CHAPTER 23
Birdie
“What, you’re not going to make me come on your cock like a good girl, Detective?”
He’s not looking at me. He’s watching his stupid dead butterflies while his filthy cum spills out between my thighs. I don’t let myself think about the gravity of what he’s just done to me or the pain of having a giant plug rip my ass. I do what I do best and lock my emotions up in the closet.
They’ll be processed later with ink and paper, rewritten a thousand times until I can live with them. Just like my readers relive their traumas in my books with a promise of a happy ending, to get that form of control they didn’t get to have, to rewrite their misery into something bearable, I write my own.
It’s not my first rodeo.
My focus shifts to him. It infuriates my captor that I’m on to him, that the mask doesn’t hide him as he hoped it would. When has a mask ever hidden a monster? Predators don’t just hunt at night or with their camouflage on. They’re everywhere, in broad daylight, staring you in the face, hunting without remorse.
I have a few names for them. Shane Fletcher. Mason Bloom. Blake Abel. And…
“Why did you lie to me about Shane?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the displays. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth then? Why would you rather let me fuck you than admit it now?”
“Let you fuck meisn’t what happened here, Jacob. You got your rocks off humiliating and torturing me. Won’t you take that fucking shit out of my butt?”
“Why do you insist I’m Jacob Torrance? Is that what you secretly want, for me to be him?”
“To the contrary. You have no idea how much I hope I’m wrong, how much I need Jacob to be genuine and good, with cinnamon roll, golden retriever vibes. But it turns out he’s not. You said it’s been two days for me here. If he were out there looking for me, he would have found me by now. The ugly truth stares me in the face with a hideous butterfly mask. Jacob isn’t out there looking for me because he already has me. The detective is Butterfly Man.Youare Jacob. ”
He turns to face me and chuckles. “Your only explanation for his not finding you is that I’m him?”
“Or he’s dead.” I swallow. “Is he dead?”
“No.” He circles me twice. “Close enough, though.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Here’s the update on what’s been happening on the island. The detective and the man with the motorcycle joined forces to find you. Can you believe that? Well, it happened. So yours truly played a little game to stir them up against each other. One of them outsmarted the other. Now, exactly since last night, the detective has half of Martha’s Vineyard’s police and the man with the motorcycle on him because they, like you, believe the detective is Butterfly Man.”
“What?”
“Am I smart or am I smart? The detective has his own battle to fight right now and will soon be captured by the police or, better yet, killed by the man with the motorcycle. The man with the motorcycle will waste a tremendous and precious amount of time on a wild goose chase, hunting a man who doesn’t have you. Did somebody say plot twist? Not really. I bet you saw thatcoming. Who cares? Bottom line is no one is coming to find you, darling.”
“You’re lying,” I whisper.
“I’m not. I wouldn’t dare lie here, so let that sink in. It’s just you and me now, Reagan. I’m yours and you’re mine. Forever.”
CHAPTER 24
Birdie
“It’s just you and me now, Reagan. I’m yours and you’re mine. Forever.”
The words crawl under my skin, replaying like a broken record. They’ve been said before—whispered, promised, sworn—and every time, they meant something different. Perhaps they never did.
When Shane said it, I was the one whispering, “Forever.” I can’t remember a time when I was happier. Happiness is the prettiest lie we tell ourselves before the truth wakes up.
When Blake said it, we were two people clawing their way out of a mess too deep to name. We were partners in ruin, bound by priceless stakes. I chose to believe it. I thought he was saving me. We all know how that ended.
Then there was Mason…
Yes, he said it, too. He wasn’t lying. He didn’t do it to get something out of it. He meant every word. He meant the pain and hate that he put behind every letter.
His forever was different. It wasn’t love or choice. It was a sentence. We were trapped together, tied by lies neither of us told but both had to live with.
