“Hiking boots?” she asks, eyeing the dark brown leather. Her voice is barely a whisper. “You’re taking me back, aren’t you?”
I meet her gaze, steady and unflinching. “We’re taking you to see if the King was right to keep you around.”
She swallows. “And if I still don’t remember anything?”
“Let me explain one thing, Hex. You need to prove your value to the King. Your worth.” I rake my eyes down her body. “Obviously, your pussy isn’t enough, because he hasn’t made a single move to fuck you since he locked you in that cage, has he?”
She shakes her head.
I step towards the door, knowing she’ll follow. “Helping find those girls and whoever took them may be the only way to give him a reason to keep you around.”
3
Damon
Hunter’s truckcarries the faint scent of smoke and new leather on the reupholstered seats.
Arianette got in before me, squeezed into the middle. Her outfit isn’t much–jeans, black Forsyth hoodie, hands shoved into the front pocket–but my body doesn’t care. It remembers. It remembers her skin, the sounds she made when I finally got my hands on her. I shouldn’t be thinking about it, not now, not ever. But the second she looks up–quiet, dark eyes flicking toward me–my pulse,and cock, betray me.
I climb in, slamming the door harder than I need to. The window’s cracked, wind sneaking through the gap, cold enough to sting. There’s a folded-up map on the dash, edges worn soft from use. GPS won’t help with where we’re going–you can’t track a ghostwith a satellite.
She opens her mouth like she’s going to ask something, but I cut her off. “We’re taking a little field trip. See if anything rings a bell in that fucked-up little head of yours.”
“I know.” She glances at Hunter, then back at the windshield like she’s bracing for a crash.
Maybe that would be the best for all of us.
Graves’ instructions were clear. Find some information, a clue, a memory–anythingto move this case along. Otherwise? We’re all expendable.
Hunter cranks the engine, and we drive off the property. At the main road, he turns away from town, deeper into the forest, the world turning damp and dark. The road narrows to a single lane of cracked asphalt, hemmed in by moss and trees that claw at the sides of the truck. The deeper we go, the quieter it gets, until the only thing I hear is Arianette’s soft breathing and Hunter’s ring tapping on the steering wheel.
By the time we stop, the bridge looms ahead like a ribcage of old concrete. A thin creek gurgles underneath, murky and slow. Someone’s tagged the pillars in neon spray paint–names, hearts, a crude drawing of an LDZ skull. An old couch slumps in the dirt nearby, guts spilling from a ripped seam. Burnt logs mark the bones of a long dead bonfire.
No one’s here now. Not the kind of spot the homeless use–too exposed, too haunted. This is a place for kids. The kind of kids who want to flirt with danger, not live in it. I know because I’ve been here before. Back when I was between stints in juvie and thought getting high by the water made me free.
I was so fucking dumb and clueless.
“Why are we here?” Arianette’s voice cuts through the air. “This isn’t where they found me.”
She looks around like the trees might swallow her, eyes wide as she takes a deep breath. It’s the first time she’s been out of her cage since the King locked her up. She’s overwhelmed.
“Because this is where they found the girl from West End,”Hunter says. “Laura.” He pulls a folded police report from the visor and points across the creek bank, on the other side of the tunnel, near the tree line. “Right there.”
Arianette’s brow furrows. “Was she found like me? In the river?”
I shake my head. “No. Laura didn’t escape. She was left.”
“Left?”
Fucking hell. I can’t ever tell if the Baroness is dumb, clueless, or just lost in her mind.
“She was fucking dumped.”
“Oh.”
Hunter unfolds another sheet–a photo this time. The girl’s nude body is slumped against a tree, head tilted to the side, hair half-covering her face. She almost looks like she’s sleeping. Almost.
Arianette leans forward. “Can I see?”
