Page 42 of Vega

Staring at the screen, he gasped, “Is she chained up?!”

“She is.”

His mouth fell open. “You kidnapped Sonnet?!”

“I took her before someone worse could.”

His eyes scanned me from head to toe. “Who is worse than you?”

“The people willing to kill her.”

He gulped while he looked back at the screen. Sonnet shifted in her sleep.

I locked the screen and closed the space between us. “I’ll text you from a number with updates, so you’ll be sure she’s okay. You’re going to keep living normally. If anyone asks, you believe Sonnet left town because she was struggling and needed space. You won’t mention me, and you won’t call the police.”

This sassy motherfucka had the nerve to question me. “And if I do?”

“You’ll find out how much restraint I’m holding back right now. You’ve heard the saying ‘I ain’t a killa, but don’t push me’, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I am a killa, a good one, and a trained one, so it’s your best bet not to push me.”

I still didn’t think he was convinced, so I unlocked the phone again, swiped across the screen, and held it in front of him. The first picture showed his mother leaving a grocery store. Then I swiped to the next of his father unlocking the door to their house. I continued through photographs of their cars, the front of their home, and the church they attended every Sunday.

The attitude disappeared from Dior’s expression as I told him, “Your parents are Patricia and Bernard Ellis. They live at 9146 South Woodlawn, and their license plates are registered to a silver Lexus and a black Cadillac. Every Sunday, they arrive at Greater Grace around nine forty-five. Your mother stops at the coffee shop on Seventy-Ninth afterward, and your father takes Stony Island home from work every evening.”

He stared at the phone before looking at me. “They don’t have anything to do with this.”

“They don’t, and whether they remain uninvolved depends on you.”

I stepped closer and lowered the phone. “If you call the police, I’ll know before you finish explaining why you’re calling. Your parents will be dead before that call ends.”

His face lost what little color remained in it. Then he swallowed, but he didn’t look away.

“Sonnet is alive,” I told him. “Keep your mouth closed, and your parents remain that way too.”

“You’re fucking sick.”

I slid the phone back into my pocket and walked toward the door. Dior remained in the center of his living room, silent for the first time since he had entered it. The shopping bags still lay near his feet, their contents scattered across the floor.

I opened the door and looked back at him. “Remember what I said. By the time you hear an officer answer, it’ll already be too late.”

Then I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me, leaving Dior frozen in the same spot.

9

SONNET ELLISON

Iwoke up confused. For a few seconds, I didn’t know where I was or why my head felt so heavy. The ceiling above me wasn’t mine. The room smelled unfamiliar. My mouth was dry, and my limbs felt like they belonged to somebody else.

Then the memories returned all at once, and I shot upright with a gasp. But metal pulled against my ankle.

I froze. For one terrifying second, my brain refused to understand what I was seeing. Then I saw that the cuff locked around my ankle was connected to a long chain that stretched across the bed and ran toward the window.

My breathing stopped. The chain was secured to thick metal bars bolted over the window frame. My pulse slammed so hard I could feel it in my throat.

I yanked my leg, and the chain rattled loudly, but it didn’t give. Panic burned through whatever drug still lingered in my system. I scrambled backward on the bed and pulled again, harder this time, until the cuff dug into my skin.