Chapter 12
Violet
I was pretty sure my heart was trying to escape my ribs with how hard it was racing. My hand ached, probably from how tight I gripped the handle of the bloody frying pan. Or it could be from the force with which I’d hit the intruder’s head.
I was honestly running on pure panic, and of course theone timemy home is broken into, I’d hidden all the knives.
“Ryder?” I nudged him slightly in the side with my toes, and when he didn’t move, I looked around to find a backpack that definitely wasn’t mine.
What the hell was he planning to do with ropes?
My stomach dropped as if I’d swallowed ice. Glancing over, I found Ryder hadn’t moved an inch, still slumped on the floor where he’d fallen, the vanity on its side beside him. I couldn’t see blood, so I hadn’t hit himthathard.
Right?
Nibbling my bottom lip, I reached for my phone, but I found myself hesitating at calling for help.
What was he doing here?
What was he searching for?
It was clear I wasn’t thinking straight because instead ofcalling the police, I bolted to fetch a chair, dragging it back into my bedroom with the wild idea of somehow lifting him into it. In reality, it was more of a clumsy drag considering he was far bigger than me and also weighed a ton.
When I finally got him onto the chair, he slumped awkwardly as I tried to tie him with his own rope.
Okay, sotiedwas a generous word. I clearly had no idea what I was doing. I’d just looped it around him a few times and knotted it wherever it seemed like the right spot.
What the fuck was going on? I’d only popped over to the corner shop and came back to find Ryder rummaging around in my bedroom.
He let out a groan, his head slumped forward.
I still itched to call for help, and honestly that was what any sane person would have done. “What is all this?” I asked him instead when he made another sound.
When he gave no other indication that he was conscious, I found my eyes drawn to the strange book on the floor, the same one Ryder had been holding before I’d hit him.
My fingers skimmed over the cover of the children’s fairytale, and when I opened it, I discovered it had been hollowed out. The pages were roughly cut, the edges sharp and ragged. Tucked inside were neatly folded newspaper articles, spanning decades and printed in multiple languages. Some were recent, and from the English ones I could decipher, every story seemed to be about missing girls.
As I pulled them out, more was revealed beneath. Photograph after photograph of young girls, their bodies mottled with bruises, spanning a range of ages and ethnicities. Some shots were taken from odd, strange angles, as if the photographer had been hiding and the women had no idea they were being watched.
There was one more photo, but this was someone I recognised.
Mum stood there, no older than mid to late teens, staring at something behind the lens. She looked… terrified. Exhausted. Lost.
My fingers traced the worn surface, and that’s when I saw it. The same necklace I wore now, a gold disk engraved with a single violet flower.
“Looks like dear old mum’s been keeping secrets,” a voice mused, and looking up I found Ryder watching me curiously. “Do you know, I’ve had a fantasy like this?” He gestured to the ropes. “But our roles were reversed and I was covered in melted chocolate.”
I immediately grabbed the pan, lifting it in what I hoped was a threatening way. “What is all this?”
“Christ, is that a frying pan?”
I gripped the handle tighter.
“Don’t suppose there was a thumb drive in that book?” he asked casually, as if he wasn’t currently tied to the chair. “You know, a USB?”
“What were you doing here?” I hissed. “What is all this?”
Ryder gave a half-shrug. “You’d have to ask your mum; she’s the one who hid it.” In a sudden burst, he was on his feet, the ropes dropping to the floor almost comically. In any other situation I would’ve laughed, but instead I swung the pan in panic.
