I’m not a threat to him. At least, not in the traditional sense. Nelson disappeared in part due to the imminent investigation after my attack—but mostly, once Grayson escaped law enforcement, Nelson went in pursuit of his obsession, his need to capture Grayson his primary goal; chasing his objective without the interference of the FBI to hinder him.
Nelson shouldn’t be underestimated. It takes a strong will toturn your back on the only life you know in pursuit of another, in spite of all else.
Which also makes him dangerous.
He’s a man with nothing to lose.
We come to our destination. The abandoned mechanic garage I selected myself. Nelson finally looks at me and says, “You told me.” He brings out a key, and I notice that the lock on the rusted metal door is new. He pushes the door open and sweeps his hands in an invitation, urging me forward.
As I enter the garage, memories of Grayson flood my mind. I feel him everywhere.
Then I see the locks.
I’m thrust back to the mouth of the maze and all the gleaming keys. Only now, every silver and gold and bronze shimmering object stares back at me with the eyes of rusted notches and mouths of keyholes.
“This isn’t your trap,” I say, my voice breathy. I recognize the construct, the details—all the hours of rigorous study and research I put into the design.
“I can’t take the credit,” Nelson says, edging closer. “But I can take the prize.”
A sharp prick at my neck, and I react. I’m fighting off Nelson and grasping at the needle sinking deep as my vision blurs. Drowsiness claims me, and my muscles go weak.
Nelson captures me before I hit the concrete. My breaths shallow, my racing heart the only part of my body still filled with fight.
“I’m the bait,” I whisper.
He smoothes my hair away from my face, gaze cast down as he cradles me. “There was no other way, London.”
Grayson is coming.
It’s my last thought before darkness takes me.
23
LOOK UPON THY DEATH ~ROMEO & JULIET
GRAYSON
Perfection.
The ultimate assumption that it can be attained if one works hard enough, sacrifices enough, is determined enough to prevail…is the very definition of insanity.
But what is this maddening thing we call perfection?
It’s different for everyone.
That one, blissfully high moment of utter and complete satisfaction, of achievement. It’s a sweet glimpse of heaven. A split-second where demons depart and the gates inch open, granting us a limited view of something holy.
We have reached the top of the mountain. We have conquered. We reap our reward.
Ah, that reward doesn’t come freely. There’s a price.
Fear.
Fear governs our life—that soul-sickening dread of loss. Once we’ve obtained our perfection, anxiety creeps in like the demonic force it is to steal our light.
The truth is a nice dash of salt in a fresh, cavernous wound.
Once we’ve tasted the sweetest perfection, savoring it on our tongue, everything that follows can only be bland by comparison. Or worse; a sickly sour. Quickly becoming a rotten bitterness that roils our stomach.
