She was in shock, he knew. Enzo and Ronnie, the abject cruelty of the yellow-eyed man, Jack’s possession—it was all too much.
A part of him thought she might be pleased if he killed Ronnie under other circumstances. Of course, he’d never planned on it and certainly never wanted to. But he thought she might have approved if it happened somehow, some way.
Dead wrong.Even if she didn’t love Ronnie (even if shefearedhim) she didn’t want to see him dead or maimed.
And Jackhadmaimed him, no mistake about it. If Ronnie survived this, he’d never look the same. Would probably live in constant agony.
Even though he hadn’t acted of his own free will, Jack would be a marked man.
Would it be better to take the gun from Carla, turn it on himself? Could death free him from this endless, cycling horror? Or would he only wake tomorrow with a headache and a deep sense of regret?
And if he woke tomorrow, would he have to do this all over again?
The yellow-eyed man turned to Enzo. “Do you think you have a choice?” he mused. “Do you think you can evade me through willpower alone?”
Enzo shrugged. Defiance shined in his dark eyes. “Maybe I can,” he said. “If I can summon this thing, what else can I do?”
“I’d warn you not to inflate your confidence,” said the yellow-eyed man. “But I know you won’t listen to me.”
“I’m not gonna be defeated by a rug,” Enzo grumbled.
“It’s not just a rug. It’s thirty years of intensive training.”
The room stank of wine, piss, blood. Every inhale burnt the insides of Jack’s nostrils.
“I gotta go to the bathroom,” said Boris suddenly, voice nasally, unsteady.
“The house is warded,” the yellow-eyed man said, turning to face them. “You won’t be able to leave.”
Boris craned his neck so that he could see down the hall and frowned. “I don’t think there’s a window in there.”
“You could crawl through the pipes,” Jack suggested, only half-joking. At this point, he’d be willing to try anything if it meant he didn’t have to look at Enzo’s blobs of flesh, now congealing on the rug.
“Trust me, if I get out of this, that’s the only way you’re leaving this house,” Enzo said, puffing out his chest. “We’ll dissolve you in a tub of acid after we shoot you full of lead, dump what’s left straight down the drain like a goddamn turd.”
Boris inhaled heavily. “Right. I, uh…” He turned to Jack. “Come with me.”
“What are you, a girl?” Enzo called. “You need him to hold your dick for you?”
Jack ignored him, glancing instead at the yellow-eyed man, who shrugged. “We’ll be right back,” he told Carla. She only blinked at him in response.
Jack followed Boris to the bathroom, paused outside the door, and found himself yanked inside.
“I’m going insane out there,” Boris said. He slammed and locked the door, turned on the faucet and the fan.
A laugh bubbled free from Jack’s throat, raw and sore. Had he been screaming? Oh god, he’d been screaming the entire time he smashed Ronnie’s face in. He clawed a hand down his face, moaned, “Yeah. Me, too.”
“We gotta get outta here.”
“I don’t think we can.”
“If people can get in, we should be able to get out. Or maybe, I dunno… Maybe we call the cops.”
Jack imagined the police stampeding down the stairs, shouting and pointing guns, and wanted to throw up. “No way. They’ll think we’re involved in a hostage situation.”
“Wearehostages,” Boris hissed. “He just said we can’t leave.”
“Yeah, but will the police know that? Can we even explainthis?” Jack leaned against the counter. The ache in his knee grew more pronounced. “What happens if we wake up and it’s the seventeenth again? Enzo’s gonna come after us. It’s gonna be a disaster. Wehaveto finish this.”
