Page 124 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

“You literally tased me,” I moan, opening my eyes to see the ceiling of the living room. Tilting my head down, I find Reagan sitting on the couch in front of me, but when I try to move, I find I can’t. “And you tied me to a chair.” Letting my head fall back I scoff. “You’re insane, Reagan.”

“Sorry about your head.” Reagan is apparently ignoring my insults, and when she shifts and stands up, I flinch away from her. “No, I-I’m not going to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.” She presses an ice pack against my temple, making me hiss and draw back in surprise.

“You have a funny way of showing it. I’m assuming it was you in the slaughterhouse with the knife, yeah?” I’ve used up all of my surprise for the night, so my words are dull and flat. Still I twist my wrists against the chair, realizing she’s zip-tied me.

Like a psycho.

Reagan’s huff of frustration is followed by her shoving the ice pack harder against my face, pulling a hiss of pain from my lips. “I wasn’t going to do anything else, I just wanted to scare you a bit. I was mad. All he had to do was waltz back into town and you were all over him. You couldn’t see anything else once he came back. Why?” She crowds closer to me, reaching out to grip my hair and yank my face to her, forcing me to meet her eyes.

“Why?” she demands. “He almost killed you. He’s insane, Winnie! You shouldn’t have given him the time of day, and instead of doing the smart thing, you fucked him!”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I have most certainly fucked him a few times.” I can’t help wanting to have the last word, even right now. “And I hate to tell you this, but you’re calling him insane?! As if you’re one to talk, right now?”

She jerks back as if I’ve burned her, eyes wide. “I’m not insane. I’m not,” she tells me, dropping the ice pack into my lap. I frown at it, wondering what she expects me to do when my arms and legs are zip-tied to the uncomfortable kitchen chair.

“So what, then?” I try to keep the fear out of my voice, and I watch as Reagan stands beside the couch, picking at its worn fabric. “Are we going to have a heart-to-heart with me tied to a chair? Are you going to yell at me for apparently not giving you the BFF treatment⁠—”

“Stop it.” Her voice is colder than I expect it to be, and she doesn’t look at me. “You’re really frustrating me. I get that you can’t see how I’m doing this for you. But can’t you at least pretend?”

That makes me snort. “Yeah, Reagan. How about you let me get up, and I’ll pretend all you want.”

Slowly she shakes her head back and forth once, then again. “Like I said, this is the only way I can think of to get him here. I sent him the address, and a picture of you passed out. I told him not to call the cops. Not that he would.” Her smile is unfriendly and cruel. “What police officer would respond to a call from him?”

Definitely not the unfriendly detective. But my heart races when I finally connect the dots, and I flex my hands in their bindings. “You want to kill Cass.” It isn’t a question. I don’t need to ask, especially when I see her gaze brighten.

“For you,” she’s quick to add. “I…I understand that you can’t see why right now. But it’s okay, I’m not mad.” She lifts her hands placatingly, surveying my face. “You don’t really love him, you know. How could you? If you can love anyone, you might as well love me.”

Suddenly Cass’s quip about her being in love with me doesn’t seem so far-fetched, and I wonder how in the world things got this far without me noticing. I always thought Reagan and I were just friends. Just…friends of circumstance, since I’d been her babysitter for a few years.

“What if I do love him, though? If I love him, and you kill him, then I’ll certainly never love you.” Rationally, I figure Cass can take care of himself, even if he is coming. But the idea of her actually killing him, of managing to stun him and knock him out before he knows what’s going on, has my insides doing unpleasant twists and turns.

It was the wrong thing to say, judging by her rapidly darkening expression. “Don’t say stupid shit like that,” Reagan whispers, striding closer to me. “Don’t be ungrateful, Winnie.” She reaches out and I flinch away from her, but this time she only grips my face with one hand, the other fumbling at her belt. “I don’t want to be mean to you,” she promises, ignoring my sharp intake of breath when my eyes catch on the dull shine of the knife in her hand.

Fuck.

Fuck, I have no idea what to do. My mouth opens and closes, and I cringe back when she presses the flat of the blade to my cheek. “Just don’t say things like that, okay?” She sounds like she’s begging me for a different answer, like she can threaten me into loving her.

“Reagan, come on.” Even though I’m fully aware that pleading with her won’t do any good, I do it anyway. “This is crazy. Just put the knife down and let me go.” Belatedly, I wonder where Sophie is, and the thought makes my stomach clench painfully. God, I hope Reagan hasn’t hurt her. A pang of guilt goes through me at the idea of her laying dead or dying somewhere in the house.

“I can’t. I can’t, don’t you see? Because I need him to come here so I can get rid of him for you.” Her eyes are bright and feverish, and she leans back just enough so she can meet my eyes, with the tip of the knife against my lower lip. “You understand, right?”

I really don’t. Swallowing, I part my lips just enough to feel the blade press into my flesh, but I’m determined to have the last word, and I refuse to let this go.

“I do.”

The words don’t come from me, and both of us freeze, not breathing, as we stare at each other. It’s only when Reagan straightens and turns, stepping to the side, that I’m able to look past her into the hallway.

Cass leans against the doorframe, his blue eyes bleak and hard as ice. He isn’t looking at me, but rather his gaze is fixed on Reagan standing beside me.

“She has a taser,” I groan, blinking past the ache in my temple. “And a knife⁠—”

“Don’t talk to him.” Reagan rounds on me, her eyes suddenly wide and furious. “Don’t fucking talk to him, Winnie! God, I don’t get why you can’t see how fucked up it is that you want anything to do with him!”

“Yeah, I’m the one who can’t see straight. Absolutely.” My words only seem to piss her off more, though, and Reagan reaches out to jerk me back by my hair, my neck aching sharply from the motion and pulling a yelp from my mouth.

“Maybe this really isn’t the time to have the last word, hmm princess?” Cass’s voice holds a warning, and he steps into the room with his hands shoved in his pockets. “I wondered if it was you,” he goes on, his attention all on Reagan. “A few times I thought about saying something to her, but then I brushed it off. I figured she knew you well enough that if she could trust you, then you weren’t a threat.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Reagan lets go of me, spinning to face him with the knife in her hand. Her fingers are trembling, knuckles white as she takes a step toward him.