Both men freeze.
Caleb's hand is still reaching for Ryan. Ryan's mouth is open mid-word. They're both staring at me with identical expressions—shock, maybe fear, definitely a recalculation of how dangerous I actually am.
Good.
"I SAID—" My voice cracks again but I push through it, louder, shriller, channeling every ounce of hysteria clawing up my throat. "DON'T. FUCKING. MOVE!"
I rack the shotgun again.
The sound is satisfying in a way I don't have time to examine—that heavyka-CHUNKof metal sliding, a shell ejecting, another one chambering. Both men's hands shoot up immediately. Palms out. Fingers spread. Universal gesture of surrender.
They're listening now.
My stomach throbs where the stock hit it. My ears are still ringing. The gun is too heavy, my arms are shaking worse than before, and I think I bit my tongue because I can taste blood.
But they're not moving.
They're not fuckingmoving.
Ryan continues. "He kidnapped me! Fucking kidnapped me!" He sounds scared. But he should be. He's naked, covered in what I can now determine to be… bug bites? And he understands, somehow, what Caleb is about to do to him.
Was.
Until I showed up.
"Scarletta…" Caleb is cool. One-hundred percent in control. "You have no idea who he is. Ask him what he had planned for you at five am this morning. Ask him."
Ryan looks at Caleb like… like he's… I don't even understand that look.
But I feel it. "How did you know I was meeting him at five am?"
"Ask him, Scarletta," Caleb repeats. Then he spits on the ground. Blood. "Ask him what his real business is. Not the gym, Scar. The real business. Ask him who the fuck Posie Little is."
Ryan's whole face goes white.
I don't know what this is about, but whatever it is, Caleb should not have this information. Because that look on Ryan's face is… panic.
Caleb laughs. Rips off his long-sleeve black henley. And there they are. All those tattoos. All those psycho tattoos of me being fucked, and dominated, and humiliated by him. My face, all over his body.
"What the fuck is this?" Ryan asks. But he's unsure now. Past angry, past confused. He looks at me. Looks back at Caleb. Then me again. "Is that your face?"
I don't have time to answer because Caleb's already talking."Posie Little did this tattoo for me." He points to the one over his sternum where he's throat-fucking me. He looks at Ryan. "Just the one. Because unlike you, I'm not stupid enough to use the same artist twice. How does it feel,Ryan, to know that it was those fucking birds on your body that signed your death certificate?"
"What are you talking about?" I'm breathless. Barely able to take in air. Something big is happening right now, I just don't understand what it is.
All I know is… it's bad.
"Posie did all those bird tattoos on GymBro here," Caleb says. "Died under suspicious circumstances a while back." His voice is eerily calm. A complete disconnect with what I'm feeling.
"Scarletta," Ryan says, his voice filled with building panic. "Don't listen to him. He has no idea what he's talking about."
I'm so confused. I don't understand what a tattoo artist has to do with anything.
"Don't I?" Caleb asks. "Don't I, Ryan? Let's fill in some blanks, shall we? Iron River Fitness has crazy security. You know my set up, Scar. You've seen it. You know I understand surveillance."
I nod, blankly. Just because he's right. This is something I've seen first hand.
"I wasn't even looking for Ryan here when I hacked into the Bonneville County IT system. Just the coroner report for Posie. Just curious, that's all. Posie's autopsy report was suspiciously brief. The tox screen didn't match her clean history. Unexplained bruising, vocal cords shredded."
