When I check my phone, I see the message from Harry is still only fifteen minutes old.
My spine tingles, like eyes are crawling over me. The same as when I’m walking along the street and someone catches my eye, gives me a second glance for no reason, sending me on a spiral thinking they’ve seen me, seen my videos, recognised me from the old films even if I look nothing like I did as a child, even though the chances a random person on the street has seen them are minimal to nil.
I try to swallow and choke instead. Like hands are wrapped around my neck, squeezing.
My hand creeps up, having to check, to make sure.
Nothing there but my bruises and a bite mark, a sign of ownership. Except my owner didn’t answer his damn phone and now I’m scared, I’m terrified, I’m riveted to the spot when all I want to do, what Ineedto do, is run.
I try Trent again, stabbing and missing the connect call button three times before I get it right. I hold it in front of me, scared to put it to my ear in case my shaking hands drop it, or I disconnect the call.
Voicemail.
For fucks sake. “Trent, pick up. If you’re there, pick up. They’re dead.” A sob cuts my voice for a second, then frees it. “They’re all dead.”
I should call the police. My thumb hits the key three times, then I stop. I exit to the home screen.
There was another murder in the same room on Saturday. If the police come, they might find evidence from that and pin the crime on the wrong person. Or persons.
They might lock me and Trent up and never find the man who did this.
Caylon. I flick through to my address book and check it. He answers on the first ring, “It’s Rosa. Can you come to the same house as Saturday? There’s—” My throat closes, nausea rising. Spit floods my mouth, gagging me. “People are dead and I’m scared.”
“Rosa? I’m coming. Is there somewhere safe you can wait? A cupboard? A wardrobe?”
“There’s… I…” I spin on my heel, glancing back at the corridor with the open doors. There are two more branching off in the other direction, but I don’t think I can. Don’t think I can summon the courage to open them, knowing something just as bad as I’ve already seen could be on the other side.
“My car’s outside.”
“Good. Lock the doors. Sit low down so no one can see you through the windows. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
After choking out a thank you, I ring off, making myself move while the impetus is still there. Through the lounge, through the dining room. My hand clasps the kitchen doorknob, and it twists under my hand.
I snatch my hand back, retreating. I turn to run but too slowly, the door opens, someone steps through, grabs me around the waist.
I open my mouth to scream, and a hand closes over it.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
TRENT
“Sorry,”I mutter, taking my hand away as Rosa trembles in my arms. “Please don’t scream. Sorry.”
I release her, backing away as she convulses, crying, coughing, catching her breath. When she opens her mouth again, I put a finger to my lips. “Where are the bodies?”
“In my room.” She pauses, gasping in another lungful of air. “Three. He tortured them. He c-cut off H-Harry’s thumb to access his phone and trick me into coming here.”
“But he’s not here? He hasn’t hurt you?” I step forward, running my hands over her, soothing the terror I felt on the way here, the fear I’d walk in and find something worse than the heights of her distress.
She shakes her head and shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Adrenaline shakes my body, tightening my muscles, wanting to punch, wanting to fight. I grip my anger in both hands, wrestling it to the ground, pinning it until it’s needed.
The priority is to get her out of there. Get her to safety.
“Caylon’s coming,” she adds. “When I couldn’t get hold of you, I called him. He’s on his way here right now.”
“Good. We’re going outside to wait for him. He can take you home and wait there with you while I stay.”
