“Vivian Russo,” I inform them. I know I can drive but probably shouldn’t, and she’s the only one I can trust not to coddle me like a broken doll.
When she arrives, she immediately gives me a big hug. “Got here as soon as I could. Gimme your car keys.”
“You didn’t drive?”
She shakes her head pointing across the lot to Danny, standing by his truck with concern deeply etchedinto his features. “My day off, he gave me a lift over,” she explains.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry, Viv!”
“No. Don’t you dare. You’re my person,” she justifies with a beseeching tone, grabbing my work bag from me. “Car keys? What else do you need?”
“Wine. Lots and lots of wine. And probably new deadbolts.” She screws her face, trying to understand my meaning. I wave it off; I’ll explain it later.
On the drive home, my phone begins lighting up with messages. News travels fast with concerned friends beginning to check in. I’m about to turn my phone off when another message appears.
Unknown:
Are you ok? Talk to me? Please?
My hands go into autopilot, fury driving my response.
Me:
Stay away from me you fucking psycho!
Unknown:
It wasn’t me. I swear it. I need to know you’re ok.
Me:
For real? Go fuck yourself!
The three dots at the bottom of the screen appear with a pending response, but I quickly turn off my phone, shutting the world off with it and looking out the window.
“You ok?” Viv asks.
“Yep. Just… wine.”
EIGHT
GRAYSON
The first scream is always the best.
Tanner regains consciousness with a ragged inhale, his body jerking violently against the restraints as fresh pain registers. The nails in his skin. The ache in his skull. The blood drying in his hair. The cold night air tearing away the heat from his body.
Danny grins from his seat on the truck bed. “Our boy is waking up.”
I set aside the hunting blade I was sharpening and tossed the nail gun in my hand, catching it with a satisfyingclick. “Let’s give him a nudge.”
Two sharp pops.
Tanner screams as the nails sink into soft flesh, thrashing against the rope, suspending him naked and bloodied from the rafter.
“Wakey wakey, sunshine,” Danny taunts, a sinister glint flickering in his eye.
I move to crouch beside him, leveling my gaze with his. He’s pale, drenched in sweat. His pupils are blown wide—shock setting in.
