Page 45 of His Keepsake

I opened, bit, chewed and swallowed. They were delicious, but this was becoming an anticlimax.

His huge living room flowed into the dining area. There was a sea of cream and black leather sofas in here—three of them, actually, it just seemed more—scattered cushions, and small tables piled with books. The small TV screen suggested this house hid a multimedia room somewhere else. Probably, there was also a library, an arsenal with walls of guns, and a butchering room for killing naïve idiots like me.

At head height, shutters covered a row of square windows. The light coming in through those had dimmed to dusk level. The house must have some automatic switch because the ceiling lights came on.

From the front of the property, I heard the throaty sound of an over-powered car rev and throb then die down to nothing. Axl arrived, yelling in the distance, before he entered carrying takeout food. The smell made my stomach grumble. Strawberries were not enough. My last real food had been bacon and toast. He studied us before he dropped the bags onto the long timber dining table.

“Here I was thinking you’d have her roped to the table for us to fuck.”

“Maybe later.” Mr. Scott snapped shut the book and swung his legs off the sofa. He patted me. “She’ll lie still for us.”

Ugh.Would I?

Or else he would break my fingers?

Or whip me bloody?

He’d threatened the first, and now I knew how real this might be, but there was something about fear that beckoned. Where were my limits? Nowhere fucking sensible. Scary was the most minor of words for fright. This was potentially horror, with me buried beneath a heap of dirt, tied up, gagged, rotting away for eternity because the cops didn’t know where I’d gone.

Nonetheless, I didn’t believe they could be that evil.

“Want me to tell you what I found out?” Axl’s glance in my direction suggested this discovery was to do with me. My stomach flip-flopped with anxiety.

What did he know?

It made me wonder if the police were already looking for me. Or Charity.

“Later. As long as there is no army of ninjas?”

“No ninjas. But…” He beckoned and waved a piece of paper.

“This better be good.” Mr. Scott pushed off the sofa, strolled over, and took the paper from Axl while the other man spoke quietly—too quietly for me to hear.

Though he was partly turned away, his mouth visible, and I could figure out some of the words exchanged.

The two of them walked into the kitchen, still talking.

It was something like my company is having a problem.

Boring.

I relaxed onto the pillow. Then I noticed the plate Scott had left on the sofa—it held the shells of nuts, pieces of strawberry, and the nutcracker. That was begging me to steal it. I could break a leash link with that.

Where could I hide it?

I wasn’t leashed and locked to anything. Running right now would be tantamount to placing myself on a sacrificial altar. They’d catch me.

I fidgeted and eyed the door to the kitchen. Fast and simple was best.

I stretched and picked it up, then slid it beneath the sofa. I might never get to use it, but still…

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