of the unknown, I see the truth. No strength can be forged through weakness. If I had just accepted that in the first place,if I’d never left my aunt’s house, I’d have saved myself so much suffering. From Kenneth, Arthur and my own lack of judgement.
But I also wouldn’t have known love. I wouldn’t have seen Clay come out of his shell, or Rhys face the demons that aren’t tattooed onto his chest but churning within it. I wouldn’t have understood what I was willing to sacrifice to take away the pain of those I care about. Perhaps there is an element of noble strength there, but it doesn’t feel as virtuous when it’s probably about to get me killed.
Tears spill down my cheeks freely, soaking into my hair, my chest hitching with each sob I can’t control. Much like with the car accident that destroyed my childhood, I should have protected myself better. Should have been tougher. Should have recovered quicker. There’s a thousand accusations racing through my head, and then, so quietly I thought I fabricated it myself, a word slips through.
“Well,” it says, followed by a breathy chuckle. “At least she had the decency to try.” I freeze, the tears running down my face turning cold. Against the juddering around me, I hold as still as I’m able and simply listen. “Most people don’t. My pathetic brother didn’t have the balls to even attempt knocking me off his throne. No, no. One simple threat against his darling wife, and he rolled over to obey. Didn’t even care about his own fucking son.”
Although distanced by space and metal, his voice bleeds through the darkness with sharp clarity. My breath stutters as I realize what it must be. The mic app on my phone. Somehow, in my fumbling panic, I must have opened the app without even knowing. My phone, discarded on the front seat, is listening, and Arthur, being the epitome of a narcissist, is talking.
“You’ll thank me one day, Rhys,” Arthur hums as he sighs. “Phillip would have sold everything to save Della. Our family would have lost it all if I hadn’t stepped in. And when he couldn’tfind a long-term cure for her, what then? He’d have resorted to cashing in favors, gambling, orbegging. Our name would have been dragged through the mud. The fall of an empire because one woman’s heart wasn’t strong enough to carry her.”
My heart stutters violently. My body curls tighter, nails digging into my arms as his words wash over me, each confession carving itself into my memory. He keeps talking, voice smooth, self-satisfied, unraveling everything in the dark because he can.
“I wore his face better than he ever did,” Arthur goes on, irritation creeping in now. “I raised you to be smarter than him, more calculated. To refuse the silly notion of love and focus on what’s important. If you weren’t so fucking insolent, I would have shared it all with you. But deep down, you’re weak, just like your father. You fell at the whim of a woman just as defective as your mother. The irony would be hilarious if I wasn’t so fucking disappointed.”
I have the urge to scream then. I’m not defective. Love isn’t weakness. Rhys is more than he could ever know, but I say nothing out of fear that Arthur might hear me. That he might stop talking.
