The question hit a wound that had never healed. "My parents died when I was fifteen."
"I'm so sorry." His voice was warm with sympathy, and his expression was appropriately somber. "That must have been incredibly difficult to lose your parents at such a young age."
"It was." Mattie took a sip of her drink, not wanting to elaborate, then another, hoping he would stop asking her painful questions.
She'd learned a long time ago that talking about the fire was too much for most people to stomach, and mentioning the months of skin grafts and physical therapy was a sure way to chase away even the bravest of souls.
"Any siblings?" Gabriel continued his interrogation.
"No. I was an only child."
"Who took care of you after your parents died?"
"My grandmother." Mattie took a sip from her drink. "She died three and a half years ago." She took one more, then another.
The glass was nearly empty now.
"So, you're alone."
Something about the way he'd said it made her look up. He hadn't sounded sad or pitying. And now that she looked at him, she saw a gleam in his eyes that shouldn't be there. It was a predatory look if ever she saw one.
Assessing. Calculating.
Her inner alarm shrieked to life.
"I should get back to my friends." She started to rise from the stool.
The room tilted.
Mattie grabbed the edge of the bar, blinking rapidly as the world swam around her. She hadn't consumed enough alcohol for the floor to undulate beneath her feet, for the lights to blur into smears of color, and for her thoughts to turn sluggish.
He'd put something in her drink.
She tried to push away from the bar, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. Gabriel's hand closed around her arm, steadying her with a grip that felt less like support and more like restraint.
"Easy there," he murmured. "You've had a bit too much to drink. Let me help you outside for some fresh air."
"No—" The word came out slurred, barely audible over the pounding music. "My friends?—"
"Your friends will be fine. You need some air."
She tried to resist, tried to pull away, but her body was shutting down. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was Gabriel's smile, cold and satisfied.
2
MATTIE
Seven months ago, the island
Mattie woke to the smell of perfume and disinfectant and the distant thump of music she could feel more than hear.
Her head throbbed, her mouth tasted like copper, and when she tried to move, she realized that her wrists were bound with zip ties. Panic surged through her, cutting through the lingering fog of whatever drug she'd been given.
She forced herself to breathe, to think, to assess her surroundings.
She was in a small room, lying on a narrow bed with simple sheets. The walls were painted white, the lighting was dim, and she wasn't alone. She could hear breathing nearby and see shapes in the low light that resolved into other bodies. Other women. Five of them, on beds that were arranged in a line, like in army barracks or orphanage dormitories from days past.
The others were also stirring groggily awake.
