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I coughed hard, swallowing against the pain in my throat, forcing my breathing to steady, even though every inhale felt like glass. I barely reacted when the light flicked back on. I squinted hard against it, and saw him standing there like he’d just done something impressive, that smug, self-satisfied grin sitting on his fucking face.

“Learn your lesson, then?” he asked, almost casual. Like this had been a fair fight.

I didn’t answer.

Just stared at him.

Refused to look away.

Refused to give him anything. Even when my mind was trying to retreat inside of me. How did I go from kicking a game winning goal, to this? From sleeping in my bed with…fuck…with Ollie’s warmth pressed against my leg, to this? My throat throbbed when I swallowed, pain sharp enough to make my eyes water, but I bit it back, jaw tightening as I held his gaze. Christopher moaned beside me, and Wayne huffed, like my silence annoyed him more than anything I could’ve said. He briskly turned away, heading toward a cluttered corner of the room. A desk sat there, half-hidden in shadow, covered in shit I couldn’t make out.

“They’re always like you at the start,” he muttered, yanking open a drawer and digging through it loudly. “All brave. All mouth,” he chuckled before he let out a rough cough, then straightened with something in his hand. “Till they learn their place.” He pulled a pair of pliers out and hacked out another cough.

My stomach dropped and my eyes widened as he came closer, but instead of heading straight for the mattress, he walked over to the right side of the room. “This cunt right here should be a fucking lesson for you,” he said, tapping the pliers on the glass of a large, murky jar above the washing machine, the yellow liquid surrounding what was most definitely a head.

What the fuck?

Wayne laughed and picked the jar up. “Thought he was special,” he went on, shaking it slightly. The dull thud of it hitting the glass made something crawl up my spine. “Thought he could take her from me,” he growled. “Didn’t you, Robert?” He gave the jar another shake, harder this time. “Look how that worked out for you, you dumb cunt.”

Was that…Robert Rosen’s head?

Oh my God.

My stomach twisted violently, nausea surging so hard, I had to clamp my jaw shut just to keep from gagging at the sound. Did Evie know? Of course she knew. Jesus fucking Christ. “Take a good look,” he said. “That’s what happens when you get ideas.”

“That supposed to scare me?” I let out a slow, painful breath, ignoring the way my throat protested. “It doesn’t,” I lied. “All it tells me is you’re too much of a coward to face someone who can actually fight back, because he would've fought for his life.” He slammed the jar back down onto the shelf with a sharp crack of glass on wood and turned toward us, the pliers raised in his hand. Christopher immediately recoiled, shoulders curling in tight as he tried to put as much distance between himself and Wayne as the chains allowed.

That ugly, yellowed grin stretched across his face, like he was enjoying a private joke. “There it is,” he murmured, almost pleased. “That’s my favourite fucking part, boys.” He dropped down onto the mattress between us, and I barely had time to react before he was on me again.

“Get off!” I snapped, twisting hard against the chains as metal bit into my wrists, my body jerking with pure resistance. I threw my head to the side just as his hand came for my face.

“Stay still,” he growled.

“No,” I shot back instantly, breath ragged, but voice steady in defiance. My shoulders burned as I tried to buck him off, fighting to break his grip before he could settle, but he caught my jaw anyway and forced my mouth open. I jerked my body as I fought him with everything I had left, chains clattering as I tried to release his grip.

“Stop fucking fighting me,” he snapped.

“No!” I choked out, spitting blood as I tried to bite down, tried to do anything that would make him let go.

“I said stay still,” he hissed. I tried to retch my jaw out of his grip, but he surged forward and clasped a tooth from the back row. I froze as the rusty metal touched my tongue. My heart dropped so hard, I thought it left my body.

“Ready?” Wayne cackled before he started pulling.

I bellowed, pulling against the chains as he started twisting. The pain was instant and mind-numbing. I could barely keep my eyes open as he yanked it out of the root. “Look at that,” Wayne murmured, holding the tooth up to my eye-line as my mouth pooled with blood. “Got nothing to say now, do ya?” He tossed his head back and laughed as my breathing slowed. “Nah,” he said, dropping the tooth into his hand. “They never do after this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

PETER

December 31st, 1992

Spending New Year's Eve going over the evidence collected from Jackson Easton’s mansion felt wrong in a way I couldn’t quite separate from the job. Eight days after his abduction, the disappearance of ‘AFL star Jackson Easton’ was still the number one news story in the country, if not the world. Nicola cried when she found out, and I think a small part of me did too—because we knew what that meant. The likelihood that we’d find Jackson alive was slim to none, no matter how hard I tried to sway those odds in our favour.

Tiffany flicked through witness statements, trying to keep her focus sharp. “The neighbour says she was in the kitchen around 3 a.m. and heard a car revving outside,” she said. “But Jackson had a game that night. Maybe he got home late?”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses. “Bailey Dew’s statement has him leaving training at 9:45 p.m. straight after practice,” he replied. “So either the timing’s off…or she heard the offender’s vehicle instead.”

Emily crossed her arms. “Did she look outside?”