I’m struggling to make sense of what’s going on. I take a few steps toward the bathroom, but I have questions. I look back to see Saint take a fucking serious looking knife out of the toolbox. It’s a dagger or a hunting knife, or whatever you’d call a blade that looks like it was made for the express purpose of gutting something, or someone. I make a quick decision to put my questions on hold and make a dash for the bathroom. I slam the door shut and spend several long seconds trying to slide the key into the keyhole, hands trembling like crazy as I do it. I lie down in the bath like he told me to. It’s quiet. Strangely and unnaturally quiet. I’m not sure how long I lie there for, but it feels like a long time.
Just when I’m starting to feel like an idiot, lying there in the cold, hard bath, I hear something. A jolt and a bang. The front door, maybe? It’s followed by angry, muffled words. I can’t make out what’s been said, but the voices don’t sound like Saint’s.
“Where is he?”
“We’ve been set up.”
“I’ll kill that rich little bitch myself.”
They’re speaking over each other and loudly enough now for me to hear them clearly through the door. Something tells me that isn’t good. My hands aren’t the only thing shaking now. My entire body is shaking. I’m scared. Really, really scared.
I hear quick footsteps then a dull thud, a guttural cry, and weird gurgling noises that sound like someone’s drowning. There’s silence for a second then several more thuds. Each one sounds like flesh against flesh. Bone sinking into meat.
It’s quiet again. Whoever was making the ugly, gurgling sounds has stopped. I can’t hear anything other than the sound of my own frantic heartbeat. I hear footsteps approaching. My fear is heavy. Crushing. I want to run, but I can’t move. I think of Lacey and my sisters and my chest aches. Their faces flash before me like photographs.
There’s a soft tap at the door. “Demon, it’s me. Unlock the door.”
I pull myself up and stagger to the door on legs that struggle to bear my weight. I unlock it as fast as I can. The door opens and I take an involuntary step backwards. It’s him. Saint. But it’s not the Saint I’ve come to know. His brows are drawn down. Hard eyes. Hard jaw. There are streaks of blood on one side of his face. His knuckles are bloody and he’s still holding the knife in one hand. This isn’t the guy who loves Beauty and the Beast. This is a beast. This is Saint with Murder Mode fully engaged.
He pulls the hand towel off the hook and pats the side of his face with it. When he’s cleaned himself up, he wipes the handle of the knife with the towel and sets it down. He moves towards me. I’m not sure whether to run to him, or away from him. Before I can decide, he reaches out and wraps a big hand around the back of my neck. I go limp and sink into his bulk. I’m such an idiot, I tilt my face up to his, offering him my mouth.
I don’t see it coming.
I don’t see him putting his hand in his pocket and I don’t see him pulling anything out. In fact, I’m so goddamn stupid, I lean forward and press my lips against his. He kisses me back. When he pulls away, his eyes are still dark and there’s tension around his jaw that isn’t usually there. I see the quick glint of a needle and realize too late; Murder Mode is still engaged. The side of my neck stings sharply.
“Fuck you, Asshole,” I slur, as the room spins and goes black.
Chapter 12
Saint
IguessIcouldtell you what happened. But if I did, I’d have to kill you.
Wouldn’t want that, would we?
Chapter 13
Demon
Everything’sblack.It’ssoblack, I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed. A whirring sound rings in my ears. It’s loud. Loud enough to wake me from a drugged sleep. My throat is dry. My breath comes in quick, dry gasps. I’m curled up on my side. I can’t straighten my legs. I feel around with my hands. I’m in some sort of container.
A coffin?
Jesus! Fucking Asshole has buried me alive.
Panic and fury hit me in equal measure. I feel around again, frantically now. I feel something furry and coarse under me.Carpet?I notice the whirring sound again and my body rocks to one side. Am I moving? My panic subsides and my rage increases exponentially.
“ASSHOLE!” I scream, kicking and pounding every surface I can find. “Let me out! Open this fucking trunk right the fuck now!”
I scream until my throat feels hoarse and the vehicle I’m in comes to a stop. I hear a click and then sunlight sears my field of vision. I haven’t managed to focus fully, when I feel myself being lifted bodily out of the trunk. I find my balance and presence of mind.
“What actual the fuck?” I’m so angry, I can’t get my words out properly. “Why the fuck did you drug me? Where are you taking me? And why the hell did you throw me in the goddamn trunk?”
“Settle down,” he says.
Settle down? Is he for real?
“Don’ttell me what to do!”
