Page 107 of Into Pitch

Then the door opens and I jerk alert, watching as a man enters.

He’s nervous. That much I can see in the way his shoulders sit too high and his eyes flick around the room. He’s masked of course, but it doesn’t matter.

Because I know him.

Every muscle in my body goes taut.

Alex grip tightens just enough to keep me from moving.

“Don’t,” he growls low in my ear.

Don’t what? Fucking run? Sort of seems like a hell of an opportunity to do just that.

The man clears his throat and a voice I haven’t heard in years—one that still crawls under my skin in the dark—breaks from him.

“Hello?” He calls.

“Sit,” Plague says calmly.

The man scoffs. “I don’t think so.”

“Stand,” Plague offers.

“That’s what I’ll do then,” the man replies.

My stomach churns and I don’t know if I want to be here anymore. This wasn’t supposed to be about me. This was observation. And now I feel like I’ve been cast a part in some sick side show. Like he’s stabbed me straight in the chest and is waiting for me to figure out exactly how I want to bleed out.

Peter is older, but nothing else about him has changed in my mind.

My breathing turns hard, but Alex’s hands stay firm at my hips, holding me in place.

“Easy,” he murmurs, for me alone. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Right. Well, promising and doing are two separate things, asshole.

His hand slides forward to take my own, gentle as he leads me out from behind the mirror. The room feels different when I’m in it now, too bright and harsh. I swallow as Peter turns toward us, confusion flickering across his masked face as he takes us in.

I feel sick, but I don’t move from where Alex leaves me. He releases my hand and begins to circle Peter slowly, his footsteps soundless against the stone.

“You like to be in control, don’t you?” Plague starts conversationally. Not because he guesses it, but because he already knows the profile of the man from our sessions.

Peter shifts toward him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Plague tilts his head eerily. “You preferred them young and easier to mold. Easier to confuse.”

My fingers curl into fists at my side, my eyes darting between the two men. How the hell had he gotten him here? What did he say to lure Peter into all of this?

“You told yourself it was affection and that maybe you were helping. Teaching them.” He purrs and slides his hand behind the couch. I stiffen when he pulls out the very crowbar I had taken to him in that cabin.

My heart is beating too fast, my hands flexing nervously.

“You don’t know me,” Peter spits. But I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the uncertainty. He’s asking himself all the same questions I am asking myself.

What the fuck is he doing here?

“I know exactly who you are. A man who mistook access for entitlement. A man who took because no one stopped him.” He says quietly and circles back to where I stand. My eyes dart down to the crowbar that he studies in his palms.

I can’t breathe.