The higher we reach, the further we descend immediately afterward. A crushing low.
A torrid pit of hell awaits us at the bottom.
Maybe that’s where London and I made our first mistake. Believing we could bottle our perfect piece of heaven. Immortalize it. Exist only for each other.
Maybe we still can.
My ears pick up the low thump of bass as I walk past the Blue Clover. I pull my jacket hood over my head, dodging a drunken, laughing group. Getting back to Maine was harder this time. Before, the authorities assumed I wouldn’t return—now they’re expecting me.
Luckily, Agent Nelson left me a trail of breadcrumbs. This is where he wants me. Which means he has leverage. He hasher.
Let him take me.
London’s haunting words have set my course since I escaped the Rockland jailhouse. This is her design, and as she’s the dominant force, I’ve conceded to her request. Though it wasn’t easy; I caught up to Nelson twice, and both times I waited. And watched.
No one can run forever.
There are only two certainties for men like us. You’re either caught or killed.
But unlike Nelson, I have an anomaly—a beautiful dark angel who defies convention.
I notice the shiny lock on the warehouse door. It hangs open, an invitation. There’s no stealthy entrance on my part as I slide the door open. Nelson wants me here, London wants me here…so here I am.
Let thegames begin.
I walk inside, and as soon as I see her, my heart lurches. It only ever beats for her.
Suspended above the garage on a hydraulic car lift, London floats there like the angel she is—a vision.
Her mouth and eyes are covered, but she can hear me. She’s been stripped of her clothes—her flesh on display, all except for her thin bra and panties. Wire ropes project from her wrists and waist….holding her aloft…like a beautifully disturbed marionette.
The cables are anchored around the lift’s arms—the yellow steel beams that support an automobile—and she dangles from just below. The cables flow above the lift, stretched taut above like piano strings, and fold over a second lift bar to drop down like rain. But instead of raindrops, padlocked weights dangle from the cables.
I tear my gaze away momentarily to study the mechanism. Within seconds, I’ve broken down the system.
The lift is set on a timer, lowering her every minute. The countdown will end with London submerged in an eight foot shipping container.
It’s beautiful, really.
The trap London and I began to design that first night here, now complete, realized to its full potential. A trap I could truly appreciate, if not for Nelson’s fingerprints all over it, corroding it.
“I thought to myself,” Nelson’s voice sounds out, “it’s unfortunate that you’ve never had the pleasure of starring in one of your own traps.”
I push the hood off and unzip my jacket. “What’s in the container?”
“A concentrated sodium hydroxide solution,” he replies. “Your recipe.”
I smirk and toss my jacket aside. “A copycat down to the lastdetail.” But I realize London’s exposed flesh will be submerged in the solution, and this sobers me.
“That’s just the perfectionist in me. I do have a whimsical side. Like the addition of the locks…just for you. It’s a metaphor.”
I’m already tired of his voice. “Very clever.” I glance around and notice a covered rubber tub beneath the dangling locks.
“Go ahead,” he encourages, “open it.”
I stride to the tub and toe the lid open.
Keys.
