Page 89 of His Keepsake

“When you come back, you have to tell me!”

I made my way there and staggered back without running into anyone. Charity had refilled my glass. I ran my finger down the condensation on the outside.

“Okay. What I didn’t tell you last time is this…”

Anger flared, surprising me. I hadn’t realized it had stuck with me. It wasn’t because of the CNC party especially, but because of everything. Everything had failed us. Even the way he had tried annoyed me. I’d thought that Grayson understood me—got me on some primal level, where no other man would dare to go—but what they’d organized was so far off base it had been a shock. Maybe it had looked like a spoiled tantrum to the people at the party, but it had been a crushing blow to realize he didn’t understand me at all. Being angry was stupid, but some angers simply existed, and you couldn’t logic your way past them.

The only cure for some aggravations was to stew in them and let them slowly lessen over time.

So I took another breath and spilled about the CNC party. This was what I had resisted saying to Charity for a long time.

Even as I described it, shock sifted onto her face at the mention of Wolfman and the woman with the sewn-shut eyes.

I should not have said anything.

I think I had promised not to? Fuck that though, what really was giving me a thrill was knowing I still had the same bugged phone. I’d hung onto it. After all, Grayson let me go and switching over wasn’t simple. Why not keep it? I did intend to eventually get some tech expert to clean it of whatever they had done.

And so, they might hear this. They, meaning Grayson and Axl.

If so, this was me giving them a final finger.

Up yours, guys. Up yours, with something big and knobbly.

While I spewed information about that night, tears arrived. More anger showing? I swiped them away.

Charity made all the right noises and comments, and I began to feel, if not better, at least vindicated and a bit more normal. Normal people would be furious.

Maybe I could actually be a logical, god-fearing, law-abiding citizen.

At Charity’s warning, I looked around, then I gulped the last of my champagne.

The pub was closing. Chairs were being put up. Everything was swaying. The lights, the table. Me.

Together, we exited. I leaned on her and kept telling myself not to throw up. Luckily, I held it in until we were outside in an alley. Charity watched, miserable and holding her nose. This seemed the best ever end to such an awful affair.

“I’m rid of them, thank god,” I said to her when we were in her car.

“Yes, you are. Come home with me and sleep it off. Just no more barfing, please.”

I waved my hand from where I had sunk into the seat. “Shhh-ure. No problem.”

The world kept spinning and spinning.

I could tell when we pulled into her garage because darkness fell and there was that grating sound of the door closing. I shuffled higher up the seat, heard Charity open her door and gasp. Someone else opened my door and hauled me out. I clutched at whoever this was and tried to focus.

Something stung my neck. The swimming walls blurred leisurely into black.

* * *

When I woke, it was to instant fear. I was hogtied, with tape wound over my mouth and over my eyes. I thought through this, slowly, regaining my senses, resetting my brain. All of this had been done, even though I’d been drugged and drunk. It told me I was in the hands of someone only lightly concerned with keeping me alive.

Wherever I was, it swayed, and there were sloshing sounds below. This had to be a boat. An engine was running but had stopped. I heard male voices, laughter, then I registered a sound that stabbed into my heart as ruthlessly as a dagger: I heard Charity scream and sob.

She kept screaming, and the men kept laughing. There were thumps and slaps, and these were the sounds of what I knew must be her being beaten and abused.

No, please. Not my friend. Not her.I writhed and pulled at the bonds, attempting to get loose. I failed, achieving nothing except to strip skin from my wrists. I could only lie there and listen.

Eventually, she stopped crying out, though the muffled noises made me think they were still assaulting her.

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