“I need to call Barry,” I croak, my thoughts racing and convoluted.
This is a conversation we should probably have back in the room so no one overhears us, but it’s the last thing on my mind.
“He can't be this stupid, Rev,” Dread reasons, though I can't tell who he's trying to convince—me or himself. “All the other murders took place in California. Even the copycat’s. The Locksmith killing someone from the same school as Lionel's daughter so soon after being released from prison is insane. That would make him look very suspicious.”
“Unless he creates a fake dating profile and makes it look like I did it,” I counter quietly, my nausea worsening. Dread’s face falls, seeming to have forgotten that tidbit. “The media have been hounding me ever since Gabi accused me of killing her. A lot of fucking people already think I did it, Dread. So even if Barry tries to pin it on the Locksmith, I highly doubt Lionel will leave any proof he was even in the state, which will lead the media right back to me. We have literally nothing to go on except a pair of eyeballs and a stupid fucking note with unrecognizable handwriting.”
This time, I drop into a crouch, bowing my head and covering my face with my hands as my panic heightens. Not only am I being stalked by a fucking serial killer, I’m being set up for a murder he committed, too.
I know Barry won’t let that happen, but Lionel doesn’t want me to go to prison, anyway—that’s not his goal. He wants me to come home, and until I do, he’s going to ensure I, and everyone else around me, suffer to the fullest, all the while he appears perfectly fucking innocent.
I hear Dread sigh before his footsteps approach, followed by his heavy presence. I still don't know how to feel about how comforting it is sometimes, especially because for years, it’s been anything but. That shouldn’t have changed, but the dull ache between my legs is proof a lot has happened that shouldn’t have.
Dread grabs both of my wrists and pulls them away from my face before diving a hand into my hair, tugging firmly enough to lift my chin so my eyes collide with his considerably softergaze.
There’s still an underlying iciness to him, but the longer he stares at me, the more it seems to melt.
I glance away, uncomfortable with how that has my heart fluttering in my chest and my stomach filling with warmth. Then, I drop to my butt, keeping my knees bent, feeling so goddamn defeated.
“I need to go?—”
“Don’t fucking say it,” Dread snarls, his voice quiet but insidious. “I will sooner chain you to my fucking bed than let you go back to California.”
My chin trembles, more tears welling in my eyes, but from frustration this time.
“You not letting me is why someone just died!” I shout, but I instantly regret it, and slap my hands back over my face and shake my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say her death is your fault.”
Again, he pulls my wrists away, dipping his chin to catch hold of my watery stare.
“You can blame me, darling. I don’t mind. Because in some ways, itismy fault. He’s pissed you’re not listening and going back to California, so he’s clearly escalating. You’ve tried multiple times to leave, but I won’t let you. So I’ll accept her blood on my hands if it means yours stays firmly inside you. I’ll sacrifice every goddamn person on this planet so you stay safe, Reverie.”
My eyes are wide by the time he’s finished, and, even through blurred vision, the intensity in his stare is breathtaking. My heart beats rapidly, and I can’t tell if I’m horrified by that sentiment or find it endearing. Maybe I’m both. But mostly horrified, I think.
“O-oh, that… that’s really intense,” I croak, having no clue what the fuck else to say to something insane like that.
His small huff of laughter is brief before he stares at me with a softness and sincerity that has goosebumps spreading across my entire body.
“I know Lionel has proven to be smart, but he's still a human, baby,” he says softly. “Humans make mistakes, and he's bound to make one eventually. He's not a god, and he's not invincible. Don't make the mistake of seeing him that way. It's exactly what he wants.”
I nod, the phantom fist around my throat easing a fraction from his soothing tone.
“Call Barry and let him know what’s going on. Let's just see what he says, okay? He'll know what to do.”
“Okay,” I whisper, prompting him to release me.
I slip a trembling hand in my back pocket and pull out my phone. It takes a few attempts to get the screen unlocked with how hard I shake, but I pull up Barry’s number and hit call.
He picks up after the fourth ring. “Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”
His voice is gentle, but it sounds incredibly tired and heavy.
God, I miss him, and I miss his bear hugs that always made me feel so safe.
“No,” I rasp, my bottom lip instantly trembling.
“What's going on?” he asks quickly, immediately alarmed.
“I-I got a delivery thrown at Dread’s window. This time, it’s a black box with…” My stomach lurches, forcing me to stop and swallow down the vomit threatening to spew from my throat. After a moment, I try again. “With eyeballs in it, and a n-note that says: ‘I don’t see you, Angel.’”
