I wonder if Soren’s noticed I’m gone yet. A small pang of guilt hits me; I hope he doesn’t panic too much. He clearly struggled while I was missing.
I try to think of what the passcode could be. Is it something that changes often, or something morepermanent? I go for broke and type in Soren’s date of birth. The screen flashes red. “Two more attempts.” Two more attempts beforewhat? I don’t want to find out.
I swallow hard. Is there anyone elseimportantto Soren? I’ve heard Lorraine mention his parents before, but I know almost nothing about them. If the code has anything to do with them, I’m screwed.
I run a hand through my hair, thinking. There has to be something Soren would never forget. Something that matters to him. Something he…loves. I hold my breath and tap in my own date of birth, the screen flashes green, and the door clicks unlocked. The blacked-out window suddenly clears, turning transparent.What the…?
Heart pounding, I pull the heavy door open and step inside, keeping my eyes on the floor until I’m fully in the room. I take a deep breath, then slowly lift my head.
Two men are tied to metal chairs, badly beaten, mouths taped shut, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. And fuck… the one on the right looks like an older version of Finn. My nose wrinkles in disgust and fresh anger. I tilt my head and walk closer, then reach out and yank the tape off the man’s mouth.
“Which one are you?” I ask quietly.
He swallows, licks his dry, cracked lips, and croaks, “Mitch… I’mMitch.”
I stare at him for a moment, then walk around his chair to check the ropes are still tight. I do the same with the other man, this must be James, but I leave his tape in place.
I walk back to Mitch, lean down, and ask, “What do you think… of myface?”
Mitch frowns, confused. “Wh-what?”
I laugh, the sound coming out incredulous. The movement pulls at the stitches in my cheek and I wince, dropping the smile.
Mitch tries to look away; I straighten up and just stare at him. My frame is much smaller than either of theirs, but I feel strangely safe and powerful because they’re not going anywhere. Here I am, standing in front of them in Soren’s oversized sleep clothes and thick socks.
Mitch is clearly getting uncomfortable. He clears his throat, eyes darting around. “Were you in one of the cells too? How did you escape?”
I laugh again; this time it comes out slightly unhinged. I walk over to the side table, needing a moment away from Mitch’s face. My fingers trail over some of the “tools” left there. Some are still freshly covered in blood; I guess this is where Soren and Ray were.
I pick up a curved karambit blade and turn back around. “So… how come you’re still alive, huh?”
Mitch’s eyes go wide as he stares between me and the blade.
I lean down close and say softly, “By the way… my name isChristopher.” I tap the scar on my face. “I haveyourbrother to thank for this.”
Mitch’s face changes instantly. “Oh my god… you’resafe. That means we held up our end of the deal. Tell Mr. Sinclair to let us go!”
I laugh again, colder this time. “No, no…first, let me tell you what your brother did to me.Thenwe’ll decide if you should leave this room.”
Chapter Thirty
~ Let Him Have This ~
Soren
Ray and I stepped back into the house after dealing with the Vanderburn brothers downstairs. We hadn’t told them we’d already gotten Christopher back. Instead, we took our time letting out some much-needed stress relief on them. Then watched their faces twist in shock when I casually mentioned that a five-foot-six, skinny twenty-two-year-old had beaten their brother to death with a metal rod and then put six bullets in his face. Their expressions went bone-white. They couldn’t process it.Why should they care?They were more than willing to sell Finn out for a chance to stay in this city. The only problem was that I wanted Kit back inonepiece… that’s not what I got. I got him back in fractured pieces.
I saw the exact moment something inside him cracked. Kit used to be the kind of person who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Now he’s killed someone. Yes, Finn deserved it,morethan deserved it, but that kind of thing changes you. You never fully come back from it. Disturbingly, I found that change in him unbearably attractive. Themoment something fractured behind his eyes… the moment the soft, harmless boy I’d kept for two years finally broke and became something sharper, something bloodied… it stirred a dark, possessive heat low in my gut. I should’ve been concerned. Instead, I was fascinated,proud. Thankfully, he still has that shyness and quiet obedience when it comes to me; I would’ve missed that far too much.
And then there’s his face. The bruises and small cuts on his ribs and neck will heal and fade like they were never there. Buthis face… I clench my jaw hard at the memory of Finn slicing into him. I walk up the stairs toward our bedroom, telling myself Finn is dead; he’ll never touch Kit again.
I push through the bedroom door, expecting to see him right where I told him to be… curled up in bed, dark curls spilling over the pillow, taking up barely any space at all. It’s late, he should be asleep by now. But when I flick the bedside lamp on… the bed is perfectly made,empty. My heart rate spikes instantly. I told him to be here… he said he would.
I rush to the bathroom and shove the door open, hoping he’s just on the toilet or washing his face. He’s not.
For one sick, suffocating second, my mind turns against me. It whispers that none of this is real… that I never got him back at all. That I’m standing here alone, hallucinating the whole thing like a broken man, and that Kit actually died on that boat. That his small, fragile body isstill out there somewhere, cold and floating in the ocean because I failed him. Because I wasn’t fast enough. The thought hits so hard and so vividly that my chest tightens painfully, a raw, visceral panic clawing up my throat. I growl at myself, angry at the thought.
Then a cool breeze hits me and I frown instantly. No one ever leaves this window open unless I specifically demand it. I walk over, eyes dropping to the carpet. There are faint marks in the pile where the tufts have been dragged the wrong way, like something heavy was moved. I follow the trail to the decorative stool at the foot of the bed. It’s slightly out of place; I straighten it without thinking, then return to the window.
